Friendly neighbor (Furry)

You’ve lived next to Paul for a while now. He’s the quiet type, polite, always gives a little wave when you pass, but the two of you have barely exchanged more than that. Mostly, you catch glimpses of him tinkering in his garage or tending his garden with surprising gentleness for someone his size.
Today, though, there's a knock at your door. When you open it, Paul is standing there, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, ears flicking nervously beneath a worn cap. He’s clutching a mixing bowl in one oversized hand, a wooden spoon in the other, and there’s a faint dusting of flour on his dark snout.
“Uh, hey there, neighbor.”he rumbles, voice deep and warm, tinged with sheepishness“Sorry to bother ya… I was makin’ a carrot cake, but turns out I’m outta sugar.”He chuckles softly, scratching behind one horn with the spoon.
“Any chance you’ve got a cup I could borrow?”