I swallow hard, trying to find words that won't give him the satisfaction he's clearly seeking. "It's... adequate," I manage, though even to my own ears the assertion sounds weak and unconvincing.
His laugh is low and rich, rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest. The sound does absolutely unfair things to my nervous system. "Liar."
The single word lands like a gauntlet thrown between us. I could keep up the pretense, could armor myself in more dismissive commentary, but what's the point? He knows. Hecan see right through me, can probably read every traitorous thought written plainly across my face.
"Fine," I bite out, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as I can muster. "It's good. Better than good, actually. It's exceptional. Are you happy now?"
"Not even close. But I'm patient, little baker. I can wait."
"For what?"
His smile is slow and devastating. "For you to stop lying to yourself."
Before I can respond, a fresh wave of customers descends on the booth, and I'm saved from having to answer.
But his words echo in my head for the rest of the afternoon, mixing with smoke and the memory of his hands on my skin, until I can't tell the difference between what I want and what I'm terrified to admit.
CHAPTER 10
LANEK
The shared booth is perfect.
I realize this the moment Quinn arrives, her face cycling through shock, horror, and murderous intent when she spots me already set up on the left side of the double-wide space. She stands there frozen at the sidewalk, clutching a tower of pastel bakery boxes like a shield, and I have to actively suppress the urge to cross the distance between us, haul her against my chest, and kiss that furious expression right off her pretty face.
Instead, I offer her my most reasonable smile and gesture to the empty right side of the booth. "Good morning, neighbor."
The look she gives me could freeze molten steel. "This is a mistake. There has to be a mistake."
"No mistake." I tap the laminated booth assignment sheet tacked to the wooden frame. "Booth seven, shared vendor space. Lanek Grieves, artisanal butcher. Quinn Hayes, artisanal baker." I let my grin widen just slightly. "We're a team."
"We are absolutely not a team." She dumps her boxes onto the table with enough force to make the structure rattle, then wheels around to presumably hunt down whoever made this assignment and verbally eviscerate them.
I catch her wrist gently before she can storm off. Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers, rabbiting fast and wild, and vanilla and powdered sugar mixed with her own natural sweetness caresses my nose. "Quinn."
She freezes, staring down at where my hand wraps completely around her delicate wrist. I could span both her wrists with one hand and still have room left over. The size difference between us has always been obvious, but standing this close in the bright morning sunlight, with curious neighbors already starting to wander past, the contrast feels almost obscene. She barely reaches the center of my chest.
"Let go," she says quietly, but there's no real heat behind it.
I do, immediately, though every Orc instinct I possess roars in protest at the loss of contact. "The assignment is correct. The organizers told me yesterday when I confirmed my spot. They thought pairing complementary vendors would drive more foot traffic."
Her shoulders slump slightly, defeat creeping into her posture. "Of course they did."
"It's good business strategy," I point out reasonably. "People come for smoked meat, they stay for dessert. Or vice versa."
"Or they get confused about whether they're at a barbecue or a French patisserie and leave entirely." She turns back to her side of the booth, eyeing the space critically. "Fine. But we're splitting this down the middle. You stay on your side, I stay on mine."
Before I can respond, she's already digging through her supply boxes, emerging victorious with a roll of pink washi tape covered in tiny white polka dots. She proceeds to march to the front edge of the shared table and press a strip of tape down the exact center, creating a boundary line that wouldn't stop a determined toddler, let alone a fully grown Orc.
I watch this territorial display with barely contained amusement. "You think that's going to work?"
"It's a clear visual indicator of personal space boundaries." She smooths down another strip with unnecessary force. "Something you seem constitutionally incapable of respecting."
"I respect boundaries just fine." I lean against my half of the booth, arms crossed, making absolutely no effort to hide the fact that I'm watching her work. "When they make sense."
She shoots me a withering glare over her shoulder. "This makes perfect sense."
"Does it?" I gesture to the growing crowd of early-morning block party attendees already filtering past. "Because from a customer perspective, we look like one unified vendor. Which means they'll treat us like a team whether you've drawn a line or not."
