Chapter Sixty
The very next morning at Johnson’s Oven, the air inside the old brick building was filled with the warm, beautiful smell of melting butter, sweet cinnamon, and strong roasting coffee beans. The small shop was significantly busier than it had been the day before. The little brass bell hanging right above the heavy front door seemed to chime constantly, ringing out every few minutes as local townspeople, workers, and regular folks from around the neighborhood hurried inside to escape the cool morning air. They all wanted to grab their hot morning coffee, fresh loaves of white bread, and sweet afternoon pastries before heading off to their busy jobs.
I was moving very quickly behind the polished dark wooden counter, my hands busy lifting heavy metal tongs, bagging up fresh cho
