The bell above the door jingled as a gust of autumn wind swept in, scattering a few golden leaves across the checkerboard floor. The scent of cinnamon and warm bread wrapped around the two women like a cozy blanket. "Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. Every time I try to bake a pie, it comes out looking like a science experiment gone wrong." A soft chuckle came from behind the counter. "Well, maybe if you stopped trying to rush it. Baking’s like life—you can’t force it to be perfect. Sometimes you just have to let things rise in their own time." The first woman sighed, tracing a finger along the glass display case. "I suppose you’re right. But I *did* want to impress the book club this week. They’re all so… *accomplished*." "Oh, please. Half of them couldn’t tell a sourdough starter from a loaf of Wonder Bread. Besides, I’ve seen you knit a sweater in a weekend. That’s more impressive than any pie." The bell jingled again, and a familiar voice called out, "Ladies, I hope you’re not gossiping about me again." Both women turned, grinning. "Only the good kind," one replied, sliding a still-warm cinnamon roll across the counter. "Now, tell us—what’s *really* going on with the mayor’s missing garden gnomes?"