“Ladies and gentlemen! We’re going to shake things up with our Appetizer Challenge!”
Chapter Four
Forge
The speed dating so far has been a catastrophe. An absolute, unmitigated disaster. Two rounds in, I’d said maybe three sentences total.
Jennifer apologized that she was “only into naga” before scrolling on her phone. Tara used her five minutes to pitch me her essential oils business, and I couldn’t even be mad—I’ve faced actual fire and still couldn’t escape an MLM pitch.
During round three, Sandra answered in monosyllables while staring at my tusks. By the fourth, I was seriously considering Thrall’s suggestion that I fake sick and bail.
The bell rings again, and I push to my feet, moving to the next table. A petite woman with shoulder-length brown hair iswaiting for me to meet her. Her name tag says, “Jordan.” She meets my eyes with genuine curiosity, no fear or odd fascination—just interest in the person sitting across from her.
For five precious minutes, her laugh is warm and unguarded, and her smile reaches her eyes when I manage to be funny. I’d forgotten how good it feels to be seen as more than my tusks and green skin.
When the ending bell rings, she says, “Good luck, Forge”—the first time anyone has used my name all evening. The little personal touch feels better than it has a right to.
Now the bell’s gone silent and the rounds are over. I spot her near the refreshment table with a blonde woman who looks about as deflated as I feel. I consider approaching them, but before I can work up the courage, Chief Brokka’s voice booms across the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen! We’re going to shake things up with our Appetizer Challenge!”
The collective groan from both sides of the room is audible.
“Each team will have thirty minutes to create a bacon-wrapped date appetizer,” Brokka continues, clearly enjoying himself.
“Dates for speed dating,” Kam pipes up from somewhere behind me. “Brilliant.”
Brokka continues as though Kam hasn’t said a word. “You’ll be randomly paired with someone from the opposite group, andour panel of judges will award prizes for creativity, teamwork, and most importantly… whether anyone gets food poisoning.”
Kam appears at my elbow, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “This should be interesting.”
“Please tell me you didn’t rig the pairings,” I mutter.
“Would I do something like that?” His expression is far too innocent.
“Yes, absolutely.”
Kam drops his voice. “I didn’t rig it; Inudgedit. She’s quick, kind to nervous guys, and she actually laughed at something you said. You needed a win.”
I want to argue, but what’s the point? If this goes badly, I’ll never hear the end of it from the crew. If it goes well… hell, that might be worse. I have no idea how to handle success when it comes to women.
“We’ve set up cooking stations throughout the firehouse kitchen area,” Brokka calls out. “Teams are posted on the board behind me. Good luck, and try not to burn down my firehouse!”
I shoulder through to the board, already guessing what I’ll find. When my name shows up, it’s exactly where Kam nudged it.
Forge Ironwood – Jordan O’Brien.
Of all the humans in this room, I get paired with the one who actually talked to me like a person. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a recipe for humiliation.
I turn to scan the room and spot Jordan near the cooking stations, looking as thrilled about this development as I feel. Our eyes meet across the space, and I see my own resignation reflected in her amber gaze.
She approaches our assigned station, and I notice she’s transformed from confident speed-dater to someone who looks distinctly uncomfortable with the array of cooking supplies laid out before us.
“So,” she says, surveying the bacon, dates, cream cheese, and various other ingredients with the expression of someone facing a firing squad. “I should probably confess something.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m possibly the worst cook in Los Angeles. I once set off my smoke alarm preheating the oven.”
