Page 8 of Never Been Gargoyled
A third grunt.
“I was…hoping to find something sweet here. Pastries? Eclairs?” Even a donut hole would do.
He hesitated before going to the kitchen and bringing out a cardboard to-go container he handed over the counter. “I don’t usually sell them, but you can have these.”
I flipped open the lid and took a sniff of the sugary goodness. “These look amazing. You don’t sell them regularly?”
He shook his head.
“You really should. I bet people would love them.”
I also selected a few loaves of bread because they smelled awesome. I added a long, crusty baguette that looked like it could double as a weapon and, after a moment’s hesitation, a gorgeous loaf of rustic bread dusted with herbs and sea salt.
“Do you have a large family?” the orc asked as he stuffed a bag full of goodies.
“Just me. My stomach’s been very vocal about how I underfed her last night.”
He huffed again, but I thought I saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a complete smile. More like his face almost remembered how to do it.
I tilted my head, trying not to beam too much. “You wouldn’t happen to have tea or coffee, would you?”
“No.”
I waited. He said nothing further. “I guess I could get some somewhere else.
“Tea shop’s next door.”
“Ah, thanks.” I went to pay.
“On the house,” he said gruffly. “Welcome to HarmonyGlen.”
“Oh,” I said, quite touched. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”
He didn’t answer, just turned away to wipe down the counter behind him, his big shoulders tight under his shirt and apron.
I was heading out the door when he spoke. “Dorvak.”
Turning, I lifted my brows.
“That’s my name. Dorvak.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Dorvak.” With a grin that might out-blaze the sun, I left, cradling my haul in both arms.
After buying tea in the very empty shop next door, I drove to the farmer’s market.
The charming, single-story, red barn-type building sat at the edge of a large farm just outside town, much of the market’s front side open to the air because of several roll-up doors. The inside was cool and packed with produce, from piles of tomatoes, to heaps of onions, to baskets of greens so crisp and fresh they must’ve been picked this morning.
They even had a large refrigerator case stuffed with neat packages of local chicken, beef, and pork. I’d still need to find a supermarket for cleaning products and basic necessities, but this farmer’s market could feed me for a very long time.
A troll stood behind one of the wooden counters, sorting apples into neat rows. He was at least seven feet tall with mottled green skin and wearing dark-blue clothes that, while clean and tidy, also made him lookready to hop on a tractor and head for the fields at any moment. His smile reached his eyes when he saw me.
“New face,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Welcome. I’m Ogram. Just visiting Harmony Glen or settling in here?”
“I just moved to town.” I set down my tea. “I inherited the estate on Winterbourne Avenue and moved in yesterday. Helga was my great aunt. I came to you because I’ve got an empty fridge and an ambitious appetite.”
Ogram chuckled. “We’ll fix that. Grab a basket and go wild. Let me know if you need suggestions.”
He helped me pick out the freshest produce. Carrots with frilly tops, sweet little peppers, golden apples, a bunch of kale so pretty I almost didn’t want to eat it. He threw in a bundle of herbs and extra tomatoes “just because.”
