Page 2 of Bread with the Orc
“Come in.”
Was that…was that an invitation? An order?
I glanced at my sad, lonely little shop, then mentally shrugged. As I stepped through his door, I saw him flip his sign toClosed, and figured that’s why he’d stepped out front in the first place.
Inside, I couldn’t resist taking a deep breath of the beautifully scented space. “This place always smells amazing.”
“Dough’s rising for tomorrow,” he grunted as he slipped past me, heading for the space behind the counter.
Dorvak’s bakery was in a much bigger space than mine; maybe someone in the past had knocked out a wall or two. All I knew was that whereas the tables and chairs in my tea shop were crammed together, his big open room was empty enough to echo as I followed him on my ballet flats.
My fingers itched to slap a coat of paint on these walls, or hang some art—anyart, frankly. The space was bare, only a step above cinderblock walls, and the only ornamentation was a handwritten listing of the day’s offerings on a whiteboard behind the counter.
“Why don’t you do something with this place?” I asked, glancing around. “Don’t get me wrong; your bread isamazing. But surely you could do more with it.”
“Like what?” he grunted, coming from the back with a small to-go cardboard box.
“Tables, chairs…” I turned slowly in a circle, contemplating the space. “Someplace where people could sit and enjoy their snacks. Decorations? A nice menu. A cute kids’ corner—a fuzzy rug, toys, that sort of thing. When I have kids, I would love to have someplace like that where they could play while I hung out with friends.”
“I don’t sell snacks, and I don’t need people tohang out, kids or otherwise. They buy their bread, they leave.” He thrust the box at me. “Here. Had some leftovers.”
Pushing aside his lack of business acumen when it came to convincing customers to linger, I curiously peeked under the lid. “Bearclaws!” I gasped, yanking the box open. “Oh my God, Dorvak, these are my favorite!”
That last part might’ve been a little muffled, considering I’d taken a big bite of the pastry.
The gorgeous orc just watched me chew, his gaze on my mouth. When I swallowed, he nodded, the nod of an artist who’s confident in his work. “You looked like you needed some sugar.”
Did I? I mean, I was what the romance novels referred to ascurvy, and I liked my curves, but I wasn’t sure if that was an insult or not. So I narrowed my eyes and shut the box lid once more. “What does that mean?”
He merely shrugged and turned away. “Sugar makes people smile, I’ve noticed.”
It was a simple statement, and one he almost tossed away as he pulled out the plastic wrap. I watched him as he began to cover the metal bowls—was that his dough?—and slide them into an industrial fridge.
Dorvak…had wanted to make me smile? He’d seen my tears and wanted to make me feel better?
I dropped my gaze to the box in my hands. The bearclawhadmade me feel better. But now? Just knowing he’d wanted to make me smile?Thatworked. My chestdidfeel lighter for some reason.
Maybe pastries were just as good as hugs.
I caught him watching me as he closed the fridge door, and this time when I tried to smile, it felt a little more natural. “Thanks,” I managed. “These are really good.”
He shrugged off the compliment and slid the yeast into its designated spot. “I make them for Feydin to bring to his Mate.”
Feydin, Feydin…“Oh! The Gargoyle at the botanical gardens! Dazy likes bearclaws too?”
“Dazy likes anything sweet. It was part of how he wooed her.” Was it my imagination, or did Dorvak look a little…proud? “I helped.”
My smile was definitely growing as I slid my fingers beneath the lid of my box to tear off a piece of the pastry. “If you made these for him to give to her, I could absolutely believe you helped. They’re amazing.” When I popped the piece into my mouth, I didn’t bother to hidemy moan at the explosion of sweetness across my tongue.
Dorvak stared at me.
No, he was staring at mymouth.
Suddenly self-conscious, I turned away, looking for some way to distract us both from my ridiculous sounds. “Why aren’t these bearclaws on the menu?” I blurted, stepping toward the front counter. “People would go nuts over these. Oooh, you could switch out the nuts—almonds one day, pecans the next…”
As I mused, I snatched up a rag and cleaning solution behind the counter. I sprayed, then began to wipe, feeling his gaze on my back.
Finally he said, “I make them only for Feydin. Eclairs too, and fruit tarts. Cinnamon rolls are easy.”
