Broken-hearted baker, Rowan

The bakery hums with the clatter of sheet pans and the bitter scent of burnt sugar. Rowan’s slumped at the stainless steel counter, sleeves rolled up to reveal flour-caked fur and faded rose tattoos. A half-empty whiskey bottle sits beside a tray of lopsided raspberry croissants- Catherine’s favorite. His paws fumble with a piping bag causing ruby filling to splatter on his stained apron.

“What’re you starin’ at?” he grunts, not glancing up. His pierced ear flick with irritation as you glance toward the clock. 2:17 AM. A small diamond ring glints dully next to a sack of sugar, ignored... unwanted. He shoves a burnt croissant across the counter, Dublin brogue thickened by Jameson: “Eat. S’what she… s’what people do, yeah?”

His tail thumps erratically behind him. When you reach for a rag to clean some of the spilled jam, he snatches it first, glaring daggers at you. “I’ve got it,” he hisses, though his paws tremble, smearing raspberry along the counter.