Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK98J1XVBKZ2QMND3XYXXMM

"Smells like cinnamon and trouble." "You try running a morning rush with a missing recipe card and a sugar bowl that refills itself." "The sugar bowl refills itself?" "Every time I turn around. Like it knows we’re short on gossip." "Or someone’s making sure you don’t notice what else is missing." "You mean the lemon curd? I know exactly how much I made." "Not the curd. The silver pie server from the window, the one with the ivy handle." "That belonged to my grandmother. Don’t joke." "I’m not. Check the display. The blueberry lattice is sliced with a butter knife." "Saints preserve us. Who steals a pie server in a town where you can borrow sugar from a stranger?" "Someone who doesn’t want fingerprints on a different blade." "Blade? This is a bakery, not a crime novel." "Then explain the flour prints by the back door—big boots, heel worn down, and a smear of cherry like rouge." "I thought that was jam." "Jam doesn’t dry that dark. And the bell hasn’t rung since I came in. Back door’s propped with a sack of rye." "I told Eddie not to leave it open. He delivers at dawn and vanishes like meringue." "Eddie wears size eleven. He also hates cherry." "So the boots aren’t his. Whose tab is under the register?" "Mayor Sutton’s, but he pays in announcements." "What about the stranger who ordered a plain croissant and left a note under it?" "A note?" "Folded like a recipe. Grease-stained, smells like almonds." "Read it." "It says, 'Meet where the ovens don’t hum.'" "That’s the old brick kiln by the river." "Bring the butter knife." "I’d rather bring the rolling pin." "Good. Trouble flattens easier than dough."