The Briarwood Bakery was already humming with warmth and activity by the time the first rays of morning light filtered through the frost-lined windows. The scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and caramelized sugar filled the air, curling into every corner of the shop like a sweet promise of the treats to come.

Inside, the kitchen was alive with the gentle clatter of mixing bowls and the rhythmic tap of a wooden spoon against the rim of a pot. Marigold, the head baker, a golden-furred rabbit with a dusting of flour on her nose, stood at the large wooden counter, carefully rolling out a batch of shortbread dough.

“You know, Marigold,” said Fern, her apprentice, a young hare with soft gray fur, “I think this might be our busiest Valentine’s Day yet. Did you see the order list? It’s at least twice as long as last year’s.”

Marigold smiled, her ears twitching with quiet amusement. “That’s because last year, we ran out of strawberry glaze by noon. People still haven’t forgiven me for that.”

Fern chuckled, but before she could respond, the kitchen door swung open, and Crispin, their delivery runner, bounded in. He was a stocky brown rabbit with a bit too much energy for so early in the morning. “Alright! I’ve just finished packing the first round of deliveries. Tell me what needs to go out next!”

Marigold wiped her paws on her apron and nodded toward the stack of order slips. “We need the heart cakes done soon. Those are the centerpiece of today’s orders.”

Fern, setting down her whisk, looked up with a frown. “Wait… what pan are we using for those?”

Marigold blinked. “The heart-shaped one, obviously.”

A pause.

Then Fern’s ears flattened slightly. “You mean the heart-shaped cake pan that I haven’t seen anywhere all morning?”

A hush fell over the kitchen. Marigold set down her rolling pin very carefully, as if it might shatter under the weight of her sudden realization.

“…You’re sure it’s not on the shelf?”

“I checked twice.”

“The drying rack?”

“Empty.”

“The storage cupboard?”

“Would I be asking if I’d already found it in the storage cupboard?”

Crispin tilted his head. “Okay, not to be dramatic, but if we don’t have that pan, what exactly are we going to tell the dozen or so villagers who ordered heart cakes?”

Marigold froze. The weight of that hit her like a sack of sugar to the face.

The bakery depended on heart cakes for Valentine’s Day. The lovebirds in town ordered them for their sweethearts, the school kits saved up their acorns to buy them as friendship gifts, and Mrs. Thimble, the elderly hedgehog, had been requesting the same chocolate-raspberry heart cake for twenty-seven years.

Marigold exhaled sharply. “Alright. Nobody panic.”

Fern’s ears twitched. “You’re the only one panicking.”

“I’m not panicking,” Marigold snapped, absolutely panicking. “I’m just… gathering my thoughts.”

Crispin, who had been dramatically rooting through a bag of flour as if he might magically find the pan inside, threw up his paws. “Where could it have gone? It’s not like a cake pan just walks away.”

“Maybe it got misplaced yesterday when we were cleaning?” Fern suggested.

“Or,” Crispin said, eyes narrowing, “maybe it was stolen.”

Marigold shot him a look. “Crispin, who would steal a cake pan?”

“I don’t know! Some kind of dessert-loving bandit?”

Fern sighed. “We’re wasting time. Let’s just look again. It has to be here somewhere.”

The three of them tore through the bakery in a flurry of desperation. Fern dug through the cabinets, tossing out muffin tins and tart pans. Crispin practically climbed into the pantry, emerging coated in oat flour. Marigold checked every single drawer—twice.

Nothing.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Fern let out a frustrated huff and threw herself into a chair, rubbing her temples. “This is ridiculous. It has to be here. We had it last night. There’s no way it just disappeared.”

Crispin leaned against the counter, ears drooping. “Should we just… use round cakes and tell people they’re symbolic hearts?”

Marigold groaned and flopped forward against the counter, resting her forehead on her folded arms. “Maybe we should just—”

And then she froze.

Because right there, in her direct line of sight, was a faint metallic glint.

She lifted her head slowly. Carefully. And there, sitting plain as day, tucked just behind the flour jar on the main shelf, was the missing heart-shaped cake pan.

Marigold stared at it.

For a long time.

She inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Then, in the calmest voice she could manage, she said, “Crispin.”

Crispin perked up. “Yeah?”

Marigold didn’t move, still looking at the pan. “When you were putting away the flour last night, did you—by any chance—shove the jar in front of the cake pan?”

Crispin blinked. Then followed her gaze. Then winced.

“Oh,” he said, ears flattening. “Uh. Huh. That’s… unfortunate.”

Marigold closed her eyes. Counted to five. Opened them again.

Fern looked between them, then sighed and plucked the pan from the shelf. “Crisis averted. Let’s get these cakes in the oven before we all lose our minds.”

Within minutes, the kitchen was back in motion, the batter poured, the ovens warmed, the scent of sweet, golden sponge cakes filling the air. The relief was palpable.

Crispin, still standing off to the side, cleared his throat. “Well… at least it was somewhere convenient?”

Marigold shot him a look.

And then—to her own surprise—she laughed. Because at the end of the day, this was just how things went.

Crispin had worked at the bakery for years, and though he could be forgetful, there was something oddly endearing about it. The way he always brought her a cup of tea when he knew she was stressed. The way he made awful puns just to get Fern to roll her eyes. The way he always—without fail—remembered Mrs. Thimble’s order before she even walked through the door.

Marigold shook her head, smiling to herself as she smoothed the top of the cake batter with her spatula.

Crispin caught the look. Paused. Then gave her a lopsided grin.

“Next year,” he said, “I promise I’ll keep track of the pan.”

Marigold snorted. “You absolutely won’t.”

And yet…

She didn’t really mind.