Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFDH7M0BYGQ1VCWRD19K7XT

The bell above the door jingled as Mrs. Whitaker stepped inside, the scent of butter and cinnamon wrapping around her like a familiar hug. "You look like you could use a slice of apple pie, dear." "I was just thinking about that. The crust always seems to crack just right." "It’s the secret—just a whisper of nutmeg in the filling." "Your mother used to say the same thing, didn’t she?" "She did. She swore it made the filling sing." "Well, if it sings, I’ll take two slices." "Coming right up. And a coffee?" "Black, please. No sugar today." "You’ve been watching your waistline, haven’t you?" "Just trying to keep up with the garden club’s walking challenge." "They say a walk after pastry burns off the guilt." "Or maybe it just makes room for another." "Care for a cinnamon roll while you wait?" "I’d love one, but only if you promise not to tell Mr. Howell." "My lips are sealed. Besides, he’s too busy counting his loaves to notice." "Thank you, dear. I’ll be back tomorrow for the blueberry muffins." "And I’ll save you the warmest one." The bell chimed again as she left, leaving a trail of vanilla and promise behind.