Page 27 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

“They’re made from dartling pods,” I said, grateful my voice didn’t crack or falter. Maybe I was finally getting comfortable below my green skin. “The pods grow underground, all curled up like a fist, and you’ve got to sing to them if you want them to open and release their berries. Low, steady notes, like a hum.It’s the vibration that does it, actually. Not the singing itself. It shakes them loose. My aunt taught me.”

“The one who showed you how to cook?” She eyed the rest of the muffins. I'd eaten three already before I left, but she only ate one.

“Yes, that aunt.”

Finally, she broke away a small piece with her fingertips and brought it to her lips. The way her mouth closed around the bite, the slight quirk of her shoulder as she chewed. It was all I could focus on. Time stretched unbearably long before her eyes popped wide.

“Whoa,” she said, holding the rest of the muffin up. “Tark, this is wonderful. It’s sweet and tangy and fluffy and like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.” She took another bite, this one larger, humming as she swallowed.

My chest swelled, pride rushing through me. “You like it?”

“Like it? Iloveit.” She tore off another piece and popped it into her mouth. “Seriously, you could turn these into a business on their own.”

Her words settled over me like a balm, soothing my nerves that had been coiled as tight as fencing wire since I’d gotten up early and started making them. I hadn’t realized how much I needed her approval; how much it mattered to me that she found joy in something I’d done for her. My fingers flexed, rising to clutch the edge of the table while I fought the urge to tell her how much I valued her opinion. Would she think me strange or too eager if I did something like that?

Gracie licked a crumb from the corner of her lips, and my breath froze in my lungs. “If these are an example of what you can bake, Tark, you really need to reconsider opening a restaurant. A bakery. Both!”

Hope unfurled in my chest like the first bloom of spring in the caves far below the human's surface. “You think so?” My voice was quieter now, hollowed out by the weight of her praise.

She nodded again, taking a sip of her tea, then finished the last of her muffin, shooting me a grin while she chewed. “That. Was. Amazing,” she gushed.

Maybeshe gushed. It looked like that was what she was doing, though I didn't know humans well. This was how Jessi and Rosey talked about Greel and Ostor, so it could be the same. Although, I wasn't a muffin. But neither were Greel and Ostor.

For a second, it didn’t feel like my heart was trying to claw its way out of my chest. I could see she was enjoying the meal in the way she leaned over the table, one hand balancing her tea while the other picked crumbs off her plate. She wasn’t being polite. She meant it when she said she liked what I’d made for her.

“Would you like another?” I asked.

She nodded fast, her smile lighting up her face, before her head tilted. “You truly sing to get the dartling pods to release their berries?”

“It's the only way to get them out. They resist otherwise.”

“They sound almost alive.”

I thought about that. “I suppose they are. They’re not creatures like sorhoxes, though, but a plant.”

She sipped her tea and nodded again.

Sharga finished his meal and took flight, weaving across the room and out into the open area beyond.

Her brow pensive, Gracie watched him. “Is he still in pain?”

“Not any longer. I found him by the road with a broken wing and healed him. When I set him free and urged him to go, he didn’t want to. He’s stayed with me ever since. Podar too.”

“Your bobcat. I’ve never met a bobcat, but I love cats in general. I’d have a thousand of them if I could.”

“I only have one.” Should I get more? I would if it would make Gracie want to be with me.

“I wasn’t allowed to have any while growing up, and since I travel for my influencer job, it hasn’t felt right to get one now. I wouldn’t want to board them or leave them alone.”

“Why couldn’t you have one while growing up?”

“I…” She pinched her lips with her teeth. “It wasn’t possible. My parents said no.” Her sigh puffed out. “Alright, I’ll explain some more. I grew up on TV.”

I blinked, trying to picture her sitting on such an appliance. “Oh.” Now I knew what she meant. “You mean you took part in the streaming images. Somehow.” I wasn’t sure how it all worked. I could make a video and post it, but I suspected whatever she’d done was more complex than that.

“Yes, streaming images. My parents are actors, and they got me started young. Reality TV can be a bitch, but it was their bitch, and they were eager to make it mine as well.” She traced her finger along a seam on the wooden table, not looking up. “I quit as soon as I could.”

“To be an influencer I could hire.”

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