Chapter 2 The Supplier #2
“Er… Don’t worry about it,” I replied. “I take it… the two of you are friends.”
Barnaby gestured helplessly at the mountain of muscle beside me, his hand shaking slightly. “This is my brother, Brok.”
“Oh! Of course. Brothers. I can totally see the resemblance.”
I didn’t think I’d ever told a bigger lie in my entire life. Barnaby sometimes reminded me of a startled hamster who’d been caught stealing cheese. This man might very well eat hamsters for protein and consider them a light snack.
Barnaby’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He’d clearly seen straight through my attempt at tactful deceit.
“Well, we’re not exactly… It’s complicated.
We’re sort of half-siblings. Step-siblings.
It’s a very long story involving family trees and logistics, and honestly, it gives me a headache just thinking about it. ”
The fumbled explanation was strangely familiar and almost endearing.
Nana Beatrice had a similar definition of ‘complicated family situations.’ In her last marriage, she had ‘convinced’ her husband to ask for an open relationship.
Then she immediately turned around and sued him for infidelity with photographic evidence that had oh-so-mysteriously arrived for her in the post.
The settlement had been substantial. Many had been surprised by Nana’s predatory efficiency. Me? I’d seen it coming. She was just… like that. She always had been, for as long as I could remember.
And so, in my world, a convoluted family tree wasn’t a red flag. It was just Tuesday. Barnaby and Brok’s… whatever the hell they were didn’t faze me.
“It doesn’t matter,” Brok snapped, cutting through Barnaby’s desperate explanations. He jabbed a thick finger at the cupcake display case, the nail tapping sharply against the glass. “What matters is this. Poison. Pure, unadulterated sugar designed to make men soft and weak.”
My professional pride flared hot in my chest. I glared at him and straightened my back. “Excuse me. That’s a dark-cacao cupcake with almond flour and minimal coconut sugar. No refined sweeteners. It is perfectly healthy. There are peer-reviewed studies.”
He wasn’t listening. His expression made it clear that he’d already made up his mind, probably before he’d even walked through my door. He was a zealot, and this was his crusade against the forces of sweetness and joy. “I have him on a strict diet. Roots. Greens. Lean protein. No sweets. No joy.”
“No joy?” For a second, I was so baffled I couldn’t even form a coherent response. The mere idea was so utterly miserable, so fundamentally wrong, that my brain simply refused to process it. “That sounds absolutely horrific.”
“It is effective,” he countered, his jaw set in a stubborn line that probably intimidated lesser mortals. “I am Brok. I fix people. I transform weakness into strength. And right now, Barnaby is a marshmallow because of you and your gold-coated temptations.”
My gaze snapped from Brok to Barnaby. He didn’t look like any marshmallow I’d ever seen. He wasn’t glowing with the flush of peak fitness, either.
With his face flushed an unhealthy red and his limbs shaking with exhaustion, he was the very definition of misery. He desperately needed a hug and a nap, possibly in that order.
“Okay, first of all, edible gold has no calories. If you’re going to scream at me, at least be right about it.” Narrowing my eyes, I pointed at Barnaby. “But most importantly… Barnaby’s a person, not a thing. And he’s suffering. Because of you and your torture regime.”
Brok stared at me, his jaw tightening until I could see the muscle jump. The silence in the shop was suddenly thick and heavy, threatening to suffocate me. But this was my territory. This was my kingdom, my carefully constructed sanctuary, and he had brought his war to my door.
I wasn’t about to back down in my own shop.
“Look at him,” I said, stepping out from behind the counter.
I walked right up to Brok, my determination rising with every word.
“He’s not happy. Whatever you’re doing isn’t working.
My work makes him happy. Maybe you should add that to your program.
Happiness. The occasional moment of pleasure. Radical concepts, I know.”
I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes.
The size difference was laughable. I was five-foot-four on a good day, and he had to be at least six-foot-five, maybe taller.
But I didn’t care. Neither he nor his gym philosophy frightened me.
I’d faced down Nana Beatrice’s disapproval my entire life. This was nothing.
I reached out and poked him, a single, firm jab to the center of his ridiculously solid chest. My finger made contact with what felt like a brick wall covered in a thin layer of cotton. “Joy. It’s an essential nutrient. Look it up.”
He recoiled as if my finger had been a live wire.
His nostrils flared, his eyes widening just a fraction.
For a split second, the air between us felt charged, electric, crackling with something I couldn’t quite name.
It was like the surprising jolt of heat from a chili-infused truffle, catching you off guard long after the initial sweetness faded.
His dark eyes dropped to my lips, lingered there for a heartbeat, then snapped back to meet my gaze. The raw intensity I’d seen earlier was still there, but now it was mixed with something else. Something confused. Something almost vulnerable.
He took a half-step back, a retreat that somehow looked completely wrong on him. It was like watching a wolf back down from a particularly determined Chihuahua. “We’ll see.”
It wasn’t a threat, though it probably should have been. It was a promise, and the weight of each syllable hit me harder than I wanted to admit. There was something in his voice that suggested this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Fortunately for my rapidly accelerating heart rate, Brok didn’t stick around long enough to notice whatever effect he was having on me.
He spun around with military precision. He grabbed Barnaby by the scruff of his sweater vest and all but dragged him out of the shop.
The bell jangled frantically in their wake, a sound of protest and alarm.
Through the window, I watched Barnaby’s desperate, apologetic wave as he was hauled down the sidewalk.
I stood there in the sudden quiet, my finger still tingling where I’d touched him. The sensation spread up my arm, warm and strange. I felt off balance, a little woozy, as if I’d been spending too much time in the kitchen without stepping out for fresh air.
This entire incident should have worried me. At the very least, I should have found it strange. Instead, I smiled to myself, my heart already doing something complicated in my chest.
Brok would return. I was absolutely certain of it.
And I couldn’t wait to see what happened next.