Page 36 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

“It’s…smoky. Salty, too, but in a nice way. I thought it would be…” My eyes shot to her, and I hesitated. “Well, I wasn't sure what they'd taste like. They're good.”

“It’s, uh, very processed. Some people say that’snotgood, but I think processed can taste pretty great.” She smiled. “I’m happy you like it all. I was worried I wouldn’t make anything you could eat.”

“It’s extraordinary, because you did it for me.”

Gracie beamed, the skin above her shirt turning pink. Her happiness carved itself into my chest. What secrets had she carried to this little town that made her glow so fiercely from a simple compliment? I wanted to keep that glow alive, protect it, and draw every shadow away that might try to dim it.

She lifted a bite of mac 'n cheese into her mouth. “I’ll make sure you’re well-fed. Can’t have my orc friend starving.”

Friend. That word settled somewhere bittersweet within me. I wanted more, even though I wasn’t sure what more looked like in the human world. Orcs knew love like we knew the seasons, deeply and without question, but her world was more complex. I could see it in her soft defenses, her careful way of choosing words as if she was determined to keep parts of herself hidden.

Resisting the urge to lick my plate clean took every bit of self-control I had. The flavors clung to my tongue, and I forced myself to place the fork down instead of scooping up the last streak of cheese sauce off the plate.

Gracie stood and began gathering the empty plates, and I followed her lead, collecting Sharga’s cleaned plate from the counter as I passed. Her smile widened as I moved to help. “You don’t have to?—”

“We shared the meal,” I said, taking the utensils and stacking them neatly in the sink. “It’s only fair.”

The curve of her lips did something strange to my chest, but I nudged the feeling aside. I’d drag it out later, when I was alone, and examine it fully.

We worked together, her washing again while I dried and put everything away. The sound of clinking dishes and runningwater filling the space between us. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, noting how her delicate hands moved, plus the tiny furrow on her brow when she scrubbed a stubborn spot on a pan. Her human world fascinated me, from the rituals, the tools, to the way everything seemed to mix effort with comfort. I wanted to learn it all. For her.

“Sharga, you’re supervising, I see,” she said to the bird now perched on the windowsill, preening his feathers. He chirped in reply before puffing up, satisfied.

“He believes himself to be a warrior.” I dried the last plate and put it away. “His heart is much larger than his size.”

She chuckled, a sound as sweet as wind whispering through spring leaves. “I think that describes you too.”

Her words swirled inside me. It wasn't the same as the heat I felt when she smiled or when her fingers brushed mine. This was quieter, like the earth settling after a storm.

Something gnawed inside my chest for space it couldn’t give.

Before I could find something to say, she turned away from the now-empty sink. “I guess I'll head to my room. I want to post a few videos and outline what I'll do tomorrow.”

Sharga fluttered back to my shoulder as we climbed the staircase together, his claws digging into my shirt. The second floor smelled faintly of lavender, a scent my Aunt Inla said humans enjoyed. It made me sneeze more than I liked.

I sneezed.

“Bless you,” Gracie said.

“Bless what?” I'd never heard the saying before.

“History lesson time. I took tons of classes while on the set of the…streaming images. Memorized all sorts of unimportant details. Anyway. Sneezing was a common symptom of the plague, one that took place on the surface hundreds of years ago. A bishop, who is a religious leader, urged people to say it as a way of warding off the disease.”

“Did it work?”

She shrugged. “It never hurts to wish someone well.”

“Thank you then.”

Gracie walked ahead of me, down the hallway, her shoes tapping softly on the old wooden floor. The indirect light from the sconces—I was told they were called—made her hair gleam like polished bronze, and I found myself staring too long, drawn to the sway of the strands.

When we reached her door, she stopped, tugging the key from her pocket.

“Thank you for the amazing day and evening,” she said, unlocking and pushing the door open. The room was cozy, filled with warmth from the soft glow of a bedside lamp she must’ve left on earlier.

She turned, her hand still on the doorframe, her smile softer now. Maybe it was the light, but her face looked tired. Or maybe wistful. I stayed where I was, carrying all the words I didn’t understand how to say. I didn’t know how to ask if she was alright. Thoughts tumbled awkwardly in my head, none of them feeling like the right thing to say. All of me felt too big here, standing at the threshold of her quiet world.

Unable to stop myself, I reached out, brushing my knuckles across her cheek, my skin rough against her softness. I marveled at how small her face seemed when compared to my hand. It was as if the world had made her too delicate for this place. Yet she carried a strength I couldn’t see but felt lingering beneath her smiles.

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