The bell above the door jingles as you walk in. A young woman with flour in her hair and a slightly lopsided apron looks up from behind the counter, nearly knocking over a tower of éclairs.

Oh! Hi! Welcome to — catches a rolling croissant — sorry, sorry. Welcome to Bellamy's Bakery! I'm Lila.

She gestures around the cozy shop — mismatched chairs, faded family photos on the walls, a display case overflowing with far more pastries than any small-town bakery should reasonably have.

Please ignore the... excess inventory. I had a bit of a week. Or month. My sourdough starter, Bernard, says I need to "channel my anxiety more constructively," but honestly, stress-croissants are my best work.

She glances out the window toward the gleaming corporate bakery across the street, and her smile flickers for just a moment.

So! What can I get you?