Lex believed that if something was worth doing, it was worth doing correctly.

Which was why the kitchen staff had been very confused the first time he got involved in breakfast.

He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled once, knife in hand, staring down at a cutting board like it was a technical problem instead of a piece of fruit.

“…No,” he said after a moment, mostly to himself. “She doesn’t like the ends.”

He cut the strawberry tops off with precise, clean movements, setting them aside in a neat line instead of throwing them away.

“Pineapple too acidic if it’s not fully ripe,” he continued quietly, inspecting the color before cutting. “And the grapes need to be the green ones, not the red ones. She only eats the red ones if the green ones are gone, which means if there are red ones, you bought the wrong ones.”

One of the kitchen staff tried to speak, but Lex kept working, methodical and exact.

“The apples need to be sliced thin,” he added. “If they’re too thick, she won’t finish them, and then she’ll say she wasn’t that hungry, which is incorrect, she just didn’t want to fight the apple.”

He arranged the fruit in a bowl with the same care he used when arranging a deal.

Precise. Intentional. Correct.

He stepped back, examined it once like a presentation.

“…Routine is important,” he said calmly. “People start their day better when something is predictable.”

He picked up the bowl, already turning toward the stairs.

“And she likes fruit in the morning.”