Page 32 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

The thornsprig climbed onto Fred’s back. Fred floated upward, the thornsprig clinging to his fur, a spiky little bareback rider.

I grabbed my notebook and headed for the conference room but stopped at the beginning of the hall. “Would it be alright for me to name the thornsprig?”

Drogar tugged his gaze away from Fred, who kept flying up toward the ceiling, hitting it as if he wanted to knock the thornsprig off. The thornsprig kept sliding to the side and sitting upright again when Fred dropped back down.

An orc creature rodeo. What fun.

“I think you should name her,” Drogar said.

“How about Amanda? That’s my mom’s name.”

“She does look like an Amanda,” Drogar said, still watching Fred’s antics.

“Thank you.”

I pretty much skipped down the hall until I remembered what was coming, when I slowed.

The door to the conference room was closed, though I could see movement through the frosted glass panel, Traig’s silhouette, pacing.

I knocked.

The pacing stopped.

“Come in.”

I opened the door but came to a stop inside.

Traig stood at the head of the conference table, tablet in hand, but that wasn’t what made my brain stutter.

The table had been transformed.

His tablet sat at one end, connected to the wall-mounted screen that was currently displaying a title slide: Educational Partnership Initiative - Phase One Planning.

A coffee cup sat at the seat to his right. Steam rose from it.

A big plate covered with cookies sat between his chair and what I assume must be mine.

Cookies?

Chocolate chip. Oatmeal raisin. Snickerdoodle. Something with M&Ms. Sugar cookies with frosting. At least twenty cookies, maybe more, arranged in neat rows by type.

“Hi,” I said, unsure how to respond to whatever this was.

“Hello.” Traig gestured to the chair. “I…acquired refreshments. In town. At the bakery. And the break room. At the coffee pot. The cream came from…” His swallow took a long time to go down. He gestured to the chair by the mug. “Please sit.”

My attention locked on the plate.

“That’s a lot of cookies,” I said.

“Yes.” His tusks shifted against his upper lip. “The bakery in town had six varieties available. I didn’t know which kind you preferred, so I bought four of each type. For sampling.”

He’d bought twenty-four cookies because he didn’t know which ones I liked?

“That’s really thoughtful of you.” I sat, pulling the chair in, placing my notepad on the table in front of me. I was lining up my pen when I realized I was behaving just like Traig always did around me.

Arranging things because I was nervous?

Which meant that maybe he was also nervous. Around me or always?