He hands the lady her pastries.
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JACOB: "I don't know, I don't know -- they just come!"
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Jacob turns and calls over one of his bakery assistants, handing him a pair of keys.
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CLOSE ON THE PASTRIES AND BREADS on the counter, all molded into fanciful little shapes -- we recognize the Demiguise, Niffler, and Erumpent among them.
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CLOSE ON THE DOORBELL as it rings to signal the entrance of a new customer.
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Jacob looks up and is thunderstruck all over again: It's Queenie. They stare at each other -- Queenie beams, radiant. Jacob, quizzical and totally enchanted, touches his neck -- a flicker of memory. He smiles back.
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JACOB: "Here you go -- don't forget this -- enjoy."
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Jacob, serving, is very happy, his shop full to bursting with customers.
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FEMALE CUSTOMER (examining the little pastries): "Where do you get your ideas from, Mr. Kowalski?"
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The bell tinkles again.
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JACOB: "Hey, Henry -- storage, all right? Thanks, pal."
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INT. JACOB'S BAKERY, LOWER EAST SIDE -- DAY
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