Page 94 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

“Stay,” the scribe said.

My stomach dropped.

Through the open doorway, he watched Willa move through the kitchen, opening cupboards, searching for what she needed. She found the mugs on the second try. The tea on the third.

If she lived here, she would’ve known where they were right away.

My pulse throbbed in my throat. He’d seen her hesitation. The searching. But she’d opened the third cupboard and pulled out the tea like she’d recalled where it was. This showed she was learning my space the way anyone learned a new home. Maybe that would be enough.

The scribe kept writing notes.

“What does she fear most?” he asked, his voice low enough that Willa wouldn’t hear from the kitchen.

For a moment, I couldn’t think of what to say. He was asking me to reduce her to observations. But she wasn’t data. She was⁠—

“Being useful instead of seen,” I said. “She organizes things for people. Remembers what they need. Makes sure everyone’s comfortable.” I paused. “But she’s afraid that’s the only reason people want her around.”

His pen stopped moving, and he looked up. “What does she do when she’s upset?”

“She takes a walk. Visits with the creatures at the rescue. Writes down the good things in her life. When the world gets too big, she makes it smaller by looking for the simple things that bring joy.”

“I see.” The scribe’s eyes lifted to mine. “What made you think she was yours?”

The kettle whistled in the kitchen. Willa poured water, the sound filling the silence.

“When she teased me about labeling everything in the supply room,” I said. “She was kind about it. It helped me see that I didn’t always need to be in control of everything.” I scraped my tusks across my lip. “She just smiled. Suggested a better way to handle my stress. That, among so many other ways, was how I knew she was mine. She understands me.”

The kitchen had gone quiet.

“Here’s another reason. She brought Fred—one of our grumbletoads—a treat she’d bought in town,” I said. “She didn’t have to do that. He’s not her creature. But she thought about what would make him happy.” My soft smile rose as I remembered. “That’s who she is. She notices when others need something, and she gives it without expecting anything back.”

The scribe studied me for a long moment.

“You notice a great deal about her,” he said.

“I notice everything.”

Willa walked into the room with a mug of tea. Her hands were steady, but her eyes met mine.

She’d heard.

She set the tea on the table beside him.

“Thank you,” he said.

She sat beside me on the couch.

The scribe sipped his tea, made another note, and set the mug aside.

“I must watch how you move through the day’s ending,” he said. “Please, continue as if I am not present.”

Continue as normal? We’d never had a normal evening together.

“We should start dinner,” Willa said, getting up again.

I followed her into the kitchen.

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out vegetables I’d bought yesterday. Carrots. Potatoes. A piece of meat wrapped in paper.