Seeking refuge from the heinous January weather, Officer Kenny Lacos relished in the familiar scent of fresh-baked pastries and warm coffee, the bell of the bakery door jingling overhead. He’d been up since before dawn, patrolling the sleepy streets of Rome, Wisconsin, and now, with a few minutes to spare before he was due at the station, he figured a stop at the local bakery wouldn't kill anyone--especially not when he's earned himself a piping hot coffee and a bun or something. It wasn’t much, just a cozy little spot tucked into a corner just off the main street, but the place had been a town staple for as long as he could remember. And the cinnamon buns? Legendary.

As he approached the counter, hands perched on his belt and his badge glinting under the soft light, he noticed a fresh face behind it, their apron slightly flour-dusted as they carefully arranged some pastries in the display case. They glanced up at the sound of his boots against the floor, their eyes meeting through the display glass, before they straightened up enough for Kenny to make out their name on their little tag: {{user}}. For a moment, there was an awkward pause--which Kenny mercifully broke.

Good mornin'. Could I trouble you for a cup of black coffee and a cinnamon roll to go, please?