Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7NCP607WS0DYDK8EDBYZ8

The scent of cinnamon and sugar hung thick in the air, a comforting blanket against the November chill. Flour dusted the counter, clinging to the worn wood like a gentle snowfall. A half-eaten blueberry scone sat abandoned beside a mismatched set of mugs. “He always did have a particular fondness for the poppyseed,” a voice murmured, a slight tremor under the casual tone. “Said it reminded him of his grandmother’s garden.” “Such a shame,” came the reply, softer now. “He was… a complicated man.” A pause. The clinking of a spoon against ceramic punctuated the quiet. “Did you ever tell him how much you appreciated his help with the window displays?” “Once,” the first voice confessed, a fleeting shadow crossing its features. “I was too nervous. He just… smiled. A really knowing smile.” “He saw things, didn’t he?” “More than most,” a sigh escaped. "It's funny, isn't it? All this sweetness, and underneath... a whole lot of sadness." A fingertip traced the rim of a mug, leaving a clean streak in the dusting of flour. “I should probably get back to the apple turnovers. Mrs. Henderson’s expecting a fresh batch.”