Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFJKM16H6PW6TAV4122EZ1D

Sun slanted through the gingham-curtained front window of Maple Corner Bakery, gilding the stack of lemon poppyseed loaves cooling by the register and turning the sugar dust on the oak counter to fine glitter. A half-empty mug of chamomile on the back shelf sent up a thin wisp of steam, the bell above the screen door’s jingle still fading. You left the blue hydrangea arrangement by the old lighthouse gate again. Someone moved it, same as last week. I swear I didn’t. I was here at 4 a.m. restocking pecan pie shells, same as always. No one’s got a key besides us and Mrs. Hale, and her knee’s too bad to walk that far after dark. You didn’t sneak out, did you? Always said that watch the sheriff lost before his boat sank was just a ghost story. Marnie found it tucked under the new hydrangea cluster this morning. Ticked the whole way she carried it back here. Stopped dead the second she set it on this counter. And the arrangement? There’s a sprig of your signature rosemary tucked into the stems. No one else in town grows that winter-hardy kind.