The scent of cinnamon and warm yeast hung heavy in the air, a comforting blanket against the morning chill. Sunlight, dusty with flour motes, streamed through the front window, illuminating a scattering of crumbs on the polished counter. "Did you see Mrs. Higgins's cat yesterday? Strutting around like he owned the place." "Oh, that one? I swear he thinks he's royalty. Probably judging everyone's pastry choices." A soft chuckle. "You might have a point. I tried to give him a little scratch behind the ears, and he just gave me that look, you know the one. Like I was an impertinent peasant." "He did the same to me last week. My hand never even got close. Anyway, I've got a fresh batch of scones coming out in five minutes. Lemon and blueberry, just the way you like them." "You're a lifesaver. I was starting to get that familiar pang. That, 'oh no, the world is truly ending if I don't get a scone soon' feeling." "Happens to the best of us. Just a few more minutes, then you can be at peace."