Días Del Amor

A Valentines Cozy Mystery

NOTE: You may also listen to the audiobook version of this story on YouTube.

Author’s Note:

For my next short story project, I wanted to embrace the warmth and charm of Valentine’s Day, but with a fresh twist—so instead of an action-packed adventure, I decided to try my hand at a cozy mystery with a touch of romance!

Since I’ve been learning Spanish, I thought it would be fun to immerse this story in the atmosphere of a quaint, Mexican-style pueblo, filled with vibrant culture, delicious pastries, and, of course, a little bit of magic. Though the setting evokes the charm of a real village, the inhabitants are entirely fantastical—from shaggy bugbears, to tinkering gnomes, to elegant tree nymphs, each adding their own flavor to the tale.

I hope this story brings a little warmth, mystery, and sweetness to your day. Espero que lo disfrutes! (I hope you enjoy it!) 💕

***

A slender, inquisitive figure cloaked in a patchwork leather duster wandered into the pueblo's central park. His sleek black feathers, meticulously preened, gleamed faintly in the sunlight, while a sharp, polished beak gave him an air of precision and alertness. A wide-brimmed hat, weathered and frayed at the edges, sat atop his head, shading his amber eyes that gleamed with a hawk-like intensity as they scanned the vibrant surroundings. His belt was lined with pouches and small tools, each one carefully fastened, and a crossbow slung across his back completed his imposing silhouette. Shadows stretched beneath the afternoon sun as he took in the colorful market stalls and the towering trees scattered throughout the landscape.

Around him, villagers bustled about, hanging up vibrant decorations. Dwarves meticulously crafted heart-shaped lanterns out of metal and glass, while elves draped colorful garlands between the trees, their delicate fingers working with floral precision. Gnomes carried bundles of vibrantly colored papel picado, intricately cut paper decorations, and orcs, with surprising gentleness, set up large wooden booths painted in reds and pinks. The air was filled with cheerful chatter and the scent of sweet confections being prepared for the festival.

Near the edge of the bustling central park, a short, elderly halfling woman stood, her expression twisted into a perpetual scowl. Her white-streaked brown hair was pulled back into a severe bun, giving her an air of stern authority. Clad in an earth-toned dress that seemed to blend with the ground beneath her feet, she clutched a well-worn, knobby cane in her small but surprisingly strong hands. Every so often, she raised it and shook it at the nearest group of merrymakers.

"Keep that racket down!" Her voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unyielding. The passersby would glance her way, some chuckling under their breath while others quickened their pace to avoid her wrath.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched a trio of gnomes hang vibrant decorations across a nearby tree. "Those decorations are too gaudy! What's wrong with plain colors?" she grumbled, though her gaze lingered a bit longer on the intricate designs than she would ever admit.

A pair of young elves, arms laden with baskets of freshly baked pastries, hesitated as they neared her. "Go on, move along! Those pastries won’t deliver themselves," she barked, though she couldn't help but take in a deep breath, savoring the scent of cinnamon and sugar that wafted from their baskets.

"Every year it gets louder," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "No respect for peace and quiet." She tapped her cane against the cobblestones for emphasis. A tiny chihuahua at her feet, barked in agreement, adding his own voice to the chorus of complaints.

"You tell them, Chispas!" she growled.

She turned her gaze toward the heart-shaped lanterns being meticulously crafted by a group of dwarves. "Waste of good materials," she mumbled, though one might have caught the faintest flicker of nostalgia in her eyes if they looked closely enough.

Children darted past her legs, chasing each other with ribbons streaming behind them. She shook her cane at them too. "Watch where you're going! You'll trip someone up!" But as they scampered away laughing, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before quickly vanishing under another scowl.

Even as she stood there grumbling about the noise and commotion, something softened in her gaze when she thought no one was looking. A quick flicker of memory—warm kitchens and laughter long past—flitted across her mind before being buried under layers of gruffness once more.

As more villagers passed by with smiles and greetings that went unanswered or were met with a curt nod at best, she maintained her vigilant post by the park's edge. The celebration continued to unfold around her in all its chaotic glory while she kept shaking that cane and muttering under her breath about how things used to be quieter.

Chispas barked once more at an approaching figure—a gnome tinkerer carrying a bundle of herbs—who seemed utterly unbothered by the canine’s ferocity or his owner's stern glare.

The newcomer halted momentarily, tilting his head to savor the alluring aroma of freshly baked bread permeating the air. Guided by the scent, he arrived at the foot of an enormous, ancient tree. Its gnarled and twisted bark suggested an air of ageless wisdom. A sign dangled from one of its low-hanging branches: "Sabores Encantados (Enchanted Flavors)." The door, intricately carved into the trunk, invited him in.

Pushing the door open, he stepped into a cozy interior nestled within the heart of the ancient oak. Warmth enveloped him immediately, a contrast to the cool outside air. The rustic wooden tables and chairs were seamlessly grown from the tree’s interior, their surfaces etched with intricate leaf patterns that seemed almost alive. Shelves carved into the very walls of the tree brimmed with freshly baked bread, pastries, and cakes, each one exuding an aroma that was rich and intoxicating. Above, softly glowing lanterns crafted from hollowed gourds hung from the ceiling, casting a gentle, amber light throughout the space.

Near the entrance, a small seating area featured cushioned benches covered in vibrant fabrics, embroidered with floral motifs. To the left, a display counter showcased an array of colorful confections, from sugar-dusted pastries to fruit-filled tarts. Behind the counter, an alcove led to a bustling kitchen where small, nimble figures with sun-weathered skin and neatly trimmed beards worked diligently, their hands deftly stirring pots and shaping dough with practiced ease.

In one corner, a group of slender villagers with elegantly pointed ears sat at a round table, sipping hot chocolate and chatting in soft tones, their voices blending harmoniously with the faint sound of music playing in the background. At another table, a stout figure with a thick, braided beard and hands rough from years of craftsmanship meticulously carved intricate heart designs into small wooden trinkets, occasionally glancing up at the lively scene around him. A towering figure with broad shoulders and moss-green skin stood near the window, carefully arranging a basket of fresh flowers to brighten the space. His strong hands, despite their size and calloused surface, moved with surprising gentleness, ensuring each bloom was perfectly placed.

