Page 40 of Buck Wild Orc Cowboy
My eyes wouldn’t stop tearing. I blinked fast, trying to make them go away, but for each one I beat back, another took its place.
The bell in the front jingled.
Sel glanced in that direction. I didn’t have to say anything. He nodded once and left the kitchen.
As soon as he was gone, my eyes decided it was time to let go. I kept rolling dough, even as my vision blurred, even as I wiped the tears away with my sleeve. I kept folding, even when I couldn’t remember what in the world I was doing.
When Sel came back, I was halfway through forming a tray of croissants.
“Interesting shapes you’ve got going here,” he said, his voice soft, almost playful.
I blinked at what I’d made. “Oh. They, um. Yeah. I'll redo them.”
“Don't worry. We'll market them as chumble croissants. Tourists will be buying them as fast as we can make them.”
I frowned down at them. “I'm not sure they look much like chumbles either.” The ostrich-sized orc “chickens” had pink scales, fangs, and claws, and when I did some research online, I learned I'd be wise to run in the opposite direction if I saw one. So far, I hadn't, but maybe they didn't wander into town often.
“See?” He pointed to one on the end. “Chumble.”
I still didn't see it, except… A quick breath left my lungs. It might’ve been a laugh.
“I can close the shop for a short time and take you home. You could rest there, spend time with Max instead of pushing through the day.”
Funny how when he said home, I immediately pictured his ranch house. Already, it had turned into a sanctuary for me. A safe place where I could let down my guard. I had my own space, and that was amazing.
The offer sounded nice. I could take a warm bath. A long nap. Max and I could take a walk or sit and read together, something we hadn't done for a long time. I was always working, too busy. Needing money to save and pay our bills. It was expensive to live in Boston.
But leave? I shook my head. “Thanks, but I need to stay. I have to keep going or I’ll… I don’t know. Freeze or something.”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I kind of do though,” I pressed another piece of dough into the right shape—this time. No chumble, but I had a feeling the chumble croissants were not going to be the big hit Sel suggested. My voice dipped low, and my hands stilled on the dough. “I thought I was stronger than this.”
Sel didn’t answer right away. That made it worse somehow. Like his silence proved my point.
“All it took was two drunk guys to make me fall apart,” I said.
“They threatened you. Made you feel unsafe.”
“And I let them. In hindsight, there were things I could've done instead of letting them control the situation.”
“Like what?”
“Well…” I wasn't sure, but there must be something. “I folded up, same as this dough. Like the last seven years I spent building myself into a strong person made absolutely no difference. One test, and I snapped.” My throat tightened. “I don’t like that I can collapse so easily.”
Sel leaned against the counter. “Does it matter how small the storm is, if it hits where the wound still exists?”
I didn’t want that to be true. Some days I still pretended the old wounds healed up clean, like scratches. But maybe they didn’t. Maybe I just learned to hide them under sweaters.
“There shouldn't be a wound any longer. Seven years, Sel. I should have been able to shrug it off by now.”
“I think things like that haunt you forever to some extent.”
Was he speaking of his deceased mate and child? Maybe. He carried his own wounds, so he'd know.
I looked at him. That warm, steady look was back in his eyes. Understanding, not pity.
“You held together,” he said simply. “Even when it was hard. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you real.”
