Page 89 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

We finished loading the truck.

Traig set a box in the truck bed and turned to find me watching him.

“What?” he asked.

“This is really happening.”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to live together. Starting tonight.”

His gaze held mine. “Only if you’re certain.”

I thought about the alternative. Him being dragged back to the kingdom. Mated to someone who’d never understand why he needed everything labeled just so.

“I’m certain,” I said.

We drove to Traig’s cottage, where the guys quickly brought everything inside, placing boxes and bags in the small entryway.

“I’m sorry we can’t stay to help more,” Brovish said.

“It’s alright,” I said. “We can handle it from here.”

One hour until the scribe arrived. We’d have to handle it fast.

“You’re sure?” Laina asked, concern in her eyes. “If I didn’t have to run the clinic, I’d stay and help.”

“We’re sure.” I met Traig’s gaze, and he nodded.

We waved and watched from the open doorway while they left. Then they were gone, and it was just me and Traig and a living room full of boxes and bags.

We shut the door and got to work.

Traig’s cottage was exactly what I’d expected. Clean, organized, and minimally decorated. Actually, there were no decorations—yet. Wait until I’d finished unpacking.

Nothing appeared to be out of place, and that might be a problem.

His kitchen held enough plates and silverware for one orc who washed the dishes often, the basic appliances, a well-stocked cupboard, and a table with two chairs, one of them looking like it had never been used.

He’d positioned his couch at a precise angle to the fireplace. His bookshelves had been organized by subject, then alphabetically within each subject.

He’d been living alone in a cottage built for two.

“Bathroom first,” I said, grabbing the box labeled in Krem’s precise handwriting.

Traig’s bathroom was spotless. White tile. Glass shower. One towel hanging perfectly straight. A solitary toothbrush in the holder.

“No one’s bathroom is this neat and tidy,” I said.

He huffed from the doorway, bags of clothing in his hands. “Mine is.”

“That’s the problem.”

He left, and I pulled out my hair products and scattered them across the counter. I hung my bathrobe on the back of the door. Added a second toothbrush to the holder.

Traig returned to stand in the doorway, watching. His tusks twitched.

“Are you okay?” I asked.