Overhead was a cozy loft ingeniously built into the sides of the ancient oak. A sign displayed the words, Salón Con Dosel, Canopy Lounge, inscribed in elegant, swirling script. A set of stairs made from logs spiraled gracefully up the interior wall, their polished surfaces gleaming softly in the ambient light. Soft cushions and low tables filled the space, each carefully placed to create an inviting atmosphere perfect for quiet moments of reflection or intimate conversations. The air was filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird, adding to the serene, almost magical ambiance that seemed to embrace every guest who ventured up to this lofty retreat. Among the patrons, a tall, crimson-skinned figure with curved ebony horns sat near the railing, absorbed in a leather-bound book. His molten gold eyes flicked back and forth across the pages, occasionally glancing down at the bustling shop below, a faint, thoughtful smile playing on his lips as if he were content simply being part of the vibrant scene.

The entire shop was abuzz with life, each villager contributing to the festive atmosphere in their own unique way, as the scent of baked goods and the warmth of the lanterns made the space feel like a true gathering place for the community.

He approached the counter which was manned by a lithe woman with green hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of ivy. Her sparkly yellow eyes lit up when she saw him.

“Welcome to Sabores Encantados! What can I get for you?” Her voice had a melodic lilt to it.

“Coffee,” his voice emerged in a perfect imitation of her own.

She laughed, her voice light and delicate, reminiscent of wind chimes swaying in a gentle breeze, carrying a soothing, melodic quality that seemed to brighten the room. She poured him a steaming cup of coffee and handed it over with a smile. “I have not met a Kenku in quite a few years. What brings you to our little village? My name is Mariposa, I'm the owner of this bakery.”

“Sorry for mimicking your voice, old habit.”

"No problem."

"My name is, well, unpronounceable to most, a series of sharp clicks and whistles that few outside my kind can replicate. Everyone just calls me Scratch."

He took a sip of the coffee—it was rich and smooth, the warmth spreading through him like a gentle ember. “I'm just a bounty hunter passing through. Is there a festival or something going on?” he asked, tilting his head in curiosity, the movement birdlike and precise. An unconscious chirp escaped his beak, a sound that mirrored the lively atmosphere around him, blending seamlessly with the shop's bustling energy.

“Yes!” Mariposa’s eyes sparkled even more, catching the glow of the lanterns overhead. “It’s our annual celebration of love—Dias Del Amor. Days of Love. Imagine a week-long festival filled with vibrant music, couples dancing beneath strings of glowing lanterns, and the air rich with the scents of roasted meats and sweet pastries," she beamed, her face glowing with delight. "There are games for children, storytelling sessions under the stars, and enough food to feast on for days.”

“Sounds lively,” Scratch mimicked the clinking of coins as he fished some out to pay for his drink.

“What kind of food?” he asked.

“Oh, everything you can imagine—roasted meats, fresh fruits and vegetables, pastries like these,” she gestured to the array of baked goods behind her.

The Kenku nodded thoughtfully, amber eyes taking in every detail of the bakery—the woven baskets filled with golden loaves of bread, the delicate flowers decorating each table, even the small window that let in just enough sunlight to create a warm glow inside.

He took another sip of coffee, savoring it as he listened to Mariposa describe more about the festival activities—games for children, storytelling sessions under the stars, and lanterns that would light up the night sky.

The door swung open, admitting a small figure who walked in with confidence. His wide-brimmed hat was cocked at a jaunty angle. His poncho, adorned with vivid stripes of red, blue, and gold, moved with his steps, and his tool-laden satchel jingled like a pouch of coins. His olive complexion was accentuated by a neatly trimmed, silver-streaked beard, and his hazel eyes sparkled with excitement as he surveyed the familiar bakery.

“¡Buenos días, Mariposa! ¿Qué problema tenemos hoy?” the gnome called, his voice lilting like a melody as he swung his satchel to the floor.

Mariposa turned and smiled. “Good morning, Diego! The chairs are misbehaving again.”

Diego clapped his hands together, a grin spreading across his face. “¡Ah, estas sillas traviesas! Siempre necesitan mi toque mágico. ¡Pero no temas, porque Diego ha llegado para salvar el día!”

Mariposa turned to Scratch. "Do you speak Spanish?"

The kenku shook his head. "No, sorry, I do not."

"I'll translate for you then. He says these naughty chairs always need his magic,” Mariposa translated, laughing. “But not to worry—Diego is here to save the day.”

It was then that Diego noticed Scratch, who had been quietly observing the exchange. Diego’s hazel eyes widened with delight, and he stepped closer, his sturdy boots thudding lightly against the wooden floor.

“¡Un pájaro parlante! ¡Qué maravilla!” Diego exclaimed, his hands flying up in excitement. He tipped his hat and bowed low, his beard brushing his chest. “Soy Diego, a tu servicio.”

Mariposa chuckled, her sparkly yellow eyes darting between the two. “He thinks that a talking bird is quite the marvel. Diego, this is Scratch. He’s new in town. He's a kenku, not a bird. Scratch, this is Diego, the best tinkerer in Valle Dulche.”

Scratch tilted his head, his amber eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the gnome. Then, in a perfect mimicry of Diego’s earlier exclamation, he repeated, “¡Un pájaro parlante! ¡Qué maravilla!”

Diego burst into laughter, his entire frame shaking. “¡Increíble! Este amigo tiene talento, Mariposa. Me gusta mucho.”

Mariposa grinned as she translated. “He says you’re incredible, Scratch. He likes you already.”

"He understands English?" the kenku asked.

"Yes. Mostly. He just isn't very good at speaking it."

Scratch straightened, clicking his beak thoughtfully before bowing with exaggerated elegance. “Scratch. At your service,” he said in his own gravelly voice.

Diego returned the bow with equal flair. “¡Encantado, amigo mío! Creo que vamos a llevarnos muy bien.”

“He says it’s a pleasure to meet you, and he thinks you’ll get along very well,” Mariposa added with a warm smile.

Diego turned back to the chairs, his hands already moving with practiced ease as he examined the nearest one. “Vamos a arreglar estas sillas,” he said, pulling a small screwdriver from his satchel. His fingers, though calloused, moved with the precision of an artist, tightening screws and adjusting joints with a quiet intensity.

Scratch watched intently, occasionally clicking his beak in time with Diego’s movements. When Diego held up a particularly stubborn screw and muttered something under his breath, Scratch mimicked the sound of Diego’s jingling tools. Diego looked up in surprise, then let out another hearty laugh.

“¡Este amigo es un tesoro!” Diego said, grinning at Mariposa.

“He says you’re a treasure,” Mariposa told Scratch with a laugh.

As Diego worked, he narrated his process in rapid Spanish, waving a hand dramatically every time he found another problem. Mariposa translated bits and pieces for Scratch, who seemed fascinated by the gnome’s energy and expressiveness.

