Page 15

But as I look into her eyes, I see the truth of it. And I realize, with a mixture of terror and exhilaration, that I feel the same way.

"Pamela," I start, my voice rougher than usual. "I'm not good at this. At feelings. But, dammit, I think I love you too."

Her smile is radiant, brighter than any sunlight filtering through the grimy garage windows. She reaches up, her hand cupping my cheek, and I lean into her touch.

"We'll figure this out," she says, echoing my own words from days ago.

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Instead, I pull her closer, wrapping her in my arms. She comes willingly, nestling against my chest.

As I hold her, I'm struck by the strangeness of it all. Me, an orc ex-mercenary, falling in love with a Vietnamese-American chef with an unshakeable faith. It's not a pairing anyone would have predicted. But somehow, against all odds, it feels right.

I press a gentle kiss to the top of Pamela's head, breathing in the scent of her hair. I don't know what the future holds for us. The danger is still out there, waiting. But in this moment, with Pamela in my arms, I feel a peace I've never known before.

Whatever comes next, we'll face it together. My little chef and me. And maybe, just maybe, her faith will be enough for both of us.

Eleven

Pamela

After days of being cooped up in Lou's garage, the last thing I expect is an outing. But Koda, in his typical gruff manner, surprises me once again. "Get your things," he says, tossing me a light jacket. "We're going out."

Before I can pepper him with questions, he's already striding towards the door, leaving me to scramble after him.

The ride to the marina is silent, tension thrumming beneath Koda's stoic exterior. It's only when I see the small boat bobbing gently in the water that I realize where we're headed.

Now, as we glide across the water, I marvel at the perfection of the day. The late afternoon sun bathes everything in a golden glow, its warmth a pleasant contrast to the cool breeze coming off the water. The gentle lapping of waves against the boat's hull creates a soothing rhythm, almost but not quite calming the rapid beating of my heart.

Koda's massive frame dominates the small vessel, his green skin gleaming in the sunlight. He handles the boat with surprising grace, those powerful muscles that I've seen in actionnow being used for something so peaceful. It's a side of him I haven't seen before, and it's oddly captivating.

I've lost count of how many times I've asked where we're going. Each time, Koda's response is the same: a slight quirk of his lips, a secretive glimmer in those intense yellow eyes. It's maddening and intriguing all at once.

"You know," I say, breaking the comfortable silence that's fallen between us, "for someone trying to keep me safe, you sure do like your mysterious outings."

Koda's low chuckle sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Maybe I just like keeping you on your toes, little chef."

There's a playful note in his voice that I've rarely heard, and it makes me wonder what other surprises this enigmatic orc has in store. As we continue our journey to who-knows-where, I find myself looking forward to finding out. Then, suddenly, as we round another corner, I gasp. There, on a small, secluded island, is a picnic set up. A checkered blanket is spread on a dry patch of ground, surrounded by lanterns that flicker softly in the fading light. The smell of something delicious wafts towards us.

"Koda," I breathe. "What is all this?"

He helps me out of the boat, his touch gentle despite his enormous strength. "Thought we could use a break from all the running and hiding," he says gruffly, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. "Do you like it?"

I take in the scene before me with the carefully arranged picnic, the beautiful setting, the obvious effort Koda has put into this. Tears prick at my eyes. "It's perfect," I whisper.

Koda's shoulders relax slightly, and he leads me to the blanket. As we settle down, he begins unpacking a basket I hadn't noticed before. My eyes widen as I recognize the dishes he's laying out.

"Is that ph? gà?" I ask incredulously, the scent of star anise and cinnamon filling the air.

Koda nods, a hint of pride in his voice. "And bánh mì with a New Orleans twist. Andouille sausage instead of the usual pork."

I'm speechless. These are my favorite dishes, the ones I'd told him about during our long talks in the safehouse. The fact that he remembered, that he went to the trouble of preparing them.

"How did you do all this?" I ask, my voice thick with emotion.

Koda shrugs, but I can see the pleasure in his eyes at my reaction. "Had some help from Lou. Turns out the old bastard knows his way around a kitchen. And, well, I might have made a few calls to some Vietnamese restaurants in the area."

The image of Koda, this fierce orc warrior, calling around to find authentic Vietnamese recipes makes me laugh and tear up at the same time. "Thank you," I say, reaching out to touch his hand. "This means more than I can say."

We eat in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the food and the peaceful surroundings. As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks, I notice Koda growing tense again.