Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCPPRXTDZMWHJ93R8EGWJCT

The bell above the door jangled, and the smell of scorched sugar rushed out to meet the morning. "You burned the cinnamon rolls." "I did not burn them. They're caramelized." "They're black on the bottom, Ruth. I've been eating your rolls for thirty-one years. I know caramelized." "Well, I was distracted." "By what?" "By the fact that Ellis Pruitt came in here yesterday at ten past four and bought two dozen lemon bars." "So? He likes lemon bars." "He's allergic to citrus. Broke out in hives at the church picnic in ninety-eight, and I had to drive him to the clinic myself." A chair scraped against the tile. "Two dozen." "Two dozen. Paid cash, wouldn't look me in the eye, and asked me to box them in white, not the pink ones. Said pink was too cheerful." "Too cheerful for what?" "That's exactly what I said. And do you know what he said back?" "I'm sure you're going to tell me." "He said, 'For a wake, Ruth. You'll hear about it soon enough.'" The coffee pot hissed into silence. "Nobody's died." "Not yet." "Ruth." "Pour me a cup, would you? And take the rolls out of the case. I don't want people thinking I've lost my touch."