Page 9 of Buck Wild Orc Cowboy
I added leavening agent, then flour, alternating with milk I got from the fridge, stirring it all together.
“Are you humming?” he asked, his voice low enough that it almost didn’t register over the whirr of the oven fans.
Heat pricked across my chest. I had been, a song my mom used to hum while baking. “Guess I am.”
His tusks twitched in maybe the orc version of a grin, but he didn’t tease.
I began folding in fruit from a bowl beside me. Odd things. Small, with ridged skins that looked like they'd twist back if you poked them wrong. “These aren’t blueberries.”
“They’re dartlings.”
I glanced up. “They…dart?”
Another twitch of his tusks. “Only if you forget to peel the spine cap.” When I stared, he added, “I’m joking. They’re sweet, quite tasty. Grown underground. You have to sing to get the pods to open.”
My laugh rang out.
He smiled but it faded.
“You're not joking,” I said.
He shook his head.
“You actually sang to get the pods to open?”
“Not me. There are farms now, and more are being developed to grow products for export.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Here, we use them like human raspberries. Try one.”
I tentatively popped one into my mouth, moaning at the wonderful flavor bursting across my tongue. Sweet, as he’d said, with a nice cherry flavor, except subtly different in a way I couldn't define. “These are wonderful.”
His face darkened.
Aw, was he blushing? He really was cute.
“Are you mated, Sel?” I hadn’t planned to ask. The words popped out, pushed up by some reckless part of me that wanted to know if the space beside him was already taken.
His shoulders twitched. “No, though I was. She's dead.”
My breath caught, and I wanted to kick myself for asking. “I'm sorry.”
“She died trying to deliver our youngling. They both died, actually.”
He must mourn them greatly. My heart sank in sympathy, and I nodded. I knew what it felt like to carry something you couldn’t put down.
I directed my attention to the batter. “Well, the dartlings will taste wonderful in this coffee cake.” A good way to change the subject fast.
“Yes. They will.” With a grunt, he turned away to start making something himself. So much for our pleasant conversation. My skin prickled with dismay, but I wasn't sure how to bring back the easy friendliness we'd established.
The island was wide enough we could work across from each other, but he mixed to my left, close enough I could feel the heat pouring off his body. Our shoulders almost touched.
Grease the pans. Pour in the batter. Smooth it out where it belonged. For once, so did I. I knew better than to trust the feeling, but I let it linger, long enough to remember later how it felt.
His arm brushed mine as he reached for a bowl, and though I wore long sleeves, I lost my rhythm. I caught myself before I dropped the spoon, and my cheeks warmed.
He didn’t say anything, but I swore his pointed ears darkened.