By the time the chairs were repaired, the bakery was filled with laughter and the sound of Diego and Scratch’s unlikely harmony. As he packed up his tools, Diego turned to Scratch with a wide grin.

“Scratch, eres bienvenido en mi taller cualquier día. Me encantaría escuchar más de tus sonidos,” he said, tipping his hat once more.

“He says you’re welcome at his workshop anytime and that he’d love to hear more of your sounds,” Mariposa translated.

Scratch clicked his beak thoughtfully before mimicking Diego’s voice perfectly: “Eres bienvenido en mi taller cualquier día.” He added a soft whistle at the end for flair.

Diego chuckled as he hoisted his satchel. “Hasta luego, amigos míos. Y Mariposa—cuida esas sillas (take care of those chairs).”

As the gnome disappeared out the door, his jaunty humming trailing behind him, Mariposa turned to Scratch with a fond smile. “I think you’ve made quite an impression.”

Scratch tilted his head, imitating Diego’s tune as he clicked his beak in agreement.

The next day, Scratch walked back into the bakery, his keen eyes taking in the warm, inviting atmosphere. The scent of freshly baked bread and pastries enveloped him like a comforting embrace. Mariposa, with her green hair cascading down her back and her sparkly yellow eyes focused on her task, was humming softly while pulling a tray of golden-brown pastries out of the oven. She carefully stacked them on a plate, her delicate hands moving with practiced grace. Each pastry seemed to glisten, as if dusted with a touch of magic, and the air was thick with the sweet aroma of cinnamon and vanilla.

“Scratch!” She exclaimed with a smile. “You are back today!”

“I came in for some delicious scones and more of your delightful coffee,” Scratch said, his beak clicking softly with anticipation. His amber eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm as he watched Mariposa’s delicate hands continue their dance over the pastries. The warmth of the bakery, combined with the scent of freshly ground coffee beans, made him feel a rare sense of comfort and belonging in this new town.

“Are you sticking around for a few days?”

“Yes. I thought that I might pause in my journey and enjoy your Days of Love festival.”

The bakery owner gave him another big smile. “That’s great. It starts the day after tomorrow and I’m sure that you’ll love it, no pun intended.”

As Scratch found a seat at a corner table, the door flew open, and a diverse group of children poured in. Their faces alight with excitement, they hurried to the counter, their voices merging into a symphony of youthful energy.

“Mariposa! Mariposa! Do you have any of your magical treats today?” A human boy with a mop of curly hair leaned over the counter, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Yeah! The ones that change colors when you eat them!” added an elven girl, her delicate features alight with eagerness.

Mariposa laughed, the sound like tinkling bells. “Oh, little ones, you know you have to wait until the festival. I promise there will be plenty for everyone.”

The children groaned in unison but quickly shifted their attention to Scratch, who was observing the scene with curiosity. One of the smaller children, a dwarven boy with bright red hair and freckles, pointed at Scratch.

“Who’s that?” he asked, his voice full of wonder.

Scratch tilted his head and clicked his beak softly. “Scratch,” he said, mimicking the sound of quill on parchment. “At your service.”

The children gasped in amazement. They had never seen a Kenku before. The dwarven boy took a tentative step closer.

“Can you really sound like anything?” he asked.

“Anything,” Scratch replied, this time imitating the sound of the boy's voice.

The children erupted into laughter and clapped their hands in delight. They began bombarding him with requests—sounds of animals, snippets of songs, even the clanging of blacksmith hammers. Scratch obliged each one, his mimicry flawless and entertaining.

From the kitchen emerged Titi Rosa, her towering frame and grizzled fur marking her as an imposing figure despite her gentle demeanor. The years had etched lines of wisdom into her face, and her eyes twinkled with a warmth that belied her formidable past. She wiped her hands on her apron, the fabric worn and stained from years of use, and looked at the children with mock sternness, her lips twitching around her lower tusks as if suppressing a smile.

The children, well acquainted with Titi Rosa's playful nature, giggled in anticipation of her next move. Her apron, once a vibrant red, was now faded to a muted hue, a testament to countless batches of dough kneaded and endless trays of pastries baked. Rosa's presence in the kitchen was as soothing as the aroma of freshly baked bread that permeated the air. She crossed her arms over her chest, feigning a serious expression.

"Now, who has been causing all this ruckus?" she asked, her voice carrying the rich timbre of years spent telling stories and singing lullabies. The children exchanged glances, their eyes wide with innocent mischief. They knew well that Rosa's stern facade was but an act.

“Ay, niños! Leave the poor man alone,” she said in her thick Mexican accent, though her eyes twinkled with affection. “Andale! Out you go!”

The children giggled and scampered toward the door but not before each gave Mariposa a quick hug or wave. The elven girl turned back at the last moment.

“We’ll be back tomorrow for those treats!” she called out as they disappeared through the door.

Mariposa shook her head with a smile. “They’re so full of energy.”

Scratch nodded, still amused by the encounter. “Quite charming,” he echoed in perfect imitation of Rosa’s accent, earning another round of laughter from both Mariposa and Rosa herself.

Scratch, still chuckling from his mimicry, leaned back in his chair and turned his keen eyes to Titi Rosa. “You know,” he began, his voice thoughtful, “I’ve heard stories about bugbears. They’re supposed to be ferocious, terrifying even. I never imagined I’d meet one like you.”

Titi Rosa’s laughter rumbled like distant thunder. “Ah, those stories,” she said, waving a large, furry hand dismissively. “They do love to exaggerate.”

Mariposa, still busy arranging pastries on the counter, looked up with a knowing smile. “Scratch, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. Auntie Rosa did come from the wildlands, yes. She spent years searching for treasure and fighting monsters.”

“Years,” Rosa echoed, her eyes distant as if recalling battles long past.

“But,” Mariposa continued, her voice light and reassuring, “she retired years ago and came to work for me. Now she’s the best helper I could ask for.”

Scratch tilted his head, considering this new information. “Retired? From fighting monsters?” His beak clicked in curiosity.

“Sí,” Rosa confirmed with a nod. “A long time ago. Now I prefer baking bread to bashing heads.”

Mariposa laughed softly at that. “She has quite the story, doesn’t she?”

“It’s true,” Rosa admitted with a grin that revealed sharp teeth but carried no menace. “But now I use my strength to knead dough and carry flour sacks.”

Scratch’s amber eyes sparkled with newfound respect and fascination. He had never imagined such a transition was possible for someone with a past as fierce as the bugbear’s seemed to be. The image of her wielding a sword or battling monsters was hard to reconcile with the gentle giant who now helped run a bakery.

“Guess you can’t judge someone by the stories alone,” Scratch remarked.

