He hands the lady her pastries.

JACOB: "I don't know, I don't know -- they just come!"

Jacob turns and calls over one of his bakery assistants, handing him a pair of keys.

CLOSE ON THE PASTRIES AND BREADS on the counter, all molded into fanciful little shapes -- we recognize the Demiguise, Niffler, and Erumpent among them.

CLOSE ON THE DOORBELL as it rings to signal the entrance of a new customer.

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.

JACOB: "Here you go -- don't forget this -- enjoy."

Jacob, serving, is very happy, his shop full to bursting with customers.

FEMALE CUSTOMER (examining the little pastries): "Where do you get your ideas from, Mr. Kowalski?"

The bell tinkles again.

JACOB: "Hey, Henry -- storage, all right? Thanks, pal."

INT. JACOB'S BAKERY, LOWER EAST SIDE -- DAY