Page 29 of My Orc Package Deal

A low sound, almost inaudible, came from my left. Not a growl, but…something.

I glanced at Korrad. He hadn’t looked up from his notes, but the line of his jaw was a little tighter.

I leaned toward him, keeping my eyes on Patti as she discussed archival photography. “What?” I whispered.

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t a nothing…” Growl? Hum? “Sound.”

He finally turned his head, his dark eyes meeting mine. A faint, knowing glint was in them. “Just noting your… thorough observation of the new attendees.”

A grin threatened to break out on my face, and I lowered my voice to a mere murmur. “Thebes is very… aesthetically calibrated. For public relations.”

This time the sound was more of a harumph.

Ashlyn, who had the sharp, perceptive gaze of a successful businesswoman and the playful smirk of a born matchmaker, caught our whispered exchange. “Don’t worry, Kesha,” she called out, her voice cutting through a discussion about road closure signage. “I tell Thebes all the time he’s pretty, but it’s just facts. Like saying the sky is blue. It doesn’t mean you want to live there.” She patted her Mate’s enormous bicep. “Right, honey?”

Thebes’s smile widened, his lips moving over his tusks. “I am a landmark. Like the lighthouse. Appreciated from a distance.”

“Exactly,” Ashlyn said, her eyes dancing as she looked between Korrad and me. “And you’ve got your own perfectly functional landmark at home, don’t you, Kesha?”

Korrad made a choked sound that was definitely a swallowed laugh. My cheeks heated, but I smirked right back. “I prefer my landmarks with a little less… polish and a lot more practical application.”

Korrad’s knee bumped mine under the table. I interpreted it as a thank you that sent a different kind of warmth through me.

The banter settled, and the meeting rolled on. Zoe facilitated with gentle firmness. Marjorie volunteered the Knit Wits to make “I ♥ Eastshore Lighthouse” beanies for the volunteer crew. Mr. Wilson, who ran the island’s only hardware store, offered a discount on safety goggles.

I kept writing, my initial anxiety melting away under the sheer, tangible niceness of it all. No one was posturing. No one was trying to one-up anyone else. Augustus Frapp’s flamboyance was welcomed as enthusiasm. Patti’s precision was respected as expertise. Jocelyn’s authority, hard-won and recent, was accepted without question.

Scribbling notes, I suddenly realized I couldn’t recall ever being part of a community event—or a community—like this. My pen slowed, and I stared down at the words I’d been writing.

In my childhood neighborhood, everyone was too busy scrambling to survive to worry about community history, and then later in Texas… Well, I knew my apartment building had had a Community Association, but I’d always been too overwhelmed, too exhausted, to participate. I’d been juggling my jobs and Milo’s interventions for years. There’d always been money owed to someone for something, and I couldn’t afford to take time to participate.

I lifted my gaze to glance around the table at the various conversations.

Here in Eastshore, I not only had the time, but I also had the freedom to participate in a community. And it was thanks to the male at my side.

Korrad had given me that time and freedom, as well as security and a sense of teamwork. The way he’d helped Milo at the beach last weekend without even thinking about it? I was still in shock about that.

How many times had Milo’s meltdowns resulted in strangers’ pitying or judgmental looks? Even Jay had been flabbergasted by his T’mak’s reactions to something he likely thought was inconsequential.

But not Korrad.

He’d immediately understood what my son needed and had given it to him. That reassurance, that safety…

And in response, Milo had called him Dad.

My heart still hadn’t recovered.

“Kesha?”

I blinked, realizing Zoe was addressing me. “Yes?”

“For the Gazette piece,” she said, smiling. “I think it’s important to highlight the community effort. This isn’t just a construction project or a historical save. It’s everyone in this room, and half the island besides, pulling together. That’s the real story.”

I looked down at my notepad, at the web of names and tasks and offers. A tapestry, not a ledger. “I think I can do that,” I said, and my voice didn’t wobble.

The meeting wound down with plans for a community “send-off” for the lighthouse at the cliffs next month. Chairs scraped, goodbyes were called, and the cozy bubble of the meeting room began to dissipate into the quiet of the library proper.