Page 13 of Buck Wild Orc Cowboy
Blessed silence echoed in the lull. I turned, half-expecting Sel to make a joke or return to his work, but he was standing a few feet from the counter, his arms at his side, watching me like I might lift off the floor.
I fidgeted with my apron. “Does your family make a habit of encouraging new hires to date you or your brothers?”
“All the time, though not for my brothers who are mated. They only have about two sign-ups so far for the dating app they’re putting together, and they really want more.”
“It won’t be me.” I said, though kindly. “I'm not looking for romance.”
“I'm not either.”
Why did that make a twinge of sadness shoot through me?
He stepped closer, his gaze steady on mine. “You handled them well.”
I tried to look casual by leaning my hip against the back of the counter. “They're sweet.” More or less. Grannie Lil didn’t need to look for a tornado; she was one.
A smile flirted with his mouth. “They are.” I could tell he was glad I saw it that way, that I wasn't offended. But they'd meant no harm. “They care.”
That landed somewhere I didn’t want it to. “I could tell.”
I suddenly felt apart from all this. They were family. They understood each other, encouraged each other, and that was incredibly nice.
I walked past him, entering the kitchen, where I poured more flour onto a board. My hands found another round of dough to knead.
Sel followed, working at his own station beside mine. Too near. Not near enough. He didn’t speak for a while, except to hum something under his breath, but the air between us hadchanged. It felt softer, somehow. Charged, though I didn't know with what.
He reached past me to grab a greased tray, his sleeve brushing mine. My heart tapped against my ribs like it wanted out. I didn’t flinch. Normally, I would’ve. But this male touched without taking, and that settled me in a way I didn’t know I’d been waiting for.
“This kitchen…” I said to break the quiet. “No, this whole town. It smells like…” I couldn’t finish, couldn’t say home.
I felt his gaze land on me, but I didn't look his way. “Is it good or bad?”
“Good.”
He slowly nodded before he turned back to his work.
We moved through the next hour in short, wordless bursts. Customers came and went, and one of us served them. Max finished half his book. Sel left briefly and returned, handing me a covered plate loaded with something dark red and green and savory smelling from the saloon, stating he’d given Max his already. Our lunch. We added thick slices of bread, fresh from the oven, loaded with butter. We didn’t sit to eat, but stood, leaning against the counter near each other, taking bites from our plates like it was normal. Max ate sitting in one of the cute metal chairs in front of the bakery, people watching.
All of this was too normal, and that scared me in a way I couldn’t quite handle.
Late afternoon, we prepped more dough. The ones that needed double rises, the ones that demanded time and quiet. We’d bake them tomorrow morning. Sel worked without a recipe, crafting from memory. I followed his cues, trying not to lean toward him whenever he stepped close.
By three forty-five, the town had slowed. No one came inside to make a purchase. Even Max had set aside his book and wasstaring out the big picture window, watching people pass by on the street.
We’d cleaned the prep counters. Muffin tins had been stacked and were drying. Every inch of me ached in that good way that meant I’d done something with my hands, something meaningful.
“We’re finished four minutes early,” Sel said softly, glancing at the clock hanging on the back wall.
He strode out to the front, his boots scuffing the tile, and flipped the sign to CLOSED, locking the door.
“You know your stuff,” he said, returning to lean a hip against the counter nearby.
I rinsed out a cloth and placed it in the bin for washing. “Thanks.” I was embarrassed by how much his simple words mattered.
As if he understood all the feelings and thoughts jumbling around inside me, he nodded. “Holly.” The way my name curled in his voice made something twist low in my belly.
I wasn’t ready to hear my name said like that, not spoken with this much gentleness. “Yeah?”
“I'd like you to move out of the hotel. You can stay at my house.”
