This is going to be a nightmare.
And I’m going to let it happen.
“So,” she says, hopping up to sit on my workbench—which she knows drives me insane. “I was thinking of a multi-level display. Something that feels like terrain. Like...mountains and valleys. Each level would showcase a different dessert, telling part of the story.”
I nod, chewing. It’s not the worst idea. Structurally sound, at least.
“And I want it to incorporate movement somehow,” she continues, swinging her legs. “Maybe parts that rotate? Or a waterfall element with sugar glass?”
I swallow. “You’re pushing it.”
“I’m dreaming big,” she corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“Not to my schedule.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “You don’t have a schedule. You have a workshop and a perpetual scowl.”
“I have clients,” I growl. “Paying clients. With deadlines.”
“I’ll pay you.”
“With what? More baked goods that you know I can’t resist? That’s not payment, Reyes. That’s manipulation.”
She grins. “Is it working?”
I glare at her.
“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Croissants every day for a month.”
“Pass.”
“Ube croissants.”
I hesitate, then shake my head. “Not enough.”
She narrows her eyes, assessing me. “Weekly dinners. Homecooked Filipino food.”
Now she has my attention. I’ve smelled her cooking when she makes it for herself. The rich, savory aromas that drift up from her apartment and make my mouth water. Dishes I’ve never tasted but somehow know I would crave.
“For how long?” I ask, trying to sound bored.
“Duration of the project.”
I consider this. The competition is in three weeks. The build itself would take at least a week, maybe more depending on complexity. That’s a decent amount of meals.
“And your firstborn child,” I deadpan.
She snorts. “Bold of you to assume I’ll ever reproduce.”
“Fine. Croissants, dinner, and I set the parameters of the design.” I fix her with a firm look. “No last-minute changes, no ‘what if we just added one more thing,’ no ‘wouldn’t it be cool if’—none of that.”
She pouts. “That takes all the fun out of it.”
“That’s the point.”
She sighs, considering. “Okay, but I do get some input. It’s my vision.”
“Input, yes. Veto power, no.”
