The morning sun poured through the lace curtains of Butter & Crumb, warming the checkerboard floor and casting soft halos around glass jars of cinnamon sticks and star anise. The scent of burnt sugar and yeast lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet hum of the refrigerator cooling the lemon tarts. “You’re in early. Usually, your boots don’t hit the pavement till ten.” “Couldn’t sleep. Margaret Tuttle’s cat spent the night yowling on my windowsill. Again.” “Fluffy? She’s harmless.” “Harmless? She left a dead mouse in my mailbox yesterday. Dressed it in a tiny hat.” A soft chuckle as flour dusted the counter like snow. “Maybe she’s trying to send a message.” “Or audition for a baking show. Found it next to my sourdough starter.” “You didn’t—” “Threw it out, yes. Though Agnes said it might’ve been a blessing. Something about ancient harvest rituals.” “Agnes also believes the weather changes based on her mood.” “Well, it’s been drizzling ever since she got mad at Gerald for hogging the church knitting circle.” A pause. The oven timer rang, sharp and insistent. “You think Fluffy’s got it in for me?” “Only one way to find out. Try leaving her a scone.” “Only if it’s lavender. She hates lavender.” The laughter rose like dough, filling the quiet bakery just as the first customer jingled the door.