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His baguettes had come out looking likebriquettes, even though he’d baked them exactly as long and at exactly the same oven temperature as always. One pan of mini chocolate mousse cakes had fallen so hard that they looked like hockey pucks, while the other—same batter, same oven rack, same baking time—was perfectly fine.
He turned slowly, squinting at the corners of his big, airy,perfectkitchen, searching for signs ofthem.
The freaking Olympians.
The judgment the Fates had imposed on all twelve of them for past crimes included leaving their former victimsstrictlyalone. But the gods had a history of weaseling out of the consequences of their actions. Gany should know—he’d heard them boasting about it for eons as the cupbearer on Mount Olympus, and to say he was over it was an understatement.
Technically, since Zeus was the one who’d abducted him in the first place, and who had imposed… attentions, he was Zeus’s victim, so in theory, any of the others could be screwing with him now.
He sighed, pulled off his oven mitts, and hung them on their hooks. “It’s not all about you, Ganymede,” he muttered.
There was no reason for any of the other gods to bother with him now, and Zeus was prevented by that magical Fates-decreed restraining order from approaching Gany on the street or from stepping across the threshold of any building he occupied. So he had to face the unfortunate truth: This was a problem with the equipment. Irksome, but not sinister.
He reached into his apron pocket and pulled out his cell phone—gods, but he loved modern technology—to log a maintenance request for the oven. Before he could tuck the phone away and start a new batch of choux, an email notification popped up.
Gany’s breath caught. It was from a prospective client for his catering business, which he wasstilltrying to get off the ground. Granted, he hadn’t put much effort into it before now, since he’d been trying to get the bakery up and operating steadily first. But now that he had Melina—who was a former Vestal, and a victim of the gods in their Roman aspect—and Portland native Peyton, who was human but so efficient they might as well be magical, Gany could finally spare some attention to expanding his footprint.
The Patterson job had been his first big proposal, and he’dkilledthe presentation if he did say so himself. He’d lowballed the bid a little—after all, he didn’t strictlyneedthe money. The restitution and damages the Fates had imposed on Zeus for millennia of keeping Gany captive and subjected to repeated sexual harassment was enough to make up any shortfalls for decades, even after he’d spared no expense in tricking out Nectar & Ambrosia.
But hewantedto cook for people. Hewantedto see the bliss on their faces when they bit into a luscious fruit tartlet or savored a flaky za’atar croissant. And this could be it. The springboard. The launching pad. The spark that ignited his future.
Fingers trembling, he opened the message.
Dear Mr. Mead,
Thank you for your presentation. Your Mediterranean offerings were delicious, but we have decided to go in another direction.
Sincerely,
Martha Patterson
Gany stared at the screen for a full thirty seconds, sure that it couldn’t be right. Another direction? They’d specificallydemandeda Mediterranean-inspired menu, and Gany hadnailedit. They said so. Rightthere. Granted, Mediterranean was his comfort zone, considering that’s where he’d come from—three thousand years ago. But he’ddiversifiedsince then. He could serve up any number of other cuisines, but only if they weren’t bundled away in some hidden client agenda.
“What is thisother directionof which you speak?” Gany muttered. Maybe if they told him, he could present an alternative menu and they’d—
“Knock knock?”
At the cheerful greeting from the kitchen door, Gany nearly fumbled his phone. He pasted on a smile, though, and it wasn’t even difficult, because he wasalwayshappy to see TD Baylor, the man who was responsible for calling the gods on their shit and springing Gany from eternal cupbearer duty.
“TD. Hey.” Gany tucked his phone away. He probably shouldn’t respond to the client when his hair was on virtual fire anyway.
TD walked into the kitchen. “Sorry to barge in, but Melina said you were back here.”
“No worries.” Gany held his arms wide. “As long as I get a hug for my trouble.”
TD chuckled and beckoned Gany forward, something Gany was always grateful for: TD always waited for Gany to instigate contact first. So Gany snuggled close and wrapped his arms around TD’s waist, heaving a sigh when TD returned the embrace. TD gave the best hugs. His boyfriend wassolucky.
“I’ve got the keys for you, house and car both.”
Gany reluctantly stepped back. “I don’t need the car keys. I don’t drive. Not yet.”
TD shrugged. “All the same, we didn’t want to leave you without them in case of emergencies. If you need to take Sir, Bear, or Ozzie to the vet or anything, maybe Peyton or Melina could drive you.”
Gany peered up into TD’s narrow, clever face. “Is something wrong with the boys? Are they sick?”
“Not really, but they’re a little anxious at the moment. They caught Lonnie packing our suitcases and drew appropriate conclusions about imminent separation.” He shook his head, chuckling. “They’ve tried to guilt us into staying with those big puppy dog eyes, but this role is too good for Lonnie to pass up, especially since I’m on the FX crew so we can be together on set for the whole shoot. I’ll warn you, though, the pups have reached that rambunctious teenage phase. Their feet are too big for them to manage, and they have a tendency to run into things, including each other. We’ve moved everything breakable to higher ground, just in case.”
Gany gave him a look of mock outrage. “How dare you impugn my godpuppies that way? They areangels.”
