“But we all know that Kenji’s Tiger has claws.”
“And don’t forget.”
Hiro eyed the bowl some more. “The bourbon in the glaze, you can taste it but it doesn't overpower—"
"Those were samples. For testing."
"Then, consider them tested. I’m quality assurance.”
“Oh really?”
He touched his chest. “This is a heavy burden I carry for my men."
"You look really burdened."
"It's my cross to bear." He scanned for his next target. "What else do you have?"
"Nothing for you."
But he'd already spotted the mac and cheese croquettes—golden and crispy, arranged on a small plate near the prep station.
"Oh hell no." I stepped between him and the plate. "Absolutely not."
"Just one."
"No."
“Do you know who I am?”
"You're fucking Hiro. A food goblin. Apparently."
"I prefer 'culinary enthusiast.'"
"And I prefer guests who don't steal my test batches' but here we are."
“I’m in charge of the Claws. If you are going to feed my men, then I am supposed to approve each dish. This is our way.”
“I think that’s bullshit and you just made it up.”
He smirked. “Can I get half of one of those things over there.”
“You don’t even know what they are.”
“I don’t need to. They look delicious and smell divine.” He tried to reach around me.
I blocked him. “I want you to be surprised just like them.”
“I’m surprised.” He feinted left, then right. I matched him move for move, and somewhere in the middle of it, I realized I was laughing.
Actually laughing.
He is so crazy.
This man had the instinctual reflexes of an apex predator and the morals of a toddler near cupcakes.
Oh my God.
The heaviness in my chest lifted and all that sadness and anxiety began to disappear.
