"You're a small business owner working alone in a neighborhood where the rent keeps going up and the competition keeps getting more corporate. Yes, Quinn, you're an easy target. That's why you need someone watching your back."
The way he says my name, all rough and certain, makes my stomach do a complicated flip. I tell the feeling to absolutely not, under any circumstances, become a thing.
"I don't need a bodyguard," I insist, even though part of me, a part I'm absolutely not acknowledging, found the entire interaction with Miranda intensely satisfying. Watching her face cycle through confusion and outrage while Lanek calmly dismantled her criticism was possibly the most gratifying thing I've experienced in months.
But I can't tell him that.
"I'm not offering to be your bodyguard." Lanek tilts his head slightly. "I'm offering to be your neighbor. A real one. The kind who doesn't let people hurt what's mine to protect."
"I'm not yours to protect!"
"You work next door to my shop. You share my alley. You breathe the same air when we're both working early mornings."He lists these facts like they're completely reasonable justifications for territorial protection. "That makes you mine."
My brain short-circuits somewhere around "that makes you mine" because what the hell kind of logic is that?
"That's not, you can't just claim people because they happen to work near you!"
"I'm not claiming you." He sounds genuinely puzzled now. "I'm protecting you. It's different."
"How?!"
"Because claiming you would require you to accept my courtship gifts, and you keep rejecting them."
"The steaks," I say slowly. "You actually thought those were courtship gifts."
"They were prime cuts. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to source wagyu that well-marbled? I had to call in three favors."
"I thought you were threatening me!"
Now he looks genuinely offended. "Why would I waste quality meat on a threat? If I wanted to threaten you, I would have left something much less expensive."
This conversation has officially spiraled beyond my ability to process. I'm standing in my locked bakery, arguing with an Orc about the proper etiquette of meat-based threats versus courtship gifts, while my ruined wedding cake sits in the back and Miranda Ling is probably already typing up a one-star review that will tank my business.
I need to get him out of here before I do something stupid like start laughing hysterically or, worse, start crying for real.
"You need to leave," I say firmly. "I have a cake to remake, and you probably have carcasses to dismantle or whatever it is you do all day."
"I'm not leaving until I'm sure you're alright."
"I'm fine!"
"You're shaking."
Damn it, I am. My hands are trembling against the counter, and my breathing is too fast, and I can feel the stress-tears building behind my eyes because today was supposed to be straightforward and instead it turned into a complete disaster.
"That's none of your business," I manage, but my voice cracks halfway through.
Lanek moves before I can process what's happening. He circles the counter in two huge strides and suddenly he's right there. I crane my neck back to see his eyes. He smells like woodsmoke and black pepper and cold steel, and the combination should not be as appealing as it is.
"Quinn." His voice has gone very quiet, very gentle. "Let me help."
"I don't need?—"
"I know you don't need help. You're capable of handling your business on your own. But that doesn't mean you have to." He pauses. "My family has owned butcher shops for six generations. I know how hard it is to maintain quality when everyone wants you to cut corners and lower prices. I know what it's like when critics come in looking for problems instead of merit. And I know how lonely it gets when you're working alone and you feel like the whole world is trying to push you out."
The words hit harder than expected. I've spent so long trying to project confidence and capability that I forgot what it feels like to have someone actually see the stress underneath.
"I have to remake that cake by two o'clock," I say, which isn't really a response to anything he said but is the only coherent thought I can form.
