Irene is not a Latin name. It’s Ancient Greek. It means ‘peace.’

You might wonder, ‘Joey, how come you know so many etymologies?’

Because chicks go literally crazy about it. Watch and learn.

“Where I come from, your name means peace,” I say, smiling.

Irene smirks at me. She has intense blue eyes and jet-black hair, similar to my own. See, if we had a baby, it would indeed have blue eyes.

“You know the ancient tongue?”

“Something like that,” I say.

“I didn’t know Humans took an interest in it. I thought your stance on Dragons was to exterminate every last one of them. Do you have any Vanedeni blood in you?”

“Nope. Just love me some cultural reads.”

She nods approvingly, scanning me from head to toe again—that means she might be interested in the old razzle-dazzle of mine.

“Anyway, how’s life here? At the bakery, I mean.”

“You want to jump ships?”

“Nah. Not exactly. Just asking, you know? Maybe one day, I’ll need to get a new job—and when that time comes, I’ll have a good idea of where to go.”

Irene clicks her tongue and smiles.

“The Three Roses is a nice place. We treat good employees much better than that ox of your boss. We have strict requirements on levels and proficiency, but we can make exceptions if, even without a class, you prove good enough.”

See, I like this line of thinking. While levels might be a good way to quickly separate between good and bad candidates, they shouldn’t be used as the ultimate source of truth. It’s like having an open position for anything and having to choose between a candidate from Harvard and a guy who didn’t go to any known university but has studied the subject extensively out of passion since he was five.

Now, in this specific example, I’m actually both. I have several certifications, and I have been passionate about this since early on. I’m just certified by a different institute than the one these people have.

Or perhaps...

Darker thoughts get to me.

Perhaps, I’m not a [Baker] because I’m not supposed to be a baker. Perhaps, I should just give up.

I inhale and spoon another piece of the small cake.

“How’s your life at Happy Bakery, Joey?”

“Well, not too bad. I have had to rock the boat a little but nothing much. Just a small disagreement in the workplace.”

For all I’d like to vent, doing so in front of the competition doesn’t seem like the most tasteful move, if I have to be honest.

“Well, that’s not any of my business. But why don’t you just tell me how come you are in Amorium of all places? The Northern cities or the ones on the Eastern coast, I could see that. There’s a lot of [Merchants] and, sometimes, families from Carilia move there. But Amorium? How does that happen?”

That happens thanks to a dimensional jump from the NYC subway, a Dragon Lady trying to tempt me with some insane artifacts, and a tome that opens portals that bring you to a city full of Elves.

“Life happens,” I smile, keeping the cards close to my chest. “Sometimes you are somewhere, and then poof, you suddenly find yourself in a completely different place.”

I take a long sip of my tea, keeping up a polite smile.

I won’t lie.

Irene is hot. For all Lady Luck hates me, at least I’m blessed with mostly beautiful women around me. And if I must trade my mental sanity for them to keep popping up like this, why not.

At the end of the day, what can one want more than the company of a beautiful woman and a nice dessert? Happiness? Overrated.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Irene suddenly says.

“Oh, don’t be fooled,” I smile, “I’m just tired. Usually, I’m much, much chattier.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Are you now...” She gives me a catty smile.

“You bet. I could talk for hours on end. I know a vast array of random facts. And you might not know this, Irene, but I am great company. Especially to the ladies.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” she smiles. “I can recognize someone fun even when they are tired. It’s just a pity that you are the competition. Camilla and Flavia have been working hard, and who knows, we might put you out of business soon.”

Ohhhh, trash talk.

Love it.

“I’ll be able to tell you more about it tomorrow, you know? I know that Happy has some things to sort out. Once they do, it’ll be clearer whether your bakery is going out of business or not.”

“You are pretty cocky, Joey Luciani.”

“Nah. I’m good. Just very, very good,” I say in a more flirtatious tone.

“Oh, are you?” She raises an eyebrow as a smirk appears on her face. “I’d like to taste something you made, then.”

“Oh, were we talking about baking? Sure, I’m good at baking as well.”

Irene looks at me with a mischievous glint in her eyes as we exchange glances. It feels like we are having a silent conversation, flirting with each other through our words and body language. The tension between us is palpable, and I can't help but feel drawn to her. She smiles again, and I can't help but smile back, warmth spreading through my chest.

“I still don’t see how you got hired by Clodia. I would expect her to bash your head in if you said something like that to her,” with that, the tension breaks, and we both erupt into laughter.

