Istand on the sidewalk outside Lanek's shop, clutching the world's ugliest meat pie against my chest like a shield, trying to remember how to breathe.
The pastry is lumpy. Burnt around the edges. The lattice top collapsed into itself halfway through baking because I've never worked with lard-based dough before and had to watch six different tutorial videos just to approximate the technique.
It looks like something a drunk toddler assembled during an earthquake.
But it's here. I'm here. And I'm either about to fix the biggest mistake of my life or make it infinitely worse.
The lights are on inside the butcher shop, which means he hasn't left yet. Which means I still have time.
I hope.
I raise my fist and knock on the heavy steel door, the sound barely audible over the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Silence.
Maybe he didn't hear me. Maybe he's in the back. Maybe he saw me through the window and decided he's done dealing with the psychotic baker who keeps changing her mind.
I knock again, harder this time, my knuckles stinging against the metal.
"Lanek?"
More silence.
Oh god. What if he's already gone? What if I spent four hours burning this stupid pie and he's already packed up his truck and driven off to start fresh somewhere that doesn't have a neurotic human woman who punishes him for being what she claims to want?
I'm about to knock a third time when I hear the heavy thud of footsteps inside.
The deadbolt turns.
The door swings open.
And there he is.
All six feet eight inches of him, filling the doorway like a mountain, making my knees go weak. He's wearing a plain black t-shirt that stretches tight across his chest, and his hair is disheveled like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly.
He looks exhausted.
He looks devastated.
He looks at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
"Quinn." His brow furrows. "What is that?"
"It's a meat pie." The words tumble out too fast, defensive and shaky. "A traditional Orcish savory pie. I looked up the recipe. Well, seven recipes. They all contradicted each other, so I kind of improvised, which is why it looks like this, but the filling is venison and root vegetables with bone broth reduction, and I know it's burnt, but I've never worked with suet before and the oven temperature was?—"
"Quinn."
I stop talking immediately, my mouth snapping shut.
He steps aside, holding the door open wider. "Come inside."
I hesitate for a fraction of a second before stepping past him into the shop, hyper-aware of how close I have to get to fit through the doorway. His body heat radiates against my shoulder, and the familiar scent of woodsmoke and cold steel wraps around me.
I missed this.
I missed him.
More than I thought possible.
