"In orc culture, sharing food means alliance. Trust. You would not eat with an enemy."
"Then we're allies?"
"At minimum."
There's something in the way he says it that suggests alliance might not be all he's thinking about. I set the plate on the table between us, suddenly nervous about his reaction.
"They're still warm," I say unnecessarily.
Korgan picks up one of the rolls, examining it with the same careful attention he'd given our cooking challenge ingredients. The roll is perfectly golden, the cinnamon-sugar swirl visiblein the tender layers, a light glaze catching the string lights overhead.
He takes a bite, and I watch his face change. His eyes widen slightly, then close as he chews slowly, deliberately.
"Still..." He opens his eyes, looking directly at me. "Extraordinary."
The word hits me like a physical touch. Not good, not delicious, but extraordinary. Something beyond ordinary experience.
"Really?"
"The sweetness is balanced. Complex. And the texture..." He takes another bite, more slowly this time. "How do you achieve this softness while maintaining structure?"
I find myself smiling, the baker in me responding to his genuine appreciation. "It's all about the dough development and proofing time. Too little and they're dense, too much and they lose their shape. And the key to the filling is using both cinnamon and a touch of cardamom, plus brown sugar instead of white."
"You speak of this with passion."
"Baking is my passion. Has been since I was eight years old and my grandmother helped me make bread."
"Tell me."
The simple command, delivered in his direct way, opens something in me. I find myself talking about my grandmother's kitchen, the way she'd let me stand on a stool to reach the counter, how she'd guide my small hands as we kneaded dough together. About learning that baking isn't just following recipes. It's understanding ingredients, reading dough, adjusting for humidity and altitude and the mood of your oven.
Korgan listens with complete attention, asking occasional questions that show he's really hearing me. When I mention mybakery, the struggles with overhead costs and competition from chain stores, his expression grows serious.
"This show," he says. "The publicity will help?"
"That's the hope. Local press coverage, social media attention. Maybe some food bloggers will notice. It could make the difference between staying open and..."
"And losing what you have built."
"Yeah."
He nods slowly, understanding passing between us. "I also have much to lose. My standing with the clan council. Political alliances that took years to establish. If this fails..."
"What happens if it fails?"
"Exile, possibly. Or worse, irrelevance. Being dismissed as someone who chases human approval instead of orc respect."
"But you're here anyway."
"As are you."
We look at each other across the small table, two people who've both risked everything for a chance at something better. The shared understanding creates an intimacy that has nothing to do with the romantic setting and everything to do with recognizing yourself in someone else's struggles.
"The cinnamon rolls," Korgan says suddenly. "You made them for me specifically?"
Heat rises in my cheeks. "Yes."
"Why?"
