But it does.
It works too well.
I take a bite, savoring it.
Three weeks. I can handle three weeks of Lena Reyes in my space, with her wild ideas and her food and her laughter that seems to bounce off the walls.
It’s just a project.
Nothing more.
I ignore the voice in the back of my head that calls me a liar.
CHAPTER 7
lena
PUFF PASTRY PROBLEMS
One Week Later
I have three types of flour in my hair, butter smeared on my elbow, and a Minotaur glowering at me from across the workbench like I’m the bane of his existence. Which, to be fair—I probably am. But in my defense, this is fun. Thorne, however, looks deeply, personally offended by the way I am handling his sacred wood.
“Reyes,” he says, voice gruff with disapproval.
I blink up at him, all innocence. “Yes, dear?”
He scowls. “Stop touching the sander.”
“But I wanna help,” I say sweetly, hand hovering dangerously close to his equipment.
“You’re not helping,” he grits out, crossing his massive arms. “You’re causing problems on purpose.”
I grin. “That’s my specialty.”
He sighs like a man being tested by the gods. “Move.”
I do not move.
Instead, I grab the sander dramatically, press it to a random plank of wood, and immediately regret all my life choices when the thing roars to life and vibrates out of my hands.
It smacks into my shoulder, then hits the floor with a loud BZZZZT?—
Thorne catches it mid-bounce, one-handed, like it weighs nothing.
Then he stares at me.
I stare back.
Neither of us speak.
Then—slowly, deliberately—he sets the sander back onto the bench, folds his arms again, and tilts his head.
“Well,” I say weakly, “that was unfortunate.”
Thorne does not blink.
I clear my throat. “See, this is why I work with dough and not power tools?—”
