Run: 2026-03-09-01KKABXJ0414T49RT78S1T4EG7

The bell above the bakery door gave its usual cheerful jingle, though the morning itself felt far less cheerful. Cinnamon and warm butter wrapped the room, fighting a losing battle against the chill that had followed in from Main Street. On the glass counter, rows of glazed lemon buns gleamed beside blackberry scones, untouched. “You rearranged the eclairs.” “They were crooked.” “They were not crooked. They were artistic.” “In a town this small, artistic eclairs start rumors.” A laugh slipped out, brief and nervous. Outside, a pickup rolled past the window slower than necessary. “Have you heard?” “If this is about the mayor’s missing garden gnome, I refuse to be involved.” “Not the gnome. Mr. Pembroke.” The pastry box in careful hands lowered by an inch. “What about him?” “He didn’t open the antique shop this morning.” “That man hasn’t taken a day off since 1987.” “Exactly.” A sugar shaker paused over a cappuccino. “You think something’s wrong.” “I think his blueberry muffin is still here.” On the corner table by the window sat a paper bag folded neatly at the top, a blue-ink P written across the front. “He ordered that at seven yesterday.” “And left without it?” “He never leaves without a muffin. Not even during the Founders Day parade.” Silence settled between the clink of cups and the hum of the pastry case. “We should take it over.” “To be neighborly?” “To be nosy.” “Finally, some honesty before breakfast.”