“Exactly,” Mariposa said with a nod. “Everyone has layers, hidden depths.”

The old bugbear winked at Scratch, her playful nature shining through. “And who knows? Maybe one day you’ll retire and no one will believe that you used to be a bounty hunter.”

Scratch nodded thoughtfully as he reached for another scone.

The bakery buzzed with life around them—customers coming in for their morning treats, Mariposa’s hums blending seamlessly with the clinking of cups and plates. Scratch felt a sense of peace wash over him as he sat there among newfound friends in this strange yet welcoming pueblo.

Mariposa excused herself, her light steps echoing softly as she moved towards her office at the back of the bakery. Scratch watched her go, his keen eyes taking in every detail of the bustling bakery.

Rosa turned to Scratch, her large frame casting a comforting shadow over the table. “Bueno, Scratch, what brings you to our little pueblo?” Her voice held a note of genuine curiosity.

Scratch tilted his head, considering how much to share. “I’m a bounty hunter,” he said simply. “Been following a trail that led me here.”

“Ah, bounty hunter.” Rosa’s eyes twinkled with interest. “Must be an exciting life.”

“Exciting, yes. But also lonely sometimes,” Scratch admitted, his beak clicking thoughtfully. “You meet many people, but it’s hard to stay in one place.”

Rosa nodded, her expression understanding. “I know that feeling well. Spent many years on the road myself before I found this place.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden sound of hurried footsteps. Mariposa rushed back into the room, her face pale and eyes wide with distress.

“Mariposa?” Titi Rosa's voice filled with concern.

“My office,” Mariposa said breathlessly. “It’s a mess! My recipes—someone’s been in there!”

Scratch and Titi Rosa exchanged worried glances before quickly following Mariposa to her office. The small room was indeed in disarray; papers scattered everywhere, drawers left open, and the air thick with tension.

“Why would someone do this?” Mariposa's voice trembled as she bent down to pick up one of her magical recipes from the floor.

Scratch’s sharp eyes scanned the room carefully. “Could be theft,” he suggested, stepping over some scattered parchment.

“But nothing seems to be missing,” Mariposa replied, gathering more papers into her arms.

The bugbear crouched down beside Mariposa, her large hands gently helping to collect the fallen recipes. “Maybe someone was trying to steal them but got interrupted,” she offered thoughtfully.

Mariposa’s eyes widened at the suggestion, fear and confusion warring on her delicate features. “But who would do such a thing?”

“I can help you find out,” Scratch said firmly, his amber eyes locking onto Mariposa’s sparkly yellow ones. “I’m good at uncovering secrets and tracking people down.”

Mariposa looked at him gratefully, a glimmer of hope in her eyes amidst the chaos surrounding them. Rosa pulled her into a comforting embrace as tears streamed down the wood nymph's face.

"Mariposita, Mariposita," the elderly bugbear crooned. "All will be ok."

Back in the dining room, Scratch moved with the quiet grace of his kind, his eyes flitting to the front door. He examined it meticulously, running a feathered hand along the edges and hinges.

“No signs of forced entry,” he declared.

They gathered around the table again. Rosa set steaming cups of coffee and an array of fresh pastries before them. Scratch picked up a cup, savoring the aroma before taking a sip.

"Who might be responsible for this?" he asked, breaking the silence that had settled over them.

Mariposa shook her head, her green hair shimmering under the warm light. "I have no idea."

Rosa, her brow furrowed in thought, tapped a finger against her chin. "Tal vez… Maybe Celedon," she said slowly. "He’s always looking down his nose at us."

Mariposa frowned, doubt clouding her eyes. "Celedon? He’s a snob, sure, but he's harmless."

Scratch tilted his head, considering Rosa’s suggestion. "Harmless or not, I’ll talk with him," he said decisively. "Any other suspects?"

They fell silent again, each lost in their own thoughts. The only sounds were the clinking of cups and the distant hum of the bakery’s daily activities.

Then Scratch's eyes brightened with recollection. "What about that old halfling woman I saw when I came into town? She looked... unhappy."

Mariposa exchanged a glance with Rosa. "Señora Ramona?" Mariposa said with a sigh. "She’s always complaining about the noise and traffic around here."

Rosa nodded in agreement. "She’s been vocal about wanting us to move or quiet down."

Scratch leaned back in his chair, tapping a claw thoughtfully on the table. "I think I should check her out too."

He took another sip of his coffee. “Anything else?”

Everyone was silent for a few beats and then Rosa perked up. “We could ask Diego if he saw anything last night. His house and workshop are next door.”

“That’s a good idea,” Scratch chirped. “I‘ll need a translator though.”

The furry old adventurer smiled. The smile would have been rather unsettling, if Scratch didn’t already know her. “I’d be happy to help with that.”

The decision made, they returned to their coffee and pastries with a renewed sense of purpose. The mystery hung over them like a dark cloud, but Scratch felt a flicker of determination ignite within him.

"We’ll get to the bottom of this," he promised, amber eyes gleaming with resolve.

Mariposa smiled weakly, grateful for his help despite the uncertainty that lay ahead.

Rosa patted Mariposa's hand gently. “We’ll sort this out together.”

And so, they sat, sharing warmth and comfort in their small circle while outside, Valle Dulche continued its vibrant hum around them.

Rosa and Scratch made their way to Diego’s workshop, a colorful building nestled between two larger structures. Diego's penchant for bright hues showed in the painted door frame and the collection of flowers blooming in window boxes. The sign above the door read “Trastos y Trucos (Gizmos & Tricks)” in flowing script.

As they stepped inside, Rosa had to duck her head slightly to avoid bumping it on the door frame. Her large bulk moved with surprising grace, given the tight quarters. Scratch followed closely, his amber eyes wide with curiosity, taking in the new environment. The scent of wood shavings and metal polish filled the air, a testament to the industrious nature of the place.

The workshop was a marvel of organized chaos. Shelves lined with jars of screws, bolts, and gears crowded the walls, each container meticulously labeled in Diego’s flowing script. Half-finished gadgets and curious contraptions occupied every available surface, from the tops of cabinets to the floor beneath the workbenches. A large wooden table dominated the center of the room, its surface a jumbled sea of blueprints, tools, and a variety of odd-looking parts that hinted at Diego’s boundless creativity and technical prowess.

Diego was perched on a stool at the table, tinkering with a small mechanical bird that flapped its wings sporadically. He looked up as they entered, his face lighting up with a warm smile.

“¡Hola, amigos! ¿Qué los trae por aquí?” Diego greeted them, his hands still busy adjusting tiny screws on his project.

