Sam liked the bakery. Not because she could enjoy the marvels it produced--because ha ha fuck you, Sam, you can't have nice things--but more because of the smell. There was something strangely grounding about the scent of fresh baking. It made her think of the time before the sky fell. She remembered sitting in the window seat of the Halper house, while her mother made challah and matzo ball soup. It felt too saccharine to call the smell a sense of 'home,' but Sam didn't have anything better for it.

Of course, if it wasn't the smell, it might be the cute boy behind the smell.

She looked up from her little perch by the bakery window, where she was working on her newest moonshine formula. "How the hell do you make icing that blue?" she asked. It wasn't a color found in nature.

Not that she was one to talk.

Snapping her notebook shut, she stood up, swaggering over to get a better look at the scene. "It's gorgeous."