Rosemary at the Oven Door

The morning was warm and drowsy, the kind of day where sunlight draped itself like a blanket over the Hollow. Willow Fernly stepped carefully along the winding path, a bundle of fresh rosemary wrapped in linen and tied with twine nestled in her arms.

The scent trailed behind her like a whisper as she approached The Thistle Oven, Ollie Crumb’s bakery, where the windows were already fogged with morning warmth and the comforting scent of bread. She knocked gently, though the bell above the door jingled before her paw even touched the handle.

Ollie poked his head out from behind the counter, flour dusting his nose. “Is that you, Willow?”

“I brought you something,” she said softly, holding out the rosemary. “Thought it might suit your focaccia today.”

Ollie’s face lit up like the oven hearth. “It’ll make it taste like summer. Thank you.”

He set the bundle gently on the worktable and motioned toward a nearby stool. “Stay a while? I’ve just pulled the first loaf.”

Willow nodded and sat, tucking her apron neatly in her lap. There was no rush here, only rosemary and rising dough, and the quiet joy of sharing something warm.

“Rosemary at the Oven Door” - Illustration by Art Studio S.A.M.