Page 145 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

“It is.” Sofia chirped and launched from Laina’s shoulder to mine, settling against my neck. “She likes you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Laina left with a wave, and I returned to my desk with Sofia still perched on my shoulder, her tiny claws gripping my shirt.

Drogar stepped into my office a few minutes later.

“Have you heard about the food vehicle?” he asked.

I looked up. “The what?”

“Food vehicle. Krem says it is called a food truck, but it’s not really a truck. A van, maybe. I’ve been studying human vehicles, and I can confirm it is not a truck.”

“Then why not call it a food van?”

“I will.” He shot me a quick grin. “A human will bring one here to sell food to the visitors. I mentioned her before, right?” He frowned. “Maybe not. Her name’s Anika. She’ll come next week to see the space and decide if she wants to do it.”

“That’s great. More visitors means more needs. Food’s a great idea.”

“It is.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Anika. That’s a nice name.”

“You’re right.”

“A very nice name.”

My lips quivered. “Drogar.”

“What?”

“You haven’t even met her yet.”

“I know, but I have a grand feeling.”

“Good feeling?”

“That too.” He straightened away from the doorframe. “I should make sure an area on the eastern side of the parking lot is ready. For the food van. It needs the best spot.”

He left, whistling as he went.

Sofia chirped on my shoulder.

“You’re so right,” I told her. “I saw it too.”

Traig strode into my office at five.

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He waited while I shut down my computer and gathered my things. Fred fluttered over, Amanda riding on his back, and they followed us through the woods to our cottage.

Inside, I made dinner while Traig reviewed something on his tablet at the table. Fred settled under the table, grumbling. Amanda claimed her windowsill perch, her crown shifting between pink and orange.

Nix appeared from somewhere, probably the space behind the refrigerator where he’d been nesting despite Traig’s repeated attempts to relocate him. He watched me cook, no doubt hoping I’d toss him vegetable chunks—which I did.

“The Huangs sent a message,” Traig said without looking up from his tablet. “They want to know if they can bring Rue and Fern to the next school visit. Show the children how well the bloombacks are doing in their new home.”

I stirred the pasta. “That’s a great idea.”