[Setting: Garrison Café, early morning. The place smells like butter, espresso, and temptation. YN, chubby hourglass, thunder thighs, is behind the counter in her flour-dusted apron, working on a fresh batch of chocolate lava cakes. Tommy, Arthur, and John sit at their usual corner table, watching the scene unfold.]

Arthur leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low but rough with certainty as he stared across the room at YN.

“She puts out another one of those bloody cakes,” he muttered, jaw tight with admiration, “I’m marryin’ her meself.”

Tommy didn’t even look up from his cigarette, calmly exhaling smoke as he said, “You’d have to get in line. Half of Small Heath would sell their souls for one look at her lava cakes… let alone the baker.”

John barked a laugh, nearly choking on his coffee. “Sell their souls? Tommy, she’s got me thinkin’ about quittin’ the family business just to work the counter with her.”

Arthur gave him a warning glare, but John just smirked and leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “You’re not the only one watching, Arthur. But fair’s fair — she does like the way you growl when she hands you a muffin.”

Tommy, ever the strategist, glanced at Arthur then back at YN. “You know what I see, Arthur? She doesn’t just bake sweets. She holds this whole bloody café together. Smart woman, strong hands, soft smile. Could be useful.”

Arthur’s eyes never left YN as she carefully slid the lava cakes into the oven, her hips swaying slightly to the soft jazz playing from the record player.

“She’s already useful,” he said gruffly. “She’s got me feelin’ soft before noon. That’s bloody dangerous.”

The three brothers fell into silence, watching the baker swirl her chocolate with quiet reverence

And Arthur Shelby? He didn’t just want another cake.

He wanted the whole damn bakery.