Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB2RXWW2VG58GPWC61K9A3

The bell above the door jingled as the morning chill slipped inside, carrying the scent of cinnamon and buttery pastry. A loaf of sourdough sat between them on the counter, its crust golden and cracked just enough to tempt. "You always bring me the good stuff." "Wouldn’t dream of bringing you anything less. Especially not after what happened last time." A chuckle, low and warm. "Ah, yes. The time you swore those blueberry muffins were cursed." "Not cursed. *Haunted.* By my own poor baking choices." The other leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Between us, I think the real curse was that detective’s questions. You were sweating through your apron." "Detective? Please. I was just—hot. From the oven." A pause. The clink of a coffee cup being set down. "So. You still haven’t figured out who took the town’s prize-winning honey jar?" "Would I be asking you for a second cup of coffee if I had?" The laughter bubbled up, rich and unguarded. "Fair point. But next time, maybe don’t leave the evidence in the display case with a *note*." "In my defense, it was a *very* polite note." "Polite? It said *‘Thanks for the honey, you’re all sticky.’*" Silence. Then, from behind the counter, the sound of a muffled groan. "I *hate* puns."