Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0ACYZHJ7J2XPZTYG6QDTBF

The bell over the bakery door gave a cheerful jingle as Clara stepped inside, bringing a gust of October air with her. Warmth wrapped around her at once, thick with the smell of cinnamon, butter, and fresh bread. “You’re late.” “I know.” “Three minutes.” “You counted?” “I also counted the croissants. One batch short.” Clara set her bag on the counter and peered toward the glass case. “That’s impossible. I baked enough for the morning rush.” “Then explain why Mrs. Pritchard just left with her usual six and Mr. Bellamy took the last cheese scone.” “He took your cheese scone?” “He called it a public service.” A laugh slipped out before Clara could stop it. Behind the counter, the flour-dusted register sat open, and the tin of ginger snaps was empty except for crumbs. “Did anyone else come in?” “Only the mayor, looking suspiciously pleased with himself.” “That’s never a good sign.” “No. Especially since he asked whether you were ‘the sort who keeps secrets.’” Clara froze. “What did you say?” “That secrets were best served with coffee, and he should order a cinnamon roll if he wanted any from me.” Outside, the rain tapped softly against the window. Clara glanced at the back door, where a muddy footprint marked the tile. “Well,” she said, lowering her voice, “I think somebody’s been in here before I arrived.” “Good.” “Good?” “Now we have an excuse to open the almond tarts early.”