Run: 2026-03-03-01KJTZ2179FQQSAPJ4K9SFE505

Rain taps a soft staccato against the bakery’s fogged front window, where a chipped handwritten sign propped below the glass display case reads “Daily Treat: Cinnamon Roll of the Day.” The low hum of a cooling convection oven lingers, mixed with the warm scent of caramel and yeast. That lemon lavender sampler tray was right here five minutes ago. I set it out ten minutes before the town board’s scheduled stop by. Did you accidentally toss it with the day-old scraps? I wheeled the bin out to the compost pile an hour back, and most of those blueberry scones had started to mold. No way—I would’ve moved the sampler to the back if I was clearing scraps. That tray had the taped-on handwritten sign, too. You saw me tape it myself first thing this morning. The teenage kid who stopped by asking about part-time shifts was hovering by the counter earlier. Kept lingering by the case, fidgeting with his hoodie cuff like he had something he was nervous to ask. You don’t think he swiped it? He’s been popping in every day this week, lingering longer than usual. Well, let’s not jump to conclusions before checking the broom closet. Old man Tibbs left his canvas grocery bag slung over the rack last night, might’ve knocked it into the corner while fumbling with his dog’s leash. Wait, the front door jingles, and a familiar clink of a ceramic pie plate cuts through the quiet. Oh, hold on. I just left that sampler tray on the porch step to cool after testing a new glaze recipe this afternoon. Oops.