Page 68 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

I lifted my gaze to the second chair, the one that had stayed empty through every meal and late-night planning session.

She’d kissed me and walked away before I could process what it meant.

Willa.

I sat back down.

The thought of losing her made my hands go still on the table.

I could ask her. The words were right there. Help me pass this assessment. Pretend we’re mated so I can stay.

She’d probably say yes. She’d showed up with cookies every time we met. She’d reorganized my filing system, and I’d finally stopped putting it back to how it was before. She’d kissed me, and I’d sat there like a fool, too surprised to kiss her back properly.

But asking felt wrong, like I was solving a problem instead of choosing a person.

My tablet sat within reach. I could open a new document and make a list. Reasons This Would Work and Reasons This Is a Terrible Idea.

I didn’t reach for it.

Wanting wasn’t the same as having, and I couldn’t control whether she wanted me back.

I read the letter again, but the words didn’t change, so I spoke to the empty kitchen.

“She’s not a problem to solve.” My voice sounded too rough in the silence. “She’s a person who made me cookies because she was thinking about me. She’s an excellent office manager and a woman any male would be grateful to have as a partner.”

I stopped and listened to the words hanging in the air.

“I don’t know how to prove a bond that doesn’t exist.” The admission scraped coming out. “I don’t know how to ask her to save me without making that all she is, without using her just like Derek did.”

The empty chair across from me didn’t answer.

The moon moved across the sky outside my window. Hours passed. I remained at the table.

Dawn broke, pale light creeping across the table.

The letter still sat in front of me, the words burned into my mind.

Three days now until a scribe would arrive. I’d left this instead of reading and preparing just like I’d withheld information from Willa. Hurting her and myself in the process.

I needed to do something besides read the letter again.

After showering, I dressed in clean clothing, grabbed my tablet, and left.

The silent building greeted me when I let myself in.

I went straight to the conference room and spread my work across the table. School curriculum documents. Safety protocols. Parent communication templates. Things I could control that had clear frameworks and measurable outcomes.

I opened my tablet and started making notes, adjusting timelines.

The sun rose higher. Light poured through the windows.

I kept working until my eyes burned, and I found myself unable to read a word on my tablet.

Then I fell asleep with my head resting on my arms on the conference room table, waking late that night to stumble home and fall into my bed.

I woke somewhat refreshed Monday morning. After showering and dressing in clean clothes, I walked to the rescue, finding no one else there but me.

Back in the conference room, I studied the school paperwork, but the timeline still didn’t make sense because I kept reading the same section without processing it.