5. Maris #3
Grath shoves me into the walk-in cooler. Follows. Yanks the door almost closed. Leaving just enough gap to breathe. To hear.
We stand there. Pressed together in the dark. Surrounded by milk crates and tomorrow's butter. My heart hammering so loud I'm sure it'll give us away.
His hand covers my mouth. Gentle. Silencing the gasp that wants to escape.
Footsteps move through the kitchen. Clipboard clicking. Pen scratching. The inspector mutters to himself. Something about grease traps and ventilation.
I hold my breath. Count the seconds. One. Two. Three.
The footsteps fade. Move toward the main room.
We wait. Frozen. Until we hear the front door chime. The lock click.
Silence.
Grath's hand drops from my mouth. Neither of us moves. The absurdity hits all at once. Standing in the walk-in cooler. Half-dressed. Post-sex and terrified of building code violations.
I start to laugh. Quiet at first. Then harder. Until tears stream down my face.
He joins in. That deep rumble that shakes his whole frame. That makes me laugh harder.
"This is insane." I wipe my eyes. "We're insane."
"Yeah."
We stumble out of the cooler. The kitchen air feels tropical after the chill. I finish buttoning my shirt. Find my jeans crumpled behind the industrial mixer.
Reality crashes back. What we just did. Where we did it. The inspector who almost caught us.
"I should go." Grath reaches for his shirt. Won't meet my eyes.
"Yeah. Probably smart."
The silence stretches. Different from before. Heavier. Weighted with things unsaid.
"Maris."
"Don't." I hold up a hand. "Not right now. I can't. Process this right now."
He nods. Slow. Understanding.
"Tomorrow. Breakfast. We'll talk properly."
"Okay."
He leaves through the back. The door clicks shut behind him. Leaving me alone with the mess we made. The scattered clothes. The evidence of our recklessness.
I lock up. Clean. Try not to think about his hands. His mouth. The way he said my name.
Try. Fail spectacularly.
Morning comes too fast.
I drag myself downstairs at six together with Pebble. The café needs prep. Pastries need baking. Coffee needs brewing. Normal things. Routine things. Things that don't involve earth-shattering sex on food preparation surfaces.
Grath's already there.
Sitting at the corner table. Two coffees steaming in front of him. Pastry bag from the bakery down the street. Looking uncertain. Vulnerable in a way that makes me tight.
"You're early."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Yeah. Me neither."
I slide into the chair across from him. Accept the coffee he pushes toward me. It's perfect. The right amount of cream. Just sweet enough.
He remembered.
We sit in silence. Sipping coffee. The tension from last night still humming between us. But different now. Less explosive. More fragile.
"About yesterday." His voice is careful. Picking through words like landmines. "I don't. I don't regret it."
My stomach flips. "No?"
"No. But I don't want to make things harder for you. The café. Your reputation. If people found out."
Right. Because I'm the respectable business owner. He's the viral orc with the questionable past. The optics would be terrible.
I should feel relieved. That he's giving me an out. A way to keep this quiet. Keep it separate from the rest of my carefully ordered life.
Instead I feel something sharper. Something that tastes like disappointment.
"So what. We pretend it didn't happen?"
"No. But we keep it private. For now. Until things settle."
I nod. It makes sense. Perfect sense. Logical and reasonable and exactly what I should want.
So why does it feel like swallowing glass?
"Maris." He reaches across the table. Fingers brushing mine. "I'm not ashamed. Of you. Of this. I just don't want to be the reason you lose everything you built."
The sincerity in his voice cracks something open inside me. That careful wall I keep between myself and feeling too much. Wanting too much.
"I'm scared." The words escape before I can stop them. "This is. Fast. And messy. And I don't do fast and messy."
"I know."
"I like control. Plans. Things I can manage and predict and organize into color-coded lists."
His mouth quirks. Almost a smile. "I noticed."
"You're none of those things."
"No."
"You're chaos. In a very large. Very attractive package."
The smile spreads. "You think I'm attractive?"
I kick him under the table. Gentle. "Don't make me regret saying that."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
We fall quiet again. But easier this time. The sharp edges smoothed over. Still complicated. Still messy. But less terrifying somehow.
"I don't know how to do this." I stare into my coffee. Watch the cream swirl. "The casual thing. The secret thing. I'm bad at lying. Bad at hiding."
"Then don't lie. Just. Don't announce it."
"There's a difference?"
"Yeah. One's deception. One's privacy."
I consider that. Turn it over in my mind. Maybe he's right. Maybe keeping this between us isn't the same as pretending it doesn't exist.
Maybe I can have this. Have him. Without it consuming everything else.
"Okay." I meet his eyes. "We keep it quiet. For now. See where this goes without the whole town watching."
Relief washes across his face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But Grath. If this. If we're doing this. I need honesty. I can handle complicated. I can't handle games."
"No games. Promise."
He extends his hand. Palm up. Offering.
I take it. His fingers close around mine. Warm. Solid. Real.
Pebble chooses that moment to leap onto the table. Lands directly in the pastry bag. Emerges covered in powdered sugar. Looking pleased with himself.
I groan. "Of course. Of course you did that."
Grath laughs. Scoops the kitten up. Dusts him off with gentle fingers. "Troublemaker."
"He's practicing for a career in chaos."
"Fitting. Given his company."
I watch them. This massive orc cradling a tiny sugar-coated kitten. Speaking to him in soft tones. The contrast shouldn't work. But somehow it does.
Everything about this is unexpected. Unplanned. Completely contrary to how I thought my life would go.
And maybe that's okay.
Maybe I don't need to have it all figured out. Don't need to color-code and organize every emotion into neat little boxes.
Maybe I can just. Feel. And see what happens.
The thought terrifies me.
But less than it did yesterday.
"Come on." I stand. Collect the coffee cups. "Help me prep. If we're doing this secret thing, might as well get some free labor out of it."
"Romantic."
"I'm a businesswoman. Romance doesn't pay the bills."
But I'm smiling when I say it. And he knows.
We work side by side. Him chopping vegetables with surprising precision. Me rolling dough. The radio plays soft. Some indie station. The kind of music that fills silence without demanding attention.
It feels. Normal. Domestic in a way that should scare me more than it does.
His shoulder brushes mine as he reaches for the cutting board. The touch sends heat spiraling through me. Memory of last night flooding back. His hands. His mouth. The way he made me forget every reason this was a terrible idea.
"You're thinking about it." His voice is low. Knowing.
"Am not."
"Liar."
I elbow him. He catches my wrist. Tugs me closer. Kisses me quick. Sweet. Then releases me before I can melt completely.
"Work first. Other things later."
"Tease."
"You love it."
I don't deny it.
We finish prep as the sun rises properly. Golden light streaming through the front windows. Warming the space. Making everything feel softer. More possible.
Maybe this won't crash and burn. Maybe we can navigate the complexity. Keep this thing between us while we figure out what it is.
Maybe I can let myself want something I didn't plan for. Didn't see coming. Didn't add to any list.
Maybe that's not failure. Just. Life. Happening despite my best efforts to control it.
Grath ties on the ridiculous floral apron I bought as a joke. It stretches tight across his chest. Makes him look absurd and endearing all at once.
"How do I look?"
"Like chaos in an apron."
"Perfect."