At 82, I Found

of cinnamon pulled him in from the sidewalk.

A woman behind the counter, maybe forty-five, smiled at him.

“What can I get you?”

Frank looked at the glass case.

Apple turnovers. Blueberry scones. Lemon tarts.

“My wife baked,” he said.

The woman’s smile softened. “Then you probably have high standards.”

“I didn’t appreciate them when I should have.”

She did continue reading …