Gemotions

The morning sun streamed through the bakery window, catching dust motes dancing in its golden embrace. A chuckle bubbled up from Agnes as she bustled around, her steps light and quick. A pot of coffee gurgled merrily on the stove, mirroring the happy sounds emanating from her. "Morning, sunshine!" she chirped to the sourdough starter bubbling in its jar. It was Tuesday, and Tuesday meant the farmer's market, and the prospect of selling out of her "Secret Garden Scones" always made her feel like this. She’d been working on that recipe for years, and now, it seemed like the whole world was enjoying it under the label "Sunrise Crunchies".

The radio crackled to life, the host enthusiastically promoting the "Sunrise Crunchies" at a local festival. Agnes froze, a wooden spoon mid-air. Her heart began a frantic drum solo against her ribs. She thought of the countless hours, the flour dusted on every surface, the careful tweaks to the recipe until it was perfect. And now, this. She clenched her fists, then a slow smile spread across her face. This meant the scones were good, right?