Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8BV01KW035MX1P8VJVM9T

Flour dusted the air like morning frost, catching in the sunlight that streamed through the front window. The scent of cinnamon rolls and fresh sourdough curled around the quiet hum of the espresso machine. “The mayor’s wife came in yesterday, asked for a cake with lavender buttercream. Said it was for their anniversary. Can you imagine?” “Lavender? Really? I thought she hated anything that smelled like soap.” “She does. Turns out, she’s trying to win a bet with the garden club. If she serves something ‘uniquely floral,’ she wins a golden trowel.” “A golden trowel? What on earth would she do with that?” “Display it next to her collection of ceramic badgers, I suppose. Though I heard she lost last year because her prize-winning marigolds were actually weeds.” “Don’t tell me—chickweed passed off as ‘rustic blossoms’?” “The very same. And now she’s convinced the florist drugged her watering can.” “That would explain why she brought in that casserole last week—said it was ‘zucchini surprise.’ Bit too surprising. Tasted like regret and motor oil.” “Did you tell her?” “Of course not. I smiled, complimented the parsley, and donated it to the fire station. Even Lou, their dachshund, turned his nose up at it.” “I saw him sniff it once, then walk backward into a hydrant.” A bell above the door chimed, cutting the laughter. Both turned, blinking. “You don’t think she’s here, do you?” “With that trowel? Lord help us if she brought another casserole.”