“Hola, Diego,” Rosa replied, her voice kind but serious. “We need your help.”

Scratch gave a polite nod. “Someone broke into the bakery last night,” he said, cutting straight to the point.

Diego’s eyes widened with concern. “¿Qué pasó? ¿Alguien está herido?”

“He wants to know what happened and if anyone is hurt,” Rosa translated.

“No one got hurt,” Scratch assured him. “But someone tried to break in. We were hoping you might have seen or heard something.”

Diego frowned thoughtfully, setting down his tools. “Anoche cuando regresaba de la taberna, vi a alguien trepando por las ramas.” He paused, gesturing towards the window that overlooked the bakery.

“He says last night when he was coming back from the pub, he saw someone climbing up in the branches,” Rosa translated.

“Could you tell what they looked like?” Scratch asked eagerly.

“Era difícil ver en la oscuridad,” Diego continued with a shrug. “Pero creo que era alguien pequeño y ágil.”

“He says it was hard to see in the dark but thinks it was someone small and agile,” Rosa relayed.

Scratch tilted his head, processing this new information. “Did you notice anything else?”

Diego shook his head slowly. “No, nada más específico. Pensé que era solo un niño travieso.”

“No, nothing else specific,” Rosa echoed. “He thought it was just a mischievous child.”

Scratch sighed but nodded gratefully. "Thank you for your help."

“De nada,” Diego said with a smile that quickly turned into a concerned frown again. "Si necesitas algo más, házmelo saber."

"He says if we need anything else, we should let him know," Rosa added.

Rosa patted Diego’s shoulder gently as they made their way out of the workshop.

"Sounds like someone was among the branches," Scratch mused, finishing his thought with an imitation of branches rubbing against one another.

"It would seem so," Rosa replied.

"Let's go talk to this Elven baker, Celedon," Scratch said.

They walked across the village green, the soft grass cushioning their steps, and then navigated down a narrow, cobblestone alley that led to another street. As they approached, the transformation in the air was palpable, shifting from the bustling, earthy charm of the marketplace to an atmosphere of refined elegance.

La Dulcería Celestial, the Heavenly Confectionery, stood as a beacon of sophistication amidst the quaint village buildings. Its pristine, white facade gleamed in the sunlight, contrasting sharply with the rustic charm of its surroundings. The scent of delicate pastries, infused with hints of vanilla and almond, wafted through the air, enticing passersby to step into this elegant sanctuary. Gilded signage and intricately carved woodwork adorned the entrance, hinting at the exquisite creations that awaited within. Large, arched windows displayed an array of pastries that looked almost too perfect to be real, each one meticulously arranged on polished marble trays.

Celedon’s bakery was a temple of pristine beauty and order, with its gleaming countertops and impeccably clean floors. Even from the outside, one could sense the precision and care that went into every detail. The door, framed in polished brass, swung open with a gentle chime, inviting them into a world where every crumb had its place, and every confection whispered sophistication.

The bell above the door gave a sharp chime as Scratch and Rosa stepped into the rival bakery. The scent of warm bread and honey filled the air, but there was a sharpness beneath it—cloves, maybe, or something more bitter. The shop itself was neat and tidy, almost too perfect, with rows of delicate pastries lined up like soldiers behind glass.

From the back room, a tall, thin elf emerged, smoothing out his pristine apron. His silvery hair was tied back in a severe knot, and his eyes flicked over the visitors with immediate disapproval.

Celedon’s lips pursed when he saw Rosa. His expression turned to stone.

“Well,” he said, voice clipped. “This is a surprise.”

“Buenas tardes, Celedon,” Rosa greeted, undeterred. “This is Scratch. Switch to English for him, por favor.”

Celedon sighed as if the request were exhausting. “Fine,” he said, dragging out the word. He turned to Scratch, looking him up and down like one might inspect a misshapen loaf of bread. “What do you want?”

Scratch ruffled his feathers and met the elf’s gaze. “There was a break-in at Sabores Encantados last night.”

Celedon’s brows lifted, then smoothed back down into indifference. “And?”

“And we’re looking into it.” Scratch tilted his head, watching for a reaction. “You know anything about it?”

A cold laugh slipped from Celedon’s lips. “Please. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that place.” He dusted an imaginary speck of flour from his sleeve. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

Scratch clicked his beak. “Where were you last night?”

Celedon’s expression flickered for half a second, just a breath of hesitation before he recovered. “At home,” he said smoothly. “Alone. Reading.”

“Reading what?” Scratch asked.

Celedon’s eyes narrowed. “A book.”

Scratch let the silence stretch between them, waiting, but Celedon didn’t elaborate.

Rosa chuffed out a breath around her tusks. “Let's go, Scratch.” She turned toward the door.

As they stepped outside, Scratch’s sharp eyes caught something. Celedon was walking stiffly, favoring his right leg. A limp.

Scratch nudged Rosa. “He’s limping.”

Rosa barely glanced back. “He’s always had that limp.”

Scratch frowned.

He turned back, stepping inside once more. Celedon looked up, irritated.

“What now?”

Scratch pointed to his leg. “May I ask what happened to your leg?”

Celedon’s jaw tightened. “None of your business.”

Scratch didn’t move. Just stared, unblinking.

The elf exhaled, nostrils flaring. “I fell. Years ago. Hiking in the mountains.”

Scratch gazed at him for a few brief moments.

“Right,” he said, turning back toward the door. “I'm so sorry to hear that. Enjoy your book.”

He went back outside to join Rosa in the street.

"I don't think that he could have been climbing up in that tree with that bad leg," he stated pensively.

"Agreed," harrumphed Rosa. "I hadn't thought of that before. He is a Chueco, a cripple, not just in body but also in soul."

Scratch and Rosa moved down the bustling street, the pueblo alive with the clamor of merchants and children playing. Rosa's broad shoulders cut a path through the crowd, her calm presence a steadying force.

“Ramona,” Rosa began, her voice low. “She’ll give us an earful about Sabores Encantados before she says anything useful.”

Scratch clicked his beak in amusement. “Can’t wait.”

They turned a corner, entering the quieter park area. Trees stretched their limbs skyward, providing shade from the hot sun. Birds chirped, and the scent of flowers filled the air.

Up in a tree, a lithe figure with a slender build perched on a sturdy branch, his back pressed firmly against the rough bark of the trunk. The dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a patchwork of light and shadow across his face. A book lay open in his lap, its pages flickering gently in the breeze. His fingers moved meticulously along the lines of text, absorbing every word with focused intent. Below him, his tail hung and swayed softly, occasionally brushing against the leaves, adding a gentle rustling to the symphony of nature around him.

