I supposed that was the least we owed her. She hadn’t asked to be robbed by the Easter Bunny or to have her kitchen turned into a disaster zone. “Agreed. I will pay for all damages.”
“Excellent. Now for the important part.” She stepped closer, leaning into my space with a courage that defied sanity. “You stop treating Barnaby as if he’s a disobedient soldier. And I become his nutritionist.”
For several seconds, I thought I’d heard wrong. My brain couldn’t process the words in any logical order. “Excuse me?”
“I will design the menu.” The confidence in her voice suggested she’d already thought this through and knew exactly what she was doing. “High protein. Good carbs. Whatever numbers you’re obsessed with tracking. I’ll hit every single one of your targets. But I will make it taste good. Actually good. I will trick his brain, and yours, into thinking you’re cheating on the diet. But you won’t be. Everything will be healthy.”
“Impossible.” I shook my head hard enough to make my neck crack, already rejecting the entire premise. “Healthy food means punishment. That is the law. If it tastes good, it’s bad for you. If it’s good for you, it tastes like sadness and regret. That’s just how it works.”
Hazel tilted her head back to meet my eyes, her expression absolutely fierce. “Don’t insult my skills, meathead. I can do things with cocoa powder and avocado that would make you weep.”
The air in the kitchen suddenly felt very hot, as if we were standing next to an active oven. “Make me weep?”
“Weep. Beg. Whatever emotional response you muscle-bound people have.” She didn’t back down even a centimeter, her green eyes locked on mine. “I will exploit it mercilessly.”
I glanced at Barnaby, seeking some kind of backup, some support for my position. He gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up with his chocolate-covered paw, clearly having already chosen sides in this battle. “Do it, Brok. Let the woman cook. Let her work her magic. I’m begging you.”
I studied Hazel again. Her determined eyes, the set of her shoulders, the absolute conviction in her face. She smelled heavenly, even as she looked at me like I was an idiot. In that moment, I knew I was outmatched.
This was not a battle I could win through traditional means.
“Fine.” The word came out before I could stop it, though part of me was screaming that this was a terrible idea. I pointed a finger at her, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. “But I supervise. I watch every ingredient. I check every measurement. No hidden sugars. No sneaky additions. No tricks. Complete transparency.”
“Deal.” Hazel smirked, and it was the smile of someone who knew they’d already won. “Now get out of my kitchen before I make you mop the floor. And take your chocolate-covered brother with you.”
When she stepped out of my way and pointed toward the door, I didn’t need to be told twice. I scrambled toward Barnaby with a disappointing lack of grace. Grabbing him by the back of his stained sweater vest, Ihauled him off the table. He didn’t even have the decency to look anything but pleased.
As I reached the door, I realized I could still feel the phantom pressure of Hazel’s gaze on my back. And for the first time in my life, I wished I didn’t have to hide behind the fiction of being a normal, human personal trainer.
I wished I could tell her the truth about what I really was. Brok the Orc.
But that was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
4
Taste Test
Hazel
There was not enough room in my kitchen for both me and Brok’s shoulders.
Technically, there was enough square footage. I’d designed the entire layout myself after buying the building, spending months perfecting the workflow stations. Every inch had a purpose. Every tool had a home.
But Brok didn’t operate according to normal physics. He occupied space the way a monument occupied a town square. Completely, unapologetically, as though he’d been there first and everything else had built up around him.
“You’re blocking the overhead light.” I nudged his hip with my elbow, trying to squeeze past him to reach the refrigerator. It achieved absolutely nothing except confirming that he was made of concrete. Wonderful. “I need to get the samples out.”
“I’ll get them.” He stepped directly into my path, cutting me off from my own refrigerator. “Where are they?”
Might as well. The man probably thought retrieving bakery boxes counted as cardio. And if you can’t beat them… “Bottom shelf. White boxes.”
I stepped back and watched him crouch down in a textbook-perfect squat. Even getting desserts out of the fridge became a demonstration of proper form. I wondered if he approached everything this seriously, or if it was just an occupational hazard. Did he do squats even when he brushed his teeth in the morning? It would explain his rather magnificent…
No, Hazel! Focus. Stop staring at the hot bodybuilder and focus on the job!
Brok straightened with all three boxes stacked in one massive hand. “Where do you want them?”
