Chapter Three How It’s Going
Chapter Three: How It’s Going
“Open that oven, and I’ll kill you.”
“Strangle me with a hairnet, huh?”
My little sister (younger by three minutes and shorter by a little over two feet) refuses to acknowledge that even though we own The Pine Loft together, the kitchen half of this coffee shop is mine. M.I.N.E.
No, I do not play nice with others.
Well... not often.
You can’t even blame it on the fact that I’m half-Orc. I’ve known human chefs to be just as possessive about their kitchens. You should see our mother. (I’m one of the few exceptions to the fortress-like guard she has over her stove.)
Actually, if you saw our mother, you’d be sure I was adopted.
My mother is a tall, beautiful blonde-going-silver-haired human with a sweet smile and pale apple blossom skin.
My sister looks exactly like her, except for being shorter, stubborner, and having blonde curly hair that she keeps cut short.
I take after our dad, tall, green, and tusky.
Not husky, tusky. He has tusks. All full-Orcs have tusks.
Right now, if I had tusks instead of these little poky fangs hidden by my lower lip, I would growl and threaten Georgia with them.
“Those are my three-cheese individual soufflés. They are three minutes away from perfection. Open the oven now, and I will have to start over—with a delay to clean your blood off the range.”
Georgia sighs. “Well, no one can say you run a dirty kitchen.”
“Damn straight. Here.” I finish garnishing two orders of croque madame with fresh parsley leaves and a single sprig of chive. “Order up.”
Georgia inhales and smiles at me. “Divine, as always.”
I smile back. One sure way to get in my good graces is to acknowledge my culinary genius. Simple food can be elevated food, tasty food, or most appropriately in my case—divine food. “You are granted a stay of execution, sister dearest.”
“That’s good, because if you had to run the register and smile and make small talk—you’d be the one pushing up daisies. Or sequoias.”
“Ha ha.”
“Can you make two more of those for Diana and me?”
I grumble but grab the flat of eggs, my huge green fingers knowing how to pick up five eggs at once without cracking a single shell. “You’re lucky Diana wants one, too.” Diana is our only waitress, and she’s one of the few people I let see me. To most people, I’m just a voice yelling, “Order up!”
Pine Ridge is a mix of supernatural residents, humans who know what’s up, and oblivious humans. Diana is currently in the know, but she’s human.
How come she gets to be in my grumpy-ass presence?
Two reasons. One, she’s a good waitress, and she’s worked here for months.
Two, she had a rotten ex-boyfriend who came looking for her after she got out of his clutches.
In case you didn’t know—Orcs are very protective. One might say extremely protective. Once I protect someone, they’re mine, whether it’s as a treasured friend, adopted family member... or mate. I protected Diana from him. Others helped.
“What’s wrong?”
Georgia is too smart and knows me too well. I turn my face and prepare to retrieve my soufflés. “Nothing.”
Diana is getting married in December, marrying a longtime friend of ours.
I am filled with (quiet) joy at the thought that she’ll soon be protected and cherished by a man who will love her forever.
I’m happy for Diana, and I’m thrilled (subtly) for Jan.
He believed he was cursed to be alone. Diana broke that curse for him, and now they’re nauseatingly happy together.
I’m melancholy at the thought that I’m going to turn thirty and still haven’t met anyone who can be mine.
I mutter under my breath, “I’m beginning to wonder if I’m cursed.”
“With a talkative sister?”
“That, too.” I pull the golden domes from the oven and set them down gently, not breathing lest I collapse them.
“Cursed? To die old, bitter, and alone?”
I turn to glare and bare my hidden tusks at Georgia, my long blonde hair escaping the topknot on my head from the force of my quiet lunge.
She doesn’t blink. I don’t scare Georgia, never have. Worse, she looks sorry for me. “I call it like I see it, Georgie. You gotta let someone in if you want to be loved.”
“Get those orders out. Send Diana for the soufflés.” I refuse to have this conversation.
My sister may look smaller, softer, and less threatening, but believe you me—she’s terrifying. She can cut a giant down with a single sentence.
And worse—she’s right.