The golden light of afternoon filtered through the dusty windows, illuminating the motes of flour dancing in the air between them. "That scent is unmistakable, even after all these years." "It’s just burnt sugar and stale milk." "I thought you locked the back door yesterday." "Walked out, yes. But the yeast is still screaming for attention." "Right. Not those loaves." A heavy thud echoed from the dark corner, followed by a sharp inhale that sounded like a gasping fish. "Don’t reach for that baguette." "It’s just fifty pounds of rye." "It’s not rye. It’s something that shouldn't be there." "You’ve been watching too many noir films." "My hearing is sharp today. You flinched." "You’re just nervous about the county bake-off." "Truth is the finest ingredient." "Then tell me who was left in the walk-in." "Let's just say business is booming."