“Hey, haven't I seen him at the bakery?” Scratch asked, tilting his head to get a better look.

Rosa nodded. “Sí, that is Lucian. He likes to hang out at the bakery sometimes, reading his books up in the loft. Very shy, doesn’t say much.”

"Tell me more about him."

"He’s a jeweler. But a gringo. Recently arrived from up north. He makes very pretty things. Not just any shiny rocks, no—his work, it’s got soul. Pure silver, twisted up all fancy like vines, little bits of turquoise that shine like the sky after the rain, and gold so fine it could’ve come from the hands of the ancients themselves. Every piece? It’s got a story, verdad? Like he’s stitching the past into rings and necklaces, bringing the old ways to life, so anyone who wears ‘em carries a bit of our pueblo’s heart with ‘em."

As they approached, Lucian glanced up, his molten gold eyes meeting theirs for a brief moment before darting back to his book.

“Buenas dias, Lucian,” Rosa called out warmly.

Lucian offered a faint smile but said nothing, his focus returning to the pages in front of him.

Scratch watched him for a moment longer. The tiefling’s slender frame seemed perfectly suited for climbing trees, and that tail of his could easily wrap around branches for support.

“Interesting,” Scratch murmured to himself as they continued on their way.

Rosa arched an eyebrow. “What’s interesting?”

“Just thinking,” Scratch replied. “Someone like Lucian would be quite adept at climbing trees.”

Rosa chuckled softly. “Maybe so. But Lucian? I doubt he’d have it in him to cause trouble. He’s too timid.”

“Timid doesn’t mean incapable,” Scratch noted, casting one last glance over his shoulder at Lucian.

As they left the park behind and approached Ramona’s house, Chispas’ yapping greeted them from afar. The chihuahua’s fierce little barks were almost drowned out by Ramona’s stern voice reprimanding him.

“Here we go, amigo” Rosa sighed.

Scratch clicked his beak in anticipation as they stepped up to Ramona's door.

Rosa and Scratch stood before the modest stone cottage, its shutters tightly closed, as if the house itself were determined to keep the outside world at bay. The garden surrounding it was well-kept but lacked the colorful blooms that decorated much of the pueblo. Instead, practical herbs—lavender, rosemary, and sage—lined the path leading to the door. At their feet, Chispas the chihuahua yapped furiously, his tiny body quivering with indignation.

“Ramona!” Rosa called, rapping her large knuckles against the wooden door. “We need to talk.”

The sound of shuffling feet echoed from inside before the door creaked open just enough for Ramona’s sharp eyes to peer out. “What do you want?” she demanded, her gaze flicking between Rosa and Scratch with suspicion.

“There was a break-in at Sabores Encantados,” Rosa said plainly. “We’re looking into it.”

Ramona scoffed. "Oh, for heaven's sake, that Mariposa and her racket. People used to respect silence. Now it's just noise, noise, noise. Sounds like she got what was coming.”

Scratch tilted his head. “So you do know something?”

Ramona frowned. “I know that ever since that place opened, the peace and quiet of this town has gone to the wind.”

“But did you see anything last night?” Rosa pressed.

The old halfling sighed, crossing her arms. “I saw nothing, heard nothing. I was asleep, like decent folk should be.”

Scratch studied her carefully. She wasn’t lying, exactly, but there was something in the way she avoided looking at them directly. He decided to let it go—for now.

“Gracias, Ramona,” Rosa muttered, clearly unimpressed. “We’ll let you get back to grumbling.”

Ramona sniffed but said nothing, only stepping back and beginning to close the door. But then, as if something had just occurred to her, she hesitated. “Although...”

Rosa turned back, raising an eyebrow. “Although?”

Ramona’s lips pursed, as though debating whether it was worth the trouble. Finally, she let out a sigh. “I did see that sangrón, that uppity baker, walking by late last night.”

Scratch stiffened. “Celedon?”

Ramona nodded. "I actually got up in the middle of the night for a bit. I couldn’t sleep, so I was sitting by the window. I saw that elf walking past, looking all broody, as he always does."

Scratch exchanged a glance with Rosa. “Celedon told us he was reading all night.”

Rosa chuffed. “That elf wouldn’t know honesty if it baked him a pie.”

Before they could probe further, footsteps approached. Diego strolled up the cobbled path, his poncho catching the breeze as he adjusted his hat. His hazel eyes sparkled with warmth as he greeted them.

“¡Buenos días, Señora Ramona!” Diego tipped his hat, his voice as bright as the morning sun.

Ramona, to the surprise of both Scratch and Rosa, seemed momentarily flustered. “Buenos días, Diego,” she said, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

Diego shifted his satchel, rocking on his heels slightly. “¿Cómo está hoy?” he asked, his voice light but hesitant. Rosa, ever helpful, murmured to Scratch, “He’s just asking how she’s doing.”

Ramona cleared her throat and straightened. "Fine," she muttered. "I haven’t died yet, if that’s what you’re asking."

Diego chuckled, his usual confidence tempered by something almost shy. “Ah, bueno, solo están tratando de ayudar,” he said. Rosa translated quietly, “He says we’re just trying to help.”

Ramona huffed. "Hmph. They'll end up like a stray dog, running in circles and finding nothing."

A brief silence settled between them, neither quite meeting the other’s eyes. Rosa, ever the observer, smirked. “Well, we should get going.”

As they stepped away, Scratch couldn’t help but notice the way Ramona’s gaze lingered on Diego’s retreating figure for just a second too long. And how Diego, as he adjusted his hat once more, stole a quick glance back at her.

Rosa and Scratch returned to Sabores Encantados, stepping into the warm embrace of the bakery’s inviting aroma. Mariposa looked up from where she was arranging pastries, her sparkly yellow eyes immediately locking onto them with concern.

"Did you find anything?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she moved towards them.

Rosa crossed her arms, her large form blocking out some of the soft lantern light. "Celedon says he was home reading all night, but Ramona saw him out walking late."

Mariposa’s brows knitted together. "Celedon? I don’t like him much, but would he really do something like this?"

Scratch tilted his head, clicking his beak thoughtfully. "It’s unlikely he climbed up in the tree with that bad leg. But someone did." His amber eyes gleamed with curiosity. "And I wonder what they were doing up there."

Rosa let out a small huff, shaking her head. "Mira, no way I’m climbing that árbol, and you neither, pajarito," she said, giving Scratch a knowing look.

"We Kenku lost our ability to fly ages ago," he said dryly.

