Page 63 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

A curl fell forward across my cheek.

Traig’s hand lifted but stopped. His fingers hovered near my face before he reached past me for the sauce.

I tucked the curl behind my ear and pretended I hadn’t noticed he’d almost touched me.

He moved to the stove, heating a pan.

“Is this a dish your family made?” I asked.

His hands stilled on the pan.

“My family didn’t do much together,” he said. “I mean, my parents did, but they left me home with help more than not.”

How sad.

He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push.

“My mom made lasagna every Sunday,” I said. “Using the same recipe and same pan. I can still smell it.”

“That sounds nice,” he said quietly.

He toasted the vreth while I plated the brillon root. We assembled the sandwiches together, him adding meat, me spooning sauce, both of us moving around each other like we’d done this before.

When we sat down to eat, the building gently breathed around us.

The sandwich was savory and rich, the vreth crispy on the outside and soft inside.

We ate quietly, but it wasn’t awkward, and our legs occasionally bumped underneath the table.

We’d just finished when the timer on his tablet chimed. Fifteen minutes until the Rue family arrived.

We washed the dishes and put away ingredients, neither of us speaking much. We were thinking about what was coming.

The SUV was nice, a newer model. People who had money but didn’t necessarily flaunt it. Traig and I stood at the front door as a couple in their forties stepped out, followed by a teenage girl who hurried toward us.

“Hi,” she said, extending her hand to me first, then Traig. “I’m Mandy. These are my parents, Tom and Lisa.”

Tom shook Traig’s hand.

“Thank you for meeting us today,” Lisa said with a smile.

“Our pleasure,” I said, because it was my job to make people feel welcome even when my stomach was in knots.

Mandy held a notebook under her arm, the pages flagged with sticky notes.

“I did a ton of research,” she said as we walked around the building toward the enclosures. “Bloombacks are herbivores, right? They need open grazing space and sheltered areas during bad weather. Their flowers change with seasons and emotions, which means monitoring them can help identify health issues early.” She looked up at Traig. “Is that right?”

“That’s exactly right,” he said, his spine rigid, his tablet held against his chest.

His gaze fell on the bloomback enclosure.

Fern and Rue grazed near the far fence, Fern’s flowers deep lavender, Rue’s coral pink.

We reached the enclosure.

Mandy pressed against the fence, her face lighting up. “They’re beautiful.”

Rue lifted her head, studying us before she returned to grazing.