Page 1 of Bread with the Orc
Chapter One
Laney
I didn’t botherto fight the tears as my fingers fumbled with the hooks of theClosed Indefinitelysign that I was hanging over the piece of plywood I’d inexpertly painted with so much hope all those months ago. The curlicues ofHarmony Tea Shopand the “open hours” disappeared behind a sign of my failure.
It is okay to cry, blossom. Our sadness should be shared, the same way we share our happiness.
Even the memory of my mother’s words didn’t cheer me; if anything, the tears came harder. I missed her so much, and today…? Today I just needed a hug.
I wondered if Maggie was busy editing one of her videos and could hug me.
God, I was acting like a baby, wasn’t I? What was my plan? To just run over there and curl up on her couchand demand cuddles like some kind of lost fox? I was stronger than that, wasn’t I?
Sniffling, I stepped back to admire the stupid closed sign, unable to help myself. It reallywaspainted with cheerful colors, there was that at least. And it was nice and straight and even, so there was that too. The town would know that whoever painted and hung up this sign had pride.
Too much pride, maybe.
With a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan, I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, not caring that I was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Maybe I was half-hoping one of the townspeople bustling down Verdant Street would see me and stop and give me a hug.
Damn, there I went with needing a hug again.
I sighed and used my palms to wipe away the tears.
Closed Indefinitely.
More likeFailed Indefinitely.
My tea shop, the business I’d worked so hard to make into a success this last year…had failed.Ihad failed.
Just likeBabahad said would happen.
“What’s wrong?”
The voice—somewhere between a snap and a growl—had me sucking in a breath and whirling about. When my eyes confirmed what my ears had already guessed as to the growler’s identity, my chest hiccupped betweenoh noandGod, yes!
“Hello, Dorvak,” I managed, pasting on a smile and pretending no one could tell I’d been crying. “Lovely afternoon, isn’t it?”
The big orc—over seven feet tall, green, forearms right out of a girl’s dreams, and a perpetual scowl tugging his tusks downward—peered at me suspiciously. For months now his bakery had been right next to my tea shop, and despite me going in once a week to buy myself a fresh loaf of sourdough—I didn’t evenlikesourdough, I just liked the smell of it…and the smell of him—this might be the first time he’d ever actually looked at me.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated.
A male of few words.
I opened my mouth to explain, then slowly closed it. I was a female of alotof words, and everything I knew about Dorvak—not that I’d been drooling over him or anything all these months—told me he wasn’t the kind to appreciate being blubbered all over.
Which I was in very real danger of doing.
So instead of going into the whole thing here on the sidewalk, I kept my smile plastered on. “Nothing’s wrong. What makes you think something’s wrong?”
He gave me A Look.
Now, I’m no expert on orcs or monsters in general. For all I know, this look was common for him. Maybe it was just the way he always looked at weirdos? OrmaybeI was interpreting it correctly and itdidmean:What makes me think something’s wrong? The fact you’re sobbing in the street while staring at your failed business and you look like a tomato.
The tomato thing might’ve been some poetic license on my part, but it was likely true.
I wasn’t a pretty crier.
Instead of answering my ridiculous question, Dorvak switched his difficult-to-read scowl from me, to myClosed Indefinitelysign, and back again to me. Then he jerked his head toward the door to his bakery.