“So, first of all, yes. I am surprised that I haven’t tasted the might of the huge wooden spoon she carries around yet. Second, Clodia is a much better businesswoman than you are giving her credit for. Honestly, she’s much more rational than... I would have given her credit for it. She’s a good employer, trust me.”

I was about to say that she’s much more rational than Flaminia; she just goes straight for blood when she thinks something is out of place. And again, kudos to her because it’s a good approach.

Look, Clodia has been good to me. I’m not stupid. I know that bringing me into an environment full of women might have altered the equilibrium, especially because these women are Elves, and I’m a Human. She took a chance on me and was trying to be reasonable when Flaminia just lost her shit.

I owe Clodia.

“Interesting,” Irene comments cryptically while staring at me.

“Clodia knows her business,” I tell her. “I don’t know your boss, but I wouldn’t want to be her in the near future, you know.”

“I bet she does,” she says suggestively and stands up. “I’ll see you around, Joey Luciani. Have a nice day, and come back to the Three Roses when you want to taste some real pastries.”

“I will,” I say, looking at her swaying hips as she goes to the back.

...

I walk through the Pratus to clear my head. Today has been a roller coaster of emotions.

First, Flaminia goes ape on me and requests to essentially humiliate me. I mean, I get where she’s coming from, but that was too much. It’s one thing to make a point; it’s another to be a bigot. Even though I’m usually against conflict, I’m looking forward to the Great Elven Bake-Off.

Second, the Three Roses is actually a pretty nice place. They focus more on individual pastries, and apparently, they’re all about that foot traffic. The whole rose theme is not really my jam, but I could work around that. I have never experimented with roses, to be honest. It would be a fresh challenge for me. Plus, Irene... oof. She was really something, wasn’t she? I was getting major chemistry vibes from her. That’s another thing to keep in mind—especially since she looked pretty mature for her age.

Anyway, I should really check out some farms or wherever it is that they cultivate everything. I haven’t stepped out of Amorium since I arrived. It’s unlikely, but who knows? Maybe they do know what chocolate is, and it won’t be that hard to source it.

Oh, yeah, right. There’s a little chocolate involved in the recipe I plan to use for the bake-off.

Plus, I could always pick up a hoe and dedicate my life to becoming a [Farmer], right?

Anyway, you wouldn’t believe all I had to learn about chocolate when I attended the maître chocolatier school. And yes, including the process. Let me tell you; it’s less glamorous than you might think. And it takes a while... unless you have skills, I suppose. Huh. That would actually be a good use of the supernatural game-like mechanics of this world.

I have to say, my chocolate game is strong but not the greatest. I am really not a big fan of sculpting chocolate—or making cakes that resemble people.

Cakes should be about having a great food experience. Being pretty is the last thing you should consider about food. Sure, you will still find chefs that are all about presentation.

I have worked briefly alongside a British starred chef who re-invented several versions of the beef Wellington. Now, if you are not familiar with the process, just know that it is a very lengthy one. And not only do you need to source the best ingredients but there are several technical skills involved in its preparation.

I know, I know.

I’m ranting, alright?

But listen, this guy spent more time doing decorations around the thing than caring about the food itself. I tasted more than one of his beef creations. And guess what? We actually beefed really hard when I told him that he should be ashamed of himself for serving subpar dishes that are pretty but taste like nothing.

Baking is my primary focus, but I’m not a shoddy cook—unlike that guy.

Form is important, sure. But if you think I will not insult a chef who has mostly specialized in one dish getting sloppy, you’d be quite wrong.

Food is about ingredients. It’s about technique.

I am not just a great fan of Italian cuisine because of my parents, in fact. I love how the simplicity of most dishes means that you have to look with the best ingredients and your own technique.

But I get it, it’s all about personal philosophies. I cook both pretty and well. But most importantly, I make sure my dishes are beyond reprisal in terms of taste.

I can feel Lorenzo’s huge hands that would slap my back if I tried to make something pretty but not delicious.

And if you have to sacrifice form to stun your clients with a delicious, go ahead.

Feed the hungry with good food. Send the rest to get ripped off.

“Are you Joey?” I hear a hushed voice from behind my back and turn to find myself staring at an ash-blonde-haired guy. He’s holding a familiar piece of bread in his hands. And... he wears a big, wooden peg on his nose?

“Wait, do I know you?”

“Hi... I’m Truffles.”