Run: 2026-10-06-01M48W1HJXJP8HHZWFFCT04PBS

The bell above the door chimed as Marnie stepped inside, flour dusting her cardigan from the morning's sourdough. "There you are. I was beginning to think the yeast had risen without you." "Traffic on Route 9. A tractor, can you imagine?" "Harold Pemberton's, I'll wager. He drives that thing like it's a race car." Marnie laughed, setting her canvas tote on the counter. "You saw him?" "Watched him crawl past the diner for twenty minutes. Gave me time to perfect the lavender shortbread." "And?" "And what?" "Did it perfect itself?" A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "It's *almost* there. Needs more—" "—lemon zest?" "How did you—" "You've said that every Tuesday for three months. I'm learning." Marnie reached across the counter, squeezing her hand. "You're the only one who pays attention, Evelyn." "Someone has to. Your mind's always three recipes ahead." "Today it's four. I found something in the community garden shed." "Don't tell me." "Someone's been leaving notes. In books. Poetry, actually." "Poetry?" "Terrible poetry. About roses and—" she lowered her voice, "—secret admirers." "Oh, Marnie." "Don't. I'm serious. I think it's a message. Or a warning." The bell chimed again. They both turned. "Save that thought," Evelyn said, already reaching for her rolling pin. "Customer."