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Orc comfort food. Braised meat in a thick, spicy sauce, a root that tasted a bit like a potato, and vegetables that had been cooking long enough to turn soft. A meal that took hours to make and tasted like someone cared. His parents used to make it every Friday when I first moved in, back when everything felt foreign and I was still figuring out how to exist in a world without my mom and dad.

They’d been archaeologists, exploring the orc kingdom. They’d died during a mudslide.

Crim wore an apron that said, Kiss the Orc Cook in bold letters. One of his teammates had given it to him as a joke three Christmases ago, but he loved it.

Music played low in the background, an orc instrumental I loved.

I dropped onto a stool at the kitchen island. He poured me wine without asking, a generous glass.

“I’m going to kiss you,” I said as he handed it to me with a crooked smile.

“Please don’t.”

We both laughed, though mine came out a little forced. To him, I’d always been his younger sister. And to me, he was the hero I’d looked up to and the brother I’d adore for the rest of my days.

“So tell me about the new job,” he said, stirring the stew on the stove. “Do you like it?”

“I do. It’s great. Challenging.”

We fell into an easy rhythm. Him cooking, me sipping my wine.

I picked on him too, but that came with the sibling territory.

“You’re burning the bread,” I said, sniffing the air. My belly rumbled. I might be irritated but that didn’t mean I wasn’t hungry.

“I’m letting it get nice and golden.”

“That’s what people say when they’re burning bread.”

He grinned over his shoulder. “Are you going to complain or are you going to eat?”

“Both. Obviously.”

He paused, grabbing the bread from the oven with thick oven mitts, dumping the round loaf out onto a cutting board. “Brashe has been weird lately.”

I nearly choked on my wine, coughing after taking a swallow.

Crim cut thick chunks of bread and placed them in a basket, hissing at the hot temperature. “More than usual, I mean. He’s been distracted, but that’s not the only thing. He’s been full of questions for, oh, at least ten months.”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked, acting casual.

He shrugged. “About you, mostly.”

“No.”

“Yes. Lately, he’s been asking how you’re settling in. If you like the team. If you’re seeing anyone.”

I lost all focus.

“Prior to you moving to the area, he wanted to know how your fellowship was going. If your dissertation would be published.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure if he wanted to read it or what.”

Crim served the stew in big bowls and brought it and the basket of bread to the dining room table in the adjoining room. I followed, taking a seat, admiring the lit candles and the vase with flowers in the center.

“Eat,” he said, sitting to my right.

The khesva smelled amazing and was thick with chunks of meat that fell apart at the touch of my spoon. The yeasty scent of the bread made my belly rumble.

Crim slid the butter dish closer.