“Counter by the sink.” I gestured toward the marble workspace where I’d set everything up earlier. Small plates, forks, water glasses, my professional tasting notes on a clipboard. Everything ready for what I’d mentally dubbedOperation: Stealth Health.The odds were not in my favor, but I’d managed to make Nana acknowledge my new life path. One stubborn gym bro wouldn’t defeat me.
“Now, here’s how this works.” I picked up my clipboard and clicked my pen with what I hoped was businesslike authority. “I’ve prepared three different options based on what you told me about Barnaby’s preferences and nutritional requirements. You’ll tasteeach one, tell me what you think, and I’ll adjust from there. This is a consultation, not a final menu.”
“This is pointless.” Brok settled onto one of the stools, which creaked ominously under his weight. “Dessert is dessert. Can’t fix that.”
Oh, this was going to be delightful. I pulled out my clipboard and clicked my pen with more force than strictly necessary. “I offered to help. You agreed to let me try. How about we actually do that before you decide it’s impossible?”
“I only agreed because he won’t stop sneaking truffles.” His jaw set in that stubborn line I was beginning to recognize. The one that appeared right before he said something deliberately obtuse. “Discipline would work if he’d just—”
“Discipline wasn’t working,” I interrupted, keeping my expression pleasant despite wanting to hit him with my clipboard. “That’s literally why you’re in my kitchen right now instead of force-feeding him kale. So let’s start, shall we?”
Barnaby practically vibrated on the stool beside him, radiating the kind of nervous enthusiasm usually reserved for puppies meeting new people. His glasses kept sliding down his nose as he bounced. “I’m so excited! This is going to be amazing!”
Brok made a noncommittal grunt that suggested he entirely disagreed.
I opened the first box and revealed six small ramekins filled with mousse. I’d spent hours getting the texture exactly right. “Greek yogurt chocolate mousse. High protein, light enough to digest before cardio, and satisfying enough to curb a chocolate craving without sitting heavy in his stomach.”
I placed a ramekin in front of each of them along with clean spoons, then stepped back to watch the show.
Brok picked up his spoon the way someone might pick up a live snake. Cautiously. Reluctantly. With deep personal mistrust. He poked at the mousse experimentally, probably searching for evidence of poison or moral weakness.
Finally, he took the smallest possible bite. Microscopic, really. The kind of bite he expected to spit out immediately if it confirmed his worst suspicions about the fundamental wrongness of enjoying food.
I watched his pupils dilate slightly. The furrow appeared between his brows, deep and confused. He took another spoonful, this one larger, chewing with the kind of focused intensity most people reserved for solving complex mathematical equations.
Three spoonfuls later, he’d scraped the ramekin so clean it could go back in the cupboard unwashed.
Barnaby had already finished his and was clutching the empty container to his chest with tears streaming down his face. Actual tears. Over chocolate mousse. “That wasincredible. That was actually incredible. Can I have more? Please? I’ll be so good, I promise—”
I’d have loved to agree, but today wasn’t solely about feeding Barnaby. It was about deciding what to feed him. “In a minute, Barnaby.” Turning toward Brok, I tapped my pen against my clipboard. “Well? Verdict?”
Brok set down his ramekin with almost exaggerated care. One second passed, then another. “It’s too good,” he said at last.
I blinked at him. Surely I’d misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Too good.” He nodded to himself, visibly satisfied with his own logic. “Tastes too good. He’ll want it all the time. That’s indulgence, not discipline.”
My mouth actually fell open slightly. The man had just rejected a perfectly healthy dessert for the crime of being delicious. “You’re saying no because he’ll want to eat it?”
“I’m saying no because he needs control.” He crossed his arms, somehow managing to look even more immovable than before. “Not rewards for bad behavior.”
Barnaby looked between us with growing anxiety, his earlier excitement dimming. “If I eat more of that, you’ll make me run laps for an hour, won’t you?”
“I won’t make you run laps at all, Barnaby,” Brok said, “because you won’t be eating it.”
The man was serious. Completely, genuinely serious about rejecting food for having the audacity to taste good.I gripped my pen harder to keep from throwing it at his stubborn head. “Moving on, then.”
The second box contained six small glass jars filled with chocolate pudding, each one topped with a perfect swirl that had taken me three attempts to get right. I’d soaked chia seeds in almond milk and cocoa powder overnight, creating something that looked deceptively innocent. “Try this one. Let’s see if it’s more to your taste.”
I placed a jar in front of each of them and watched Brok eye it with immediate suspicion. Barnaby snapped out of his temporary discouragement and dug in. He still seemed enthusiastic despite his brother’s dire predictions about the fundamental wrongness of enjoying dessert.
Then it happened. Pure confusion gave way to surprise, which rapidly evolved into dawning horror, and finally settled on complete betrayal. “It’s crunchy?” He poked at the pudding with his spoon, nose wrinkling behind his glasses. “But also slimy? How is it both at the same time? That shouldn’t be possible.”
Brok took his bite and immediately grabbed for a napkin. He spat the chia seeds into it, then threw the napkin aside with a disgust that would have made Nana proud. “That texture is wrong. What the hell is in that?”
“Chia seeds,” I replied. A part of me couldn’t help but feel pettily amused at his reaction. “They’re a superfood. Omega-3s, fiber, complete protein.”
“I don’t care if they cure cancer.” Brok still looked genuinely disturbed by the experience, like the chia pudding had personally wronged him. “That shouldn’t exist in nature.”
