Henry sat behind the counter of "Torta de Turner" his slip on shoes propped up beside the register. His chair was delicately balanced on two legs and the man had his hands behind his head and his eyes shut.

The bakery was a small shop by most comparisons. The front wall was all windows facing out onto the street with the bakery name written in big letters on the door. Display cases covered one wall filled with delicious treats of various styles and flavors.

Over half of the large room was filled with chairs and tables for dining purposes. A soda machine and coffee bar took up the wall to the right.

The back wall had a hallway that lead to the bathrooms and a locked door at the end that les to the stairwell up to the apartment on the second floor that Henry lived in.

Behind the counter, which had a big glass front to show off cupcakes and cookies Henry gave a lazy grumble. It been a slow day, record bteakingly slow. He hadn't seen a soul walk through the doors in the last two hours and let out a sigh.

"Gas station Debra cakes and Dunkin Donuts are ruining this country." He grumbled sleepily.

It was then that the bell above his door rang and Henry, startled pushed back a little too forcefully on the chair. The legs slipped and the Baker fell to the floor behind the counter with a weighty crash.

"Damn. It just isn't my day."

Despite popular belief, police officers liked more than just donuts. Sure, a donut was fine if it was glazed (or chocolate), but she had been a teenage girl first, and she liked pink cupcakes. With sprinkles. That was just her, personally, and not a symptom the disease (though really, it was hardly uncommon).

The squad room had wanted junk food. She had volunteered to go get something. And though it was around noon, and not too late in the day for most gas stations and donut shops, midday meant most of the best baked goods had already sold. Also, she wanted cupcakes and cookies and other types of pastry. And she had heard of a nice little place she hadn't seen before while she was out. Actually, she'd been referred by a friend from the mansion.

As she entered the bakery, she heard a clatter and someone's disgruntled comment.

"Everything okay," her voice rang in question. She looked over the counter at the man on the floor. In full police uniform, it was likely a sight.

Henry laid on his back, sitting strongly horizontal in the chair as a voice asked if he was alright. He saw a woman's head pop out above the counter and he rolled to the side and pushed himself to his feet.

"I'm good. Just let myself get a bit too comfortable." He said.

The woman was tiny, probably barely breaking five feet tall. But what got Henry's attention immediately was the uniform. He froze for a moment. He gave her a look that had been instinctively drilled into him in his years as a prisoner. He was painfully aware of the Tattoos on his arms, swirling designs with various animals in innumerable positions and poses.

He shook his head. He wasn't a convict anymore. He had left that life behind him when he became a solider. Years in the service had changed him. Some things about jail life however, crept up on you. He eased the tension out of his body and his gaze shifted to a more pleasant one.

"Sorry Officer, been a bit of a slow day today. People just don't seem to want baked goods anymore. Henry Turner, welcome to Torta de Turner. How may I help you?" He said offering his hand.

The guy was fine. She didn't like the look he'd given her, but he was fine. Cop brain ran wild, taking in details. Tattoos of animals, short buzz cut, muscular build. Seemed nice enough, but he'd had a moment, and like with most things in life, there was sure to be a reason behind it. The tension left him, slowly, and Amelia did not judge. Whatever the reason was, it was his business. All she wanted were baked goods.

>>"Sorry Officer, been a bit of a slow day today. People just don't seem to want baked goods anymore. Henry Turner, welcome to Torta de Turner. How may I help you?"

She nodded at his apology, and his introduction. Figured it wouldn't hurt to give a name. Gave one. "Charmed," she said dryly. "My name's Amelia. I need baked goods for an entire squad room full of cops. Donuts, cookies, cupcakes." She smiled a crooked smile at him. "You got any of that?"

One dozen, two dozen. Maybe more. And a cupcake for her. Certainly wouldn't be a cheap snack run. But it was a rite of passage for new officers to be given a hard time.

Amelia, as she had introduced herself seemed like what you would expect from a female police officer in New York. She spoke dryly and after her introduction proceeded directly on to stating what she needed. Some might find it a bit callous, but Henry understood the attitude. It was a solider thing.

He smiled at her as he reached under the counter and produced three fold up boxes for pastrys.

"Do I have any of that? Well let me see what I can drum up." He replied.

He made his way to the display cases with one of the boxes and found the one he was looking for. The case had donuts in it, a massive variety. Everything from plain glazed to jelly filled to red velvet cake donuts. Henry slid the glass open on the case and looked over his shoulder at the woman as he began to fill one of the boxes.

"Any allergies I should take in to account? And do you want just plain or anything specific?" He asked.

You could tell a lot about a person from their preferences in treats. He looked at the Officer expectantly wondering what she desired.

The man most certainly was prepared. He displayed classic baker bravado as he flourished his pastry boxes from nowhere, as if by magic, then proudly approached his case of wares. He had plenty of baked goods to choose from. Red velvet cake donuts, plain, cream-filled, even some donuts with fruity sugar cereal on top. The squad room would have choices, and more choices. Four boxes was probably a fair bet.

"No allergies," Amelia replied. Good question. Nobody had nut allergies, and nobody had piped up about being worried about anything in particular. Always good to be certain. "That I know of," Amelia hedged. "One box, plain glazed, ought to be good for the less adventurous. Ought to help with allergy worries, too." Somehow. She was not a baker. To her, it seemed like if he used nuts, nuts would exist in the cooking area, unless a deep clean was done between jobs. Her parents ran a restaurant. That was the extent of her knowledge of professional kitchen work environments. He'd exercise his own cautions, if her judgment was off.

"One box, probably a good mix. I know some people like fruit creams, others, plain creme. That red velvet cake donut looks good. Maybe four of those?" She pointed and took suggestions for the first mixed donut box, fully expecting some overflow into the second box, since everything looked so good. This was not going to be a cheap excursion. That was perfectly okay.

The third box, indeed, had a good mix.

The fourth? "One box of cupcakes and cookies sounds great. Definitely want to get the best-looking cupcake you got. For me." She would be quality tester, as well as judge, jury, and executioner to the cupcake. Hopefully, he had something sufficiently pearly and pink. Or fruity and pink. Or... you get the idea.