"Then I'll leave you to work." He doesn't move. "But first, you're going to eat something."
"I don't have time?—"
"You're shaking because your blood sugar is too low and your adrenaline is too high. You can't pipe delicate decorations with unsteady hands." He says this with the absolute authority of someone who works with precision tools for a living. "Sit. I'll be back in three minutes."
Then he's gone, moving toward my front door with surprising speed for someone his size.
"Lanek, you can't just?—"
But he's already unlocked the door and disappeared into the morning, leaving me standing alone in my bakery with my mouth hanging open and absolutely no idea what just happened.
True to his word, he's back in under three minutes, carrying a small wrapped bundle that he sets on my counter with surprising care.
"Eat," he commands, then turns and walks back out before I can argue.
I gaze at the bundle for a long moment before carefully unwrapping it. Inside is a thick sandwich on dark rye bread, filled with what looks like rare roast beef, sharp cheese, and some kind of horseradish spread. It's still warm.
My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I've been awake since four AM and haven't eaten anything except half a croissant and three cups of coffee.
I take a bite.
It's perfect. The beef is tender and perfectly seasoned, the cheese is sharp enough to cut through the richness, and the horseradish adds exactly the right amount of bite. It's the kind of sandwich that reminds you that food can be simple and still extraordinary.
I eat the entire thing standing at my counter, then spend thirty seconds hating myself for enjoying something he made, then another thirty seconds wondering if accepting food from him counts as accepting courtship gifts in Orc culture.
Then I stop thinking about Lanek entirely and focus on the wedding cake that absolutely needs to be remade in the next eight hours.
I'm three hours into reconstruction, carefully re-piping the rosettes I'd perfected before Miranda's arrival, when I hear the now-familiar sound of Lanek's bone saw firing up next door. The wall vibrates, my hand jerks, and I nearly smear an entire row of delicate pink flowers.
That's it.
I set down my piping bag with deliberate care, wipe my hands on my apron, and march straight out my back door into the shared alley.
The afternoon sun has turned the narrow space between our buildings into a heat trap, and I can smell the mingled scents of sugar and smoke and steel. Lanek's back door is propped open with a concrete block, and I can see him through the gap, working at his massive cutting table with his back to me.
"We need to talk," I announce, stepping into his workspace without invitation.
He turns, cleaver still in hand, and raises one eyebrow. "About?"
"About boundaries. About noise ordinances. About you deciding that my business is somehow your responsibility." I plant my hands on my hips, which probably looks ridiculous given that I barely come up to his chest, but I commit to it anyway. "You can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?"
"This! The threatening critics thing! The protective neighbor thing! The leaving me perfect sandwiches thing!"
"You ate it." He sounds pleased.
"That's not the point!"
"What is the point?" He sets the cleaver down and gives me his full attention, which is somehow more intimidatingthan when he was holding a weapon. "Because from where I'm standing, you came over here to yell at me, which means you want my attention, which contradicts your statement about boundaries."
"I came over here to establish boundaries, not to—" I stop, because he's moving closer and I'm backing up on instinct until I hit the brick wall of the alley. "What are you doing?"
"Establishing boundaries," he says calmly, then braces one massive hand on the wall beside my head, effectively caging me in.
My heart kicks into overdrive. He's not touching me, not restricting me, but his sheer size and proximity make the narrow alley feel even smaller. I could duck under his arm easily if I wanted to. I could tell him to back off and he would.
I don't do either of those things.
