9. Willa #2
“He didn’t do anything for you,” he said softly.
“I don’t think it occurred to him to try. We broke up, though that’s not quite the right word for it. Better to say we fell apart and didn’t make an effort to put things back together. He took a new job and moved, and I…”
“Came here.”
“I wanted to be somewhere small enough that I’d matter.
I knew right away this was the job that could give that to me.
As for my notebook,” I tapped the cover, “when I moved here, I told myself I’d write down the good things in each day.
But now I’ve realized that I’m doing the noticing work myself because no one else has.
” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Except you. Thank you for the coffee each morning. It means a lot.”
“You deserve all the good things, Willa. Every single one.”
My smile didn’t quite fit because my eyes were watering.
I quickly swiped away the tears and sucked in a breath.
“Anyway. Sorry to lay my sob story on you. Back to the adoption. I can be here on Saturday. I don’t have anything else going on, and it’ll give me another good thing to write in my notebook. ”
“Alright.” He stared down at his hands before looking back up. “Thank you for telling me. It explains a lot.”
My belly dropped. There it was. I’d said too much, and now he needed space. He had to get away from me and my messy confessions and the fact that I’d baked him cookies like some kind of—
“I need to walk the western perimeter, make sure the fence is secure after the wind last night. Sometimes, falling trees knock out parts of the fence. Unless you need me for anything.” He stood, taking the container, and gestured toward the door.
Damn, I’d scared him away with my confession. Well, at least he knew where I was coming from now.
“I’m all set, I’ll just…” I gestured vaguely at nothing.
Standing, I walked past him toward the door.
His hand caught my elbow, bringing me to a stop. “Willa.”
I turned.
He was close enough that I could tell how much darker his green skin was at his temples. His tongue slipped out to lick a stray cookie crumb off his lower lip.
His ridged tongue.
Why hadn’t I heard that orcs had ridged tongues?
I needed to stop thinking about what a tongue like that could do. Pronto.
For a long moment, he just looked at me. Not at my mouth this time. At my eyes, like he was reading something written there.
“Thank you for the cookies,” he said, scooping up the container from the table and placing the cover on the top.
“And for telling me about Derek. About why you write in your notebook.” His finger brushed against the inside of my elbow, so light I might have imagined it.
“You’re special, Willa. I want you to know that. ”
My eyes burned. “Thank you.”
His hand fell away.
I made it to the door before looking back.
He was still standing where I’d left him, the container in hand, watching me with an expression that made my pulse forget how to behave.
Before leaving for the day, I strolled past the enclosures.
The driftwhisps floated over to the edge of the fence, watching me pass. A few were missing, but I’d seen them decorating Laina’s hair earlier. So funny. I wasn’t sure I’d want them clinging to my hair all day. I preferred snuggling Fred. Stroking his soft fur.
I stopped last at the Bloomback enclosure.
Rue and Fern stood pressed together near the far fence, their flowers fully open. Rue’s coral pink and Fern’s deep lavender. As Rue shifted her weight, Fern’s blooms brightened, the petals stretching wider.
Some bonds formed without permission. Without logic or planning or proper documentation.
They just were.
Fern’s flowers had been pale and half-closed the last time they’d been separated.
Her appetite had dropped for days. Traig had tried to explain it with data that couldn’t capture what was actually happening.
They needed each other, though not because the data said so. Because they’d chosen each other.
I walked back toward the building as the sun sank lower.
My chest felt too full and too light at the same time.
Daily meetings meant daily excuses to feed him. I was going to weaponize baked goods, and I wasn’t sorry about it.
Back at my desk, Fred grumbled from where he’d settled beside my keyboard. Amanda had dismounted and curled on top of my keyboard, her crown dimmed to a soft glow. I gently lifted her to the side, and she hissed, not even waking.
“Love you too,” I whispered.
I pulled out my notebook and opened to the tally page.
Traig brought me coffee again this morning.
I paused, my pen hovering.
Traig ate most of my peanut butter cookies and looked at me like I’d given him something irreplaceable.
Another pause. The pen felt heavier.
We’ll handle the adoption meeting together on Saturday.
I flipped back through the previous entries. So many small things that added up to more than I could handle.
Fred grumbled, softer now. Amanda shifted in her sleep.
“What am I going to do about this, buddy?” I asked Fred.
He grumbled again, which I decided to interpret as, you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do already.
I chose to believe him.