Mariposa smiled, stepping toward the base of the ancient oak. "No problem." Without hesitation, she pressed a hand against the rough bark. Her form shimmered, then seamlessly melded into the tree itself. The bark rippled and shifted around her like soft earth being tunneled through, parting and closing behind her as she moved. Her green hair wove into the fibers of the wood, vanishing in a cascade of leaves as she ascended effortlessly. The tree itself seemed to sigh, embracing her passage, until she reappeared moments later at one of the upper branches, peering into the dim light filtering through the canopy.

After a few moments of looking around, she called down, "I found something! There’s a small opening up here I didn’t even know about."

Scratch's feathers ruffled slightly. "Maybe that’s how they got in."

“I’ll fix that,” she called down. She placed her hands around the hole in the tree. As her hands glowed, the bark grew, filling it in. “There,” she said with a satisfied smile.

Mariposa descended just as smoothly as she had gone up, stepping onto solid ground as though she had never left. "I don’t like the thought of someone sneaking around up there."

Scratch nodded, determination glinting in his eyes. "Then I’ll stake it out tonight. If they come back, I’ll be waiting."

The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and the distant, lingering aroma of pastries from the bakery. The village of Valle Dulche had quieted, the lively hum of the day replaced by the occasional hoot of an owl and the rustling of leaves in the cool breeze. Scratch crouched low in the bushes near the bakery, his keen amber eyes scanning the darkened surroundings. He had chosen a spot with a clear view of the tree and its entrance, the perfect place to observe unnoticed.

He had been waiting for hours, his body still as a statue, blending into the shadows. Patience was a skill he had honed over years of bounty hunting, and tonight was no different. If the intruder returned, he would see them. If they had an accomplice, he would hear them.

It was well past midnight when he finally caught movement—two figures emerged from the alley behind Sabores Encantados. Scratch narrowed his eyes, his feathers ruffling slightly as he recognized the first figure’s elegant posture and severe, straight-backed stance. Celedon.

The second figure remained shrouded in darkness, lingering just beyond the reach of the dim lantern light. Scratch strained his ears, his ability to mimic sounds sharpening his sense of hearing.

“I won’t do your dirty work anymore,” the shadowed figure hissed, their voice low and firm. “I told you I wasn’t going back into the bakery for the recipes.”

Scratch tilted his head, trying to catch a clearer glimpse of the speaker. The tone was familiar—soft yet weighted with conviction—but the darkness concealed their face.

Celedon scoffed, his voice laced with disdain. “You’re a fool. I can pay you well.”

Scratch’s feathers bristled. Who was this mysterious figure?

“I don’t need anything from you,” the figure muttered. “And I’m done sneaking around like a thief. If you want those recipes so badly, go get them yourself.”

Celedon took a step forward, his voice low and sharp. “You’ll regret this.”

The figure didn’t flinch. “I already do.”

Scratch shifted ever so slightly, creeping forward through the underbrush to get a better look. He placed his foot carefully, minding the dry twigs beneath him. One more step and he would see their faces clearly.

Then—

A shrill bark shattered the silence.

Scratch barely had time to turn before a small blur of fur shot toward him. Chispas. The tiny chihuahua came bounding out of Ramona’s house, his furious barking piercing the night like an alarm.

“Who’s there?!” Ramona’s voice rang out, sharp and suspicious.

Scratch tensed, his mind racing. The moment of distraction was all it took—Celedon and the shadowed figure bolted, their silhouettes vanishing into the darkness.

“Quiet, you little menace—” Scratch hissed under his breath, trying to retreat, but Chispas lunged at him with a yapping frenzy.

The bushes shifted. A root caught Scratch’s foot.

With a startled squawk, he tumbled backward, his arms flailing as the world spun around him. His head struck the hard ground with a dull thud, and stars exploded in his vision before everything faded to black.

The last thing he heard was Chispas still barking, and Ramona’s exasperated voice.

“Dios mío, what now?”

Early the next morning, Rosa found Scratch sprawled in the bushes, his hat askew and his feathers ruffled. With a gruff sigh, she bent down and carefully scooped up the unconscious kenku, cradling him with surprising gentleness in her powerful arms. Muttering under her breath in Spanish, she carried him into the bakery’s office.

Setting him down on a cushioned bench, she wiped her hands on her apron and called for Mariposa. The wood nymph arrived quickly, concern flashing in her golden eyes as she took in Scratch’s state.

"What happened to him?" Mariposa asked, brushing a strand of green hair behind her ear.

"Don’t know yet," Rosa huffed. "Found him in the bushes. Looks like he took a nasty fall. Let’s see if he wakes up."

A few moments later, Scratch stirred with a groggy groan, his amber eyes fluttering open. He sat up slowly, wincing as he rubbed the back of his head. "That chihuahua is going to be the death of me."

Rosa snorted. "Welcome back, pajarito. What happened?"

Scratch blinked a few times, gathering his thoughts. "Celedon. And someone else. I saw them outside last night. Celedon was trying to convince the other person to keep sneaking into the bakery for him, but they refused. Then they ran off when Ramona’s dog started barking."

Mariposa and Rosa exchanged shocked glances.

"Celedon? Are you sure?" Mariposa asked.

"Positive," Scratch said, rubbing his temples. "But I couldn’t see who the other person was."

Rosa set her jaw. "Well, let’s just ask Celedon himself."

Without another word, she stormed out of the office and into the bustling main area of the bakery. The scent of fresh pastries and coffee filled the air, and the chatter of cheerful customers added to the lively atmosphere of the first morning of Dias Del Amor. The festival had officially begun, and the pueblo was alive with excitement.

A few minutes later, Rosa returned, dragging a flustered and protesting Celedon behind her.

"Unhand me this instant! I have done nothing wrong!" the elf snapped, his usually pristine composure marred by irritation.

“Found him lounging in the park,” Rosa growled.

Mariposa crossed her arms, standing beside Scratch as he watched the scene unfold. "Celedon, Scratch saw you last night outside my bakery. Care to explain?"

Celedon scoffed. "I was merely taking a walk. Is that a crime now?"

"At midnight, lurking in the alley?" Rosa challenged, narrowing her eyes.

Before Celedon could retort, the door swung open, and both Ramona and Diego entered, having caught sight of Rosa hauling Celedon into the bakery.

"What’s going on here?" Ramona demanded, her cane tapping against the wooden floor as Chispas yapped at her feet.

"Rosa seems to think I broke into the bakery!" Celedon exclaimed indignantly. "Which is ridiculous!"

Diego frowned.

The voices rose in volume, the bakery filling with a chaotic energy as accusations and defenses flew. Customers stopped their conversations to listen in, whispering amongst themselves.

