Page 33 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

He hesitated before answering. “Not regret, but there are things I miss. The warmth of the earth when everything elsegrows cold. The way the light from luminescent moss paints the caverns in blues and greens.” He glanced at me, his dark eyes catching the fading sunlight. “There's sky here, though. And stars. The moon. They're worth the trade.”

I hadn't realized I wanted someone to speak about the stars like that, to name them as proof that something new could be better. And safer. And real.

I cleared my throat and gave him a small smile. “The stars are definitely worth it.”

We reached the hotel’s front door, and he swung the right side inward, one of those simple, quiet gestures that reinforced how kind he was.

Tark headed straight to the kitchen. “I’ll cook for you again,” he said inside the small room. “Please sit. I’ll make something good.”

“Tark, the muffins this morning were incredible.” I tried to keep my tone breezy, but the part of me always on alert, the version they trained on camera sets and red carpets, twitched. It didn’t know what to do with a male who cooked because he wanted to, not because he’d earn something for doing it. “I have no doubt whatever you make now will be amazing too. But you don't need to cook for me all the time. I could order a pizza or a sandwich. That would be easy.”

Turning from the open fridge, he frowned. “Order...?”

“DoorSprint. Hoppin' Pizza. They must deliver here.” We weren't that far from the real town.

“I don't know what those are, but no one comes here. It's not allowed yet, not until we open.”

So no DoorSprint or Hoppin' Pizza. I could live with that. “Then I guess you're the chef tonight. Or...” I sucked in an excited breath. “Tell you what.” I scooted over to him, took his hand, and tugged him over to the table. “Sit. I'm cooking tonight for you.”

He blinked down at me. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Not orc dishes, but I'm not that bad around a stove myself.”

His frown didn't fade. “I guess so. I feel like I should be doing this for you.”

“Relax. You've been doing things for me all day. Let me make you something yummy.”

His expression smoothed, and the corner of his mouth curled up. “I'd like that.”

I grinned. “Then have a seat, partner. One meal coming right up.” The words felt like a script from a forgotten romantic comedy, except no one was rolling. I didn't expect the ache that followed, a hollow flicker inside asking why this felt more real than everything else that had come before.

He hesitated before sitting, tugging something out of his pocket, turning slightly away from me while he did it.

Everyone had their secrets. I wouldn't push for his.

Humming, I opened the fridge and studied the ingredients, settling on something simple.

While I made our meal, and I tripled the serving for him, I kept peeking at him, wondering what he was doing. But he stayed turned away, focused intently on whatever he was doing with his hands.

My skin felt jittery, like my bones were preparing for flight for no reason at all. I kept slicing the same way I’d once sliced up bad reviews, calm on the outside, a storm looming deep inside.

Whatever he was hiding in his hands, I wanted to deserve it.

Chapter 12

Tark

While I worked on something special, Gracie crafted a meal. Finished, she brought something that smelled amazing over to the table, laying a loaded plate in front of me and a smaller one on the opposite side.

I kept my project tucked beneath the wooden surface, not ready to share it with her yet. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready to share it.

As she settled in the seat across from me, I tucked it inside my pocket and gave her an attempt at a smile.

“What were you working on?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I growled, then realized how snarly I sounded. I lightened my voice, aiming for sweetness, though there wasn’t anything sweet about a big orc like me. “It isn’t anything.”

Sharga flew into the kitchen and perched on the counter.

---