Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09060XKM7MS3T6VF6BCEVC

The bell over the bakery door gave its cheerful tinkle as Mara stepped inside, bringing in a gust of autumn air and the smell of woodsmoke. Warmth wrapped around her at once, along with butter, cinnamon, and fresh bread. Behind the glass case, rows of lemon tarts and sticky buns gleamed under the lights. “Tell me that cinnamon swirl loaf is still available.” “Barely. You’re looking at the last one.” “I knew I should have come earlier.” “You say that every Thursday.” “Because every Thursday you keep making it impossible to resist.” A low laugh drifted from the kitchen, where flour dusted the floor and a tray of cooling scones sat on the counter. Mara leaned closer to the case, then frowned. “Has that vase always been there?” “What vase?” “The blue one by the register. I swear I’ve never seen it before.” “No, it’s new. Mrs. Henshaw left it here this morning.” “Empty?” “Not when she brought it in. It had a note tucked inside.” Mara looked up sharply. “A note?” “Mm-hmm. She said if anyone came asking about the old mill, they were to read it first.” The bakery seemed suddenly quieter, the hum of the refrigerator and the crackle of the oven stretching between them. “And,” Mara said, lowering her voice, “did anyone come asking?” One corner of the other woman’s mouth lifted. “You just did.”