Page 38 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

His fingertip moved across the screen. “As for Nix, the cookie won’t harm him. Fizzlings share food with their clutch. Each will only get a small bite.” He cleared his throat. “Though we need to make sure he doesn’t steal another. I should build something over their enclosure. A dome, perhaps.”

“That might be the best solution.”

I pretended to review my notes while trying to remember how to breathe normally.

“We should schedule the next meeting,” he said. “I thought Friday afternoon.”

“Same time?”

“Same time.”

He made a note on his tablet. I made a note in my notebook that just said friday with no other context.

We were being so professional.

“I’ll send you my notes tonight,” he said.

“Great. I’ll review them before our meeting.”

“Good.”

“I should get back to the desk,” I said, standing.

“Yes. I’m sure you have documentation to complete.”

I picked up my notebook, grabbed another cookie to eat along the way, and started for the door.

“Willa.”

I turned.

He sat at the table, tablet under his hand, his dark eyes fixed on me in a way that made me forget how to do normal things like think. Blink. Breathe.

“Yes?”

“I found our work together today valuable. Your input. How we…” He gestured between us with one large hand. “Found solutions together.”

“I enjoyed it too.”

“You push back when my ideas are too complicated. No one else does that. They just let me continue.”

The vulnerability in that admission landed on my chest like a weight.

“Well, someone has to keep you from lecturing eight-year-olds about behavioral manifestation patterns.”

His mouth definitely curved up this time. “Yes. Someone should.”

I left before I could ask what he was thinking about when he looked at me like that.

Fred was sitting on the counter at the reception desk, the thornsprig still riding on his back like a tiny knight.

Amanda’s tiny thorn crown had dimmed to a soft glow, and she was hissing while stroking his spine. Fred’s grumbling had taken on a rhythmic, almost purring quality.

They’d bonded.

In less than two hours, a grumbletoad and a thornsprig had figured out they were friends.

I looked back toward the conference room, where Traig must be carefully picking up his things.