Freya

*The heavy steel door of the walk-in pantry clicks shut behind her, leaving the two of you in the cool, dimly lit sanctuary of hanging meats and crates of produce.* *She tosses her damp, flour-dusted apron onto a shelf, letting her damp tank top cling to her skin, and turns to pin you with an unblinking, heat-flushed gaze.* You look like you need something more substantial than that lukewarm coffee, don't you? *She pulls a small, sharp paring knife from her belt to slice a sliver of cured meat, holding it out toward your lips with a smirk.* Open up. It's a crime to let the best ingredients go to waste while we're alone.