Then, Mariposa raised her hand. "Wait." The room quieted slightly as she turned to Scratch. "You can mimic voices, right?"

Scratch nodded.

Her golden eyes gleamed. "Then can you mimic the voice of the person you heard last night? The one talking to Celedon?"

A hush fell over the room. Scratch tilted his head, recalling the exact timbre and cadence of the mysterious voice. He clicked his beak, then, in a perfect replication, he spoke the words he had heard in the alley:

"I won’t do your dirty work anymore. I told you I wasn’t going back into the bakery for the recipes."

All eyes widened. Then, almost as one, the crowd turned their gaze upward to the loft above.

There, sitting comfortably with a book in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other, was Lucian. His molten gold eyes flicked up from the pages, meeting their stares with dawning realization.

The tiefling froze.

It was his voice.

Rosa growled, her sharp teeth bared in frustration. "Lucian! Get down here! Ahora mismo!" Her deep voice boomed through the bakery, sending a shudder through the previously buzzing crowd.

Lucian hesitated, his golden eyes flicking between the shocked faces below. Slowly, he closed his book and set down his cup before rising to his feet. With careful, deliberate movements, he descended the stairs, his tail twitching behind him.

Mariposa stepped forward, her expression unreadable, though there was a tension in her shoulders. "Lucian," she said, her voice softer but firm. "Was it you? Did you enter my bakery the other night?"

The tiefling exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low. "It was me. I crawled in through a hole in the tree and went into your office. But then I heard a sound and panicked and ran."

Gasps rippled through the bakery, and Celedon shot him a glare. "Lucian…" Rosa tightened her grip on his arm and he grunted.

Lucian shook his head. "I didn’t do it for you, Celedon," he muttered. "I was looking for something else."

"What were you looking for, Lucian?" the wood nymph asked with a gentle voice.

"I... Uh... I... I wasn't trying to steal. Every year you make such magical baked goods for the holiday. I wanted to find out which one had a particular magical effect."

"Which one?"

"The one that gives the person the bravery to express their love to someone that they care about."

"You could have asked me."

"I was too shy. I didn't want... I didn't feel like I could. So when Celedon approached me..." his voice trailed off.

Mariposa turned her attention to the elf. "And what about you? Why are you trying to get my recipes? You hate this place."

The haughty elf cleared his throat. "Fine," he muttered with a grimace. "To be totally honest, I have always admired your magical treats."

"¿En serio?" Mariposa exclaimed. "Really?" Her normally calm demeanor cracked, disbelief flashing across her face like a lightning strike.

"Si," Celedon replied. "I make amazing baked goods, known for miles around our little pueblo. But your goods, your goods are amazing. I was jealous. There. There you have it." He straightened his spine, lifting his chin with an air of defiance, as if trying to salvage the last shreds of his dignity.

Mariposa shook her head. "Celedon, you don’t have to steal my recipes. If you want to learn, I'd be happy to teach you."

His eyes widened in astonishment, the usual sharpness of his expression giving way to something softer, more vulnerable. He blinked, as if unsure he had heard correctly, then exhaled a shaky breath. "Muchas gracias. You would do this for me?"

“Yes,” she said. One of my abilities as a nymph is to see somewhat into people’s souls. Deep down I believe that you are a good person, just a bit misguided perhaps.”

She then stepped behind the counter and pulled out a little buttery pastry shaped like an ear that had a bit of magical glow to it.

"Here's what you are looking for, Lucian, an Oreja. ¡Éntrale!, dig in!" she said, handing it to him.

He took it sheepishly and after looking hesitatingly around the assembled crowd, he took a bite.

As the magic settled into him, something in Lucian's posture shifted. The uncertainty that had long shadowed his golden eyes melted away, replaced by a newfound confidence that straightened his back and steadied his breath. He swallowed, then lifted his gaze to Mariposa, his expression raw and unguarded.

"Mariposa," he said, his voice firm yet laced with emotion. "Every since I have come to your little village and met you, I have loved you. You are beautiful, elegant, and sweet!"

Mariposa's eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks tinged with the faintest blush. She hesitated for only a moment before offering a small, genuine smile. "Lucian... I've always found you interesting. Attractive, even."

Lucian's golden eyes lit up with hope. "Then… would you allow me to take you on a date?"

Mariposa chuckled softly, the tension in the room finally easing. "I’d like that."

A warm, collective smile spread through the bakery. Diego clapped Lucian on the back with an approving nod, while Rosa grumbled something about love being a strange kind of battle. Even Ramona, ever the curmudgeon, softened slightly, though she quickly masked it with a huff.

With a mischievous gleam in her eye, Mariposa turned her attention to Ramona. "Señora Ramona, I have a special Dias Del Amor treat just for you."

Ramona squinted suspiciously. "For me? What are you up to, girl?"

Mariposa simply smiled and held out a buñuelo—a crisp, golden, cinnamon-dusted pastry that shimmered ever so slightly with an enchantment. "Try it. You might be surprised."

The elderly halfling hesitated, her eyes darting to Diego, who looked just as curious. With a grumble under her breath, she took the offered pastry and took a tentative bite. The moment the sugary treat melted on her tongue, her eyes went wide, and she gasped, nearly dropping her cane.

"Dios mío... Diego, you're glowing red!" she exclaimed, her voice unusually flustered.

Mariposa grinned. "This pastry reveals who loves you."

Diego, standing just a few feet away, adjusted his hat and chuckled nervously. "Pues... supongo que el secreto está fuera, ¿eh?"

Mariposa chuckled, her sparkly yellow eyes twinkling with mischief. "Yes, Diego, your secret is indeed out!"

Ramona's face turned a shade to rival Diego’s poncho, but instead of barking a sharp retort, she muttered, "Well... I always did say you were a fool. But... a charming one."

The bakery burst into laughter, and for the first time in years, Ramona allowed herself the ghost of a smile. Chispas yipped a happy yip.

Scratch rubbed his head. "Well then. Mystery solved, I suppose. This has certainly been an interesting visit to your little community."

"And it's not over yet!" exclaimed Mariposa, throwing her arms wide. "It is only the first day of Dias del Amor! ¡Felices fiestas everyone!"

As if on cue, a wave of children burst through the front door, their laughter ringing through the bakery as they clamored for holiday treats. Outside, the rhythmic strum of guitars and the bright trill of flutes filled the air, signaling the start of a lively tune that set the entire park abuzz with festivity. The scent of cinnamon and sugar swirled through the warm morning breeze, mingling with the joyous energy of the first day of Dias Del Amor.