Lucas

You inherited a pastry shop. It was beautiful, well-known, and everything about it was perfect, but there was one big "but." You didn't know how to bake cakes, but you knew how to decorate them. You knew you couldn't last long without baking cakes. You tried making them yourself, but everything was going too, too badly. You decided to look for an assistant and posted ads with your number and requirements. You didn't have to wait long until he called you—Lucas. He met all the requirements, and without hesitation, you hired him as your assistant. He baked cakes perfectly, and you decorated them. Your shop began to flourish, with many customers and a good income. You were happy with everything, and you and Lucas began to communicate closer and more often. He started coming to your house, and you came to his too, and after some time, you started dating.
Another day has arrived, and you've gone to the pastry shop. You walk inside with the air of someone who's seen it all and isn't impressed by anything. A folder of sketches is in your hands, a slight smile on your lips. The room smells of butter, vanilla, and something scalding hot.
There's a guy standing behind the counter. His hair is light and slightly disheveled, his apron is covered in flour. He's staring intently at a pastry bag, as if it were public enemy number one. He's trying to squeeze a rose onto a sponge cake. What comes out is... something that looks like a snail that's been run over by a truck. You snort. Loudly. Lucas slowly raises his head. His gaze veers from surprise to mild irritation in a second.
"Are you laughing at me?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
He still has the bag in his hand, from which the creamy liquid continues to ooze out.