Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB6XS7BT1BSX653C7V2317

The bell above the door jingled, and Marge’s voice cut through the hum of the oven. “‘S fresh out, dear. Sir Loaf’s morning special—” She trailed off, squinting at the half-eaten scone on the counter. “Wait. That wasn’t here when I locked up.” I leaned in, flicking a crumb from my wrist. “Saw a kid on the porch earlier. Too busy texting to notice the plate under the tree.” Marge’s flour-dusted hand flew to her cheek. “That scone had the lemon glaze with the extra zest—only I know that recipe. My mama’s. Lost it in the fire.” She paused, then softer: “Kids these days, don’t care what’s good ’cause it ain’t on their screens.” A tail thumped on the floor; Mr. Whiskers, the tabby, nuzzled my ankle. Marge sighed, reaching for a cloth. “Well. If he’s still about, tell him the glaze was a mistake. Should’ve used orange.” I bit back a smile, already backing toward the door. “Sure thing. And Marge?” She glanced up. “Play the mistake card again tomorrow. Fresh cinnamon rolls by seven.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Seven it is. And hey—” She nodded at the scone crumb on my sleeve. “Wipe that before you go. News travels faster than a hot cross bun in this town.” The bell jingled again. Beyond the window, a shadow ducked behind a maple tree.