Page 32 of Loved By the Orc
“Don’t think too much, Var. Just live. One day at a time.”
“What life are we living? One where I get to be your guard for the moment, and in a moon we shall part ways?”
“Let’s taste a life where the future could be ours. As if we are already mates. We can think about life a moon from now on another day.”
“You would… want to be mated to me? A Southpeak?”
“I would. So let’s have a taste of that. From now on, even though you’ll be sleeping in that dreaded wagon each night, let’s pretend we belong to each other, aye?”
I nod, just as Rosemary comes out of the back door of the house.
“You’re back,” Aunt Rosemary greets. She has a basket of laundry in her arms and another one lines the porch.
I move forward to take it from her arms. “Give me that.”
“Aunt Rosemary, we’ll hang the wash. Varguk was just telling me how much fun he has learning about human things.”
“More than likely he didn’t mean chores,” the old woman protests.
“Aye, I did.” I wink at her. “With your skin glowing so lovely”—in fact, it does not, it is slightly reddened from her concoction this morn— “you should go visit your mate. We can take care of the laundry and get dinner started.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Of course you could.” Negan waggles her eyebrows. “Go grab your purse. We got this.”
“Well, okay,” she says. “And Var, I did a little work in your wagon for you. Added a fluffier pillow and a topper for that hard mattress—”
“I am a guard, female.” I smile to take the sting out of my words. “I cannot protect the house if you have me coddled like a brat in blankets.”
“Pssh.” She snorts. “I like you, boy. And Neegie likes you. Have to protect your back.”
Then the old female does something that stuns me to silence. She thrusts her hips forward, then winks and turns to head into the house.
“Ignore her.” Negan giggles. “A bad back does not lead to poor sexual performance.”
“That old woman is a handful. Now, show me what to do with these clothes.” I set the basket on a tree stump like it’s a table.
“There are a whole set of rules,” Negan says. “First, always wipe the lines before use.” She takes a damp rag, sprays it with thebottle of vinegar, and runs it along a wire, walking down the length. Then she wipes the second line, walking back up the length to get to the end, and passes it to me to do the next two.
I mimic her, walking down the length of one and back up the other. Then, I toss the rag onto the front porch to take inside when we’re done. “Next?”
“Shirts are hung from the bottom, never the shoulders. Socks are hung from the toes.”
I take a shirt and use the pincher clips to attach the bottom of the shirt to the line. I attach another next to it. “Like that?” I say proudly.
“Almost.” Negan leans over, removes a set of clips from one end and pushes the edges of the shirts together so they can share a clip.
I scowl.
She giggles, standing on tiptoe to kiss me. “It’s okay, growly. I didn’t tell you the clothing can share a clothespin.”
“Maybe you should tell me all the rules upfront,” I grumble, mostly so she’ll kiss my crankiness away.
The sparkle in her eye tells me she knows exactly what I’m doing.
“The colors are separated and hung together. Whites with whites. Darks with darks. Reds with reds, and so on and so forth. That way, the colors don’t bleed if you hang the edges together. Large items like towels and sheets are hung on the outside lines so no one sees Aunt Rosemary’s unmentionables hanging on the inside lines.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “I’m not hanging your aunt’s bras and panties.”
