Page 85 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

“But Traig noticed anyway,” I said. “He made my coffee before I arrived. He brought Fred to my desk because he knew I’d been charmed. He remembers everything about me.” I finally looked at Traig. His eyes were dark and steady on mine. “And I was terrified, because if he really saw me and then decided I wasn’t enough…”

The scribe set down his pen. “You feared abandonment.”

“I feared confirmation,” I said. “That I’d been right all along.”

The room went very quiet.

“What does she take in her tea?” the scribe finally asked.

“She drinks her tea without anything in it,” Traig said. “But she prefers coffee.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward before smoothing. “With two creams. No sweet dust—sweetener. She drinks it from a blue mug if it’s available. She likes it slightly cooler than most humans. Adds ice if she’s let it sit too long.”

“What does he do when he’s stressed?” the scribe asked me.

“He labels things that don’t need labels,” I said. “He reorganizes supply rooms at two in the morning. His tusks scrape across his upper lip when he’s thinking or worried. And when he’s really overwhelmed, he makes lists on his tablet that he never uses. He just needs to see the structure.”

“How does he sleep?” he asked me.

I blinked. “What?”

“His sleeping position. If you share a bed, you’d know this.”

My mouth went dry.

I had no idea how Traig slept. I’d never seen him sleep. We’d kissed twice and disagreed about filing systems, but I’d never watched him sleep.

Traig’s thumb moved across my knuckles in what could be reassurance or warning.

“On his back,” I said, because it felt right. “Very still. Like even in sleep he’s trying not to take up too much space.”

Traig’s breath hitched.

The scribe’s pen paused. “And does this bother you?”

“Yes,” I said. “Because I want him to take up space. I want him to sprawl and steal blankets and wake me up at odd hours because he can’t sleep. I want proof he’s there and real and mine.”

The words spilled out before I could stop them.

Traig’s hand trembled in mine.

The scribe closed his ledger and looked up.

“I must see where you live. I’ll continue my assessment tonight and tomorrow morning,” he said. “I want to document your shared living patterns.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WILLA

The world stopped.

The scribe wanted to see us in our shared household?

My apartment had one toothbrush. A closet full of my clothes and nobody else’s. A bed I’d slept in alone every night since I’d moved to Bramble Creek.

No orc-sized chairs. No orc-sized bed. Traig’s feet would hang off the end of my queen.

I didn’t even know what Traig’s place looked like.

The scribe would know the second he walked through the door that we weren’t living together.