Night Shift Sweet Tooth

Stamping paper was amusing, but the smell drifting from the bakery display case at closing time demanded closer investigation. Once the shopkeeper turned off the overhead lights and locked the register, I dropped from the wicker basket down to the polished wooden counter. Tucked behind the metal display rack was a clear glass dome covering a platter of sugar-dusted gingerbread cookies. Lifting the heavy dome was out of the question, but the edge sat propped over a forgotten metal butter knife. I wedged my small body into the gap, planted my boots against the counter, and gave the knife handle a solid shove. The glass shifted with a gentle chime, rolling a fat, sugar-coated ginger button right out onto the counter for the taking.