Page 116 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

Her breathing evened out again. I eased a pillow under her head where my chest had been, and she settled, her hand curling around the fabric like it was me.

The cold floor bit my feet as I padded to the bathroom in the dark, not turning on lights until I was far enough away that it wouldn’t wake her. I tugged on some soft pants, going to the kitchen after.

The coffee maker sat beside the kettle. Her machine. My kettle. Side by side.

I measured her grounds, filled the reservoir with water, and hit the button, listening to it hiss and gurgle to life. While it brewed, I filled the kettle and set it on the pad.

The same motions as always but with a different intent.

This wasn’t habit. Every morning, I was choosing to make her coffee before she woke. To learn the exact way she liked it. I wanted to have it ready when she needed it.

My tablet sat on the counter where I’d left it last night.

I didn’t reach for it.

Usually I’d document this or speak about it out loud—quieter now that Willa lived here with me. I’d log the time and pattern, adding it to an internal tracking system that proved I was paying attention. But my hand stayed on the counter, and the impulse to record everything didn’t come.

I didn’t need to write it down to know it mattered.

I stood with my hand on the counter, waiting for the need to document this. To prove I was doing it right. It didn’t come.

The coffee finished brewing. I poured a mug, added two portions of cream, and set it on the counter where she’d see it when she came out.

The kettle whistled. I made my tea.

And I sent the Council a message about our mating marks.

By the time Willa emerged from the bedroom, dressed and with her hair twisted up, both our drinks sat waiting.

She stopped in the kitchen doorway, taking in the scene. Her mug. My mug. The morning light coming through the window between them.

“You made coffee,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I adore you for that and many other reasons.” She crossed the room and picked up her mug, taking a sip. Her eyes closed. “Perfect.”

After eating and washing up from breakfast, we drove to the facility together, Willa in the passenger seat of my truck, our matching marks visible every time the morning light caught them. Amanda and Fred rode between us, Amanda sweeping her stick through the air.

This would be our first time arriving as a mated couple instead of coworkers who happened to be pretending. The difference felt enormous.

I parked in my usual spot. Willa gathered her bag. With Fred fluttering by my left shoulder, we walked to the front door. I held it open for her.

Fred swooped in behind Willa and flew over to the counter, settling there.

My friends had gathered in the break room, eating muffins Laina must’ve made, drinking tea.

We stepped inside, Willa going to the refrigerator to put our lunches inside.

Drogar’s eyes dropped to our wrists.

“You’re mated.” He jumped up from his chair so fast it nearly toppled and strode over to sweep Willa up in a hug. “I knew it. Right from the start, I knew this would happen.”

“Drogar.” Willa laughed, breathless. “I can’t breathe.”

He set her down and turned to me, clapping me on the back hard enough that I stumbled forward a step.

“My brother is mated,” he said, his grin showing both tusks. “This is the best day.”