Page 29 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

An entire school year.

Three meetings per week.

Ninety minutes per session.

I pulled up my calculator and did the addition I’d already done six times in the last hour.

At least one-hundred-and-eight meetings.

One-hundred-and-sixty-two hours of sitting near Willa, catching her scent and trying not to smooth her hair behind her left ear myself.

I was either a genius or completely doomed.

Both. It was both.

Stepping outside, I walked the perimeter, stopping to examine each creature. Making sure they were alright.

This wasn’t a distraction. It was part of my job.

Finished, I turned and started back toward the building.

Through the window, I could see Willa sitting at her desk, Fred floating beside her head, his tiny wings a blur. As she spoke on the phone, she stroked his back and scratched between his stubby ears.

I wanted her to scratch between my pointed ears.

“No,” I growled, though I kept my voice low. “I don’t want her doing anything to my ears.”

But I did. Not necessarily scratching, but touching.

And that was a big problem.

I went to my office and reviewed the proposal one more time, making a few notes. Twenty-nine pages of notes, but all important.

Finally, the building quieted, and I made myself close my tablet and leave. After locking all the doors, I crossed the parking lot and took the path leading to our cottages.

I didn’t have to look back to know I was being followed.

Fred bobbed along the path like a balloon tethered to me.

“The cottage is at capacity,” I said, not slowing my pace.

When we reached the cottage, Fred navigated through the doorway, heading straight for his corner, nudging into it.

I sat in my usual chair and opened my tablet.

“This is highly irregular,” I told Fred, who continued to bump across the ceiling until he hit the opposite wall.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him to leave.

The second chair at my table was still empty.

No one had sat in the second one. Not in three years. My friends came over sometimes, but we usually gathered at Brovish’s place, where the furniture was more comfortable and the space didn’t feel like it was holding its breath.

My cottage was quiet. Clean. Efficient.

Lonely.

I stood in the center of the room and spoke, keeping my voice low, though no one would hear. Our cottages had been built far enough apart we couldn’t see the next.