Chapter 1 That’s My Orc, Tusk Off #3
“Right?” Laina grinned. “Drogar doesn’t cook often, but when he does, I swear I gain at least a pound because I eat so much.”
“We share meals most Fridays,” Brovish said, his hand covering Laina’s on the table. “We take turns cooking.”
“I’ll be glad to take a turn,” I said, already thinking about what dish I might make.
Krem served up a full plate for himself. “Excellent.”
I took a bite of the kelthara.
The layers were soft, almost custardy where the filling had soaked in, and crispy at the top where it had browned. The filling itself held a slightly smoky flavor, with a bite sharper than garlic but earthier than onion.
“What’s in this?” I asked, pointing to the filling.
“Ground keshroot,” Drogar said. “Mixed with rendered thornback fat. Vrindal flour for the batter between the layers. Salt from the Cassarian mines.”
I nodded like I understood.
“You can’t get these ingredients on the surface,” Traig said. “Drogar brings them back when he travels underground.”
Drogar grinned. “Someone has to maintain the supply chain.”
“You smuggle food?” I asked, slightly stunned.
“Redistributing resources,” Drogar said. “Those are better words, yes?”
Krem pointed his fork at me. “Don’t let him tell you about the time he brought back a barrel of salted prill eggs. We’re still finding shells.”
“They were a gift,” Drogar said.
“For who?” Greth asked, his voice low and dry.
Drogar huffed. “You loved them.”
Greth didn’t deny it.
Traig posture had relaxed a fraction. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but I’d spent the morning watching him hold himself like he was bracing for an audit.
Now he was just eating. Listening.
He caught me looking and his eyes flicked away, back to his plate.
I took another bite of the kelthara, the richness settling in my chest.
Drogar explained his cooking process while Krem asked if there would be leftovers. Brovish teased Laina about something that made her laugh and shove his shoulder.
Traig had gone quiet, but I felt his attention. When I swirled the last piece of vrindal through the sauce on my plate, his mouth twitched. I’d almost caught him with a smile, which I had a feeling wasn’t the norm for this stoic orc.
“More?” Drogar asked, nudging his chin toward the dish.
Laina leaned closer, her voice dropping. “Fair warning. If you eat Drogar’s cooking, you’re part of the family now. No take-backs.”
“I’m good with that,” I said.
Brovish raised his cup of tea. “To Willa. May each of your days here be better than the last.”
Krem tapped his plate with his fork, the others echoing the gesture. “You’ll do great.”
Soon, we stared at an empty kelthara dish. Drogar looked pleased. Krem had crumbs on his shirt. Greth had cleaned his plate and was holding his tea with both hands, watching us.
“Willa,” Laina said, sliding off her oversized chair and standing. “If you need anything, find me.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I will.”
Brovish collected the plates. “Time to clean up the mess, Drogar.”
Drogar groaned but got up to help.
Traig picked up his tablet.
I hopped off my chair and landed on solid ground, brushing crumbs off my lap.
Traig came around the table to stand beside me, waiting while I thanked everyone.
“Any time,” Drogar said. The others nodded, smiling.
Traig held the door for me, which shouldn’t have registered as significant but did. I walked through and he followed, his footsteps heavy and even behind me.
When we reached the reception area, he stopped beside the desk.
“You did well today,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “Your sixty-five-page manual helped.”
“Sixty-seven-pages now,” he said. “I added an appendix while you were studying the file cabinets.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
He blinked and tilted his head.
That’s when I realized he hadn’t been joking.
“Right,” I said, struggling to sober up. “I’ll…read that.”
“Good. I’m going to leave you to continue reviewing the guide, plus study things in the file cabinets.”
“Alright.”
He turned toward the hallway but paused. “Tomorrow we’ll cover intake processing and enclosure protocols.”
“Can’t wait.”
He left without acknowledging the sarcasm, which I was ninety percent sure he’d heard.
I sat down at the desk, opened my bag, and pulled out the small notebook I’d been keeping since Portland. The one where I wrote down good things, back when I’d needed the reminder that nice things existed.
After I’d waisted five years before realizing Derek was a jerk.
Busy unpacking, I hadn’t written in it for two weeks.
I clicked the pen, wrote the date, and started a list.
Fred the grumbletoad.
Drogar’s kelthara.
Laina’s laugh.
Brovish saying “welcome” the moment I arrived.
Nix gave me static hair.
The filing system has its own mythology.
Traig’s sixty-five-page manual—no, make that sixty-seven-page manual.
I paused, nibbling on the tip of my pen.
Traig had written sixty-five pages the moment Brovish hired me. He’d sat down and built a guide for someone he’d never met, because he wanted me to succeed here.
I added one more line:
Traig said I did well.
I closed the notebook before I could overthink what the last entry meant.
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