Page 57 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

I stepped outside and checked enclosures that didn’t need checking. Adjusted gates that were already secure. Avoided the empty space waiting for me at home.

My cottage was dark and cold when I finally reached it.

Without turning on lights, I walked to the kitchen table and sat down in my usual chair.

The empty cookie container sat in the center of the table where I’d placed it. I pulled it closer and opened it. A few crumbs remained at the bottom. The scent of vanilla still clung to the plastic.

She’d made these in her kitchen with her hands because she’d been thinking about me.

“Tomorrow I’ll tell her about the application.” My voice sounded rough even to my own ears. “I’ll tell her I was afraid to ask her opinion.”

I stared at the empty chair.

“What if I’ve been missing things all along?”

Pulling my phone closer, I typed and sent Willa a message. Could you meet me before the adoption tomorrow morning? We need to talk.

She didn’t reply, but it was the middle of the night. She’d be asleep—like I should be.

I opened my desk drawer in my mind, the real desk back at my office, where a letter with my family’s crest waited under a stack of forms.

Some things I could control.

Some things I couldn’t.

But I could choose what I did with my fear.

I’ll collect the letter tomorrow and read it.

Then I sat at my kitchen table with a silent phone and a second chair that wouldn’t be empty much longer, if I could just stop being afraid and let someone sit in it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WILLA

Iarrived early, wanting to give myself time to check a few things at my desk and get ready.

The break room was quiet when I pushed through the door. I made coffee first and drank a cup standing at the counter because sitting down felt too permanent. The kettle went on next. I pulled down the mug Traig always used and placed the container of cookies I’d made in the center of the table.

Chocolate chip.

Nine-thirty came with the sound of boots on the hallway.

I was refilling my mug when the door opened.

Traig stepped inside, his hair tied back, his tablet tucked under one arm.

His gaze found me first, before the cookies, before anything else in the room.

“You’re here,” he said.

“You asked me to be.”

Crossing the room, he set his tablet down and picked up the container with both hands. He held it against his chest like it was his new best friend.

The kettle clicked off.

I turned to pour his tea, my throat too tight for words.