Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1J4KCRK0Q6G1EPDX7XYZQM

The bell over the bakery door gave its usual cheerful jingle, though the morning itself was gray and damp. Cinnamon and butter hung in the air, warm enough to soften anyone’s temper. Behind the glass case, rows of apricot danishes gleamed beside neat little lemon tarts. “You’ve rearranged the display.” “And you noticed before saying good morning. That feels pointed.” “Good morning. Now, why are the blackberry scones where the shortbread ought to be?” “Because the shortbread sold out in twenty minutes.” “At seven-thirty in this town? That alone is suspicious.” “Everything is suspicious to you lately.” “It should be. Mrs. Pritchard never misses her cardamom bun, and today she sent her nephew. He paid in exact change.” “Honestly, the scandal.” “Mock all you like. People reveal themselves in small habits.” A tray landed softly on the counter, releasing a fresh cloud of vanilla. “Then what does it reveal that you’ve come in three times this week and bought nothing?” “That I’m thinking.” “That you’re snooping.” “A distinction with a difference.” “Mm. And are you thinking about the missing silver cake knife, or about why the mayor canceled the Harvest Social?” A pause settled between the clink of cups and the hum of the old refrigerator. “You heard?” “In this bakery? I hear everything.” “Then tell me who was crying in the alley before dawn.” “No.” “No?” “Not until you buy a scone.”