“Out,” he says.
I gasp. “You’re kicking me out of my own dessert display?”
He picks up a two-by-four like it’s a toothpick. “Yes.”
“But I brought you dinner!”
That makes him pause.
I knew it.
Thorne is a creature of habit. He pretends to be all stoic and uninterested, but I’ve seen the way he hovers whenever I bring food over.
“You’ll like this one,” I say, sweetening my tone as I pull out a neatly wrapped package from my tote bag. “Promise.”
Thorne narrows his eyes.
I unwrap the package.
His nostrils flare.
I bite back a smug grin.
Because no matter how grumpy and bull-headed he is, the man has no defenses against a good meal.
And I have weaponized that fact. The man may act like he’s made of stone, but his stomach betrays him every time.
When I suggested bringing dinner tonight so we could work late on the display, he grunted what I chose to interpret as enthusiastic agreement. Now, as the rich aroma of freshly baked empanadas fills his workshop, I can see his resolve crumbling.
“What is it?” he asks, trying to sound disinterested and failing spectacularly.
“Beef empanadas,” I say, unwrapping more of the package with deliberate slowness. “Ground beef, potatoes, peas, carrots. My lola’s recipe. She always added extra garlic.”
Thorne’s eyes follow my hands. “Smells...acceptable.”
I snort. “Such high praise.”
He looks at the food, then at the mess I’ve made of his workshop, then back at the food.
I can practically see the calculations happening behind those dark eyes.
“Fine,” he finally says. “You can stay. But no more tools.”
I beam at him. “Deal.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re sitting on the floor of his workshop, halfway through a plate of flaky beef empanadas and warm, buttery pandesal.
Thorne eats like he’s in a competition.
I watch, mildly horrified, as he demolishes four empanadas and an entire bag of pandesal like it’s an appetizer.
“Okay, I have questions,” I say, tearing off a piece of bread.
Thorne grunts, mouth full.
“Your diet,” I say, gesturing to him. “It’s, like, all protein, all the time.”
Another grunt.
