23. Willa
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WILLA
Three weeks since the scribe had left, and I was elbow-deep in cookie dough when Fred decided the kitchen counter was his personal obstacle course.
He bobbed past the flour canister, his wings a blur.
His trajectory veered left. He smacked into the open cupboard door with a solid thunk and rebounded toward the mixing bowl.
“Fred, no—”
Too late. He clipped the edge of the bowl. It spun and lunged toward the edge, and I caught it before it could tip.
From the windowsill, Amanda hissed, brandishing her stick like she was commanding an army. She slashed it through the air, her crown flaring orange-red.
“I know, I know,” I told her. “He’s a menace.”
Fred grumbled and aimed for the cupboard again.
A yellow-and-pink glow pulsed from the corner near the refrigerator.
I turned my head slowly. “How did you get in here?”
Nix’s stripes brightened with each second, building charge like a living battery. His eyes locked on mine.
“Don’t you dare,” I said.
He chittered.
“Nix. I mean it. If you discharge in my kitchen—”
He launched.
I dropped the spoon and threw my hands up. “No!”
The fizzling shot past me, ricocheted off the wall, and landed on top of the cookie container. A small shock jumped from him to the metal lid. The lid rattled.
Fred grumbled louder.
Amanda’s crown went full red. She leaped from the windowsill, landed on Fred’s back, and pointed her stick at Nix.
The kitchen had become a battlefield.
I stood at the counter, covered in flour, watching a grumbletoad, a thornsprig, and a fizzling face off over cookies.
“This is my life now,” I said to no one.
This was the life I’d built with Traig, and I wouldn’t give it up easily.
Except it might not be my life for much longer.
In a short time, the Council would tell us whether Traig stayed or went back to the kingdom without me. We had mating marks. What better proof did they need than that?
I pushed the thought away and focused on rolling dough into balls, placing them on the baking sheet in rows. Each one perfect. When I did this, I didn’t have to think about how few days like this we might have left.
I’d reorganized his utensil drawer last week. Moved the spatulas closer to the stove because it made more sense.
He’d only nodded in approval.
Then I’d rearranged the spice cabinet, grouping them by frequency of use instead of alphabetical order.
He’d made one adjustment, moving the salt back to the front row, which, I supposed, did make sense.
It felt like the most intimate thing we’d done since the mating marks appeared.
I slid the tray into the oven and set the timer.
Voices drifted in from outside.
“—telling you, the hearthmaw juvenile is ready for placement. He’s calm now. No more head-butting the fence.”
Drogar, louder than necessary, like always.
“You said that last week,” Traig said. “Then he charged the gate when I walked past.”
“That was him showing affection.”
“No, that was him showing aggression.”
I smiled and wiped my hands on a towel.
He was here. Safe. Still mine. For now.
They stepped inside, Traig carrying his tablet, Drogar grinning like he’d won an argument he definitely hadn’t.
“Willa.” Drogar’s gaze landed on the oven. “Are you baking?”
“I am.”
“What kind?”
“Oatmeal raisin.”
His face lit up. “My favorite.”
“You said that about the last three kinds I made.”
“Because they were all my favorite.” He stepped over to the counter and leaned against it, watching the oven. “How long?”
“Twelve minutes.”
He groaned. “That’s forever.”
Traig set his tablet on the table and went to the refrigerator, pulling out the pitcher of tea. He poured two glasses, handing one to Drogar, and looked toward me.
“Yes, please.”
He poured me one as well.
“You could wait in the other room,” I told Drogar.
“I could, but I won’t.”
Fred floated over and bumped into Drogar’s shoulder. Amanda hissed from her new perch on top of the cookie jar, her stick raised.
“She doesn’t like me, does she?” Drogar asked.
“She doesn’t like anyone,” Traig said. “Except Fred and Willa and sometimes me.”
Amanda’s crown softened to pink.
“See?” I said. “She’s warming up to you.”
Drogar looked unsure but reached out slowly. Amanda allowed him to scratch the top of her head with one finger before she hissed again and leaped off the container, jumping through the air to land on Fred’s back.
“Progress,” I said. “Hissing means she likes you. More or less.”
“I think less.”
The timer chimed.
Drogar straightened like I’d called his name.
I pulled the tray from the oven and set it on the cooling rack. The smell of cinnamon and brown sugar filled the kitchen.
“How long until I can eat one?” Drogar asked.
“A few minutes. They need to cool.”
“That’s forever.”
“You’ll survive.”
The moment I said okay, he dove toward the cooling rack.
“These are the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” he said around the third one.
“You said that last time.”
“I meant it last time too.” He held up the container. “Can I take some?”
“Sure.”
“A full container?”
I laughed. “Yes, Drogar. I made a triple batch. You can have a full container.”
His grin showed both tusks. “You’re my favorite human.”
“I’m the only human you know well other than Laina, and I swear I overheard you telling her this after eating some of her muffins.”
We loved baking for our orcs.
“Still my favorite.”
“Does Laina know you’re cheating on her muffins with cookies?” I asked.
“I have room in my heart for muffins and cookies.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “My heart is large.”
“Your stomach is large,” Traig said.
Drogar grinned. “That too.”
He left with three cookies wrapped in a napkin, promising to return later for the container.
Traig reached past my shoulder for something, his chest pressing against my back.
“You have flour,” he said, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “Right here.”
“Thanks,” I whispered.
He didn’t step back. Just stood there, his hand on my face, his eyes on my mouth.
Then Fred crashed into the window, and the moment broke.
Traig picked up a cookie from the cooling rack, turning it in his hand before taking a bite. His eyes closed.
“Good?” I asked.
“Very good.”
He ate the rest in one bite, reaching for another.
I turned back to the sink to wash the mixing bowl, but his hand caught my wrist.
He broke the cookie and held a piece to my mouth, his thumb brushing my lower lip as I took a bite.
“Good?” he asked, watching my face.
I couldn’t speak around the cookie. Just nodded.
His eyes tracked the movement of my throat as I swallowed. Then he ate the rest, never looking away.
The kitchen was too warm. Or maybe that was just me, trying to memorize the shade of his eyes when he looked at me.
What if this was one of the last times he’d be with me?
The sweetness hit first. Then the cinnamon. Then the way he was looking at me, like feeding me a cookie I’d made was somehow the most important thing he’d do all day.
I chewed slowly, holding his gaze.
He ate the rest of the cookie, his eyes never leaving mine.
Fred grumbled from somewhere behind us.
Nix discharged in the corner, a small crack of static that made my hair stand up.
Traig’s lips twitched. “I should check on him. Make sure he hasn’t melted anything.”
“Probably a good idea.”
Footsteps rang out from the front of the house.
Traig stepped back as the door opened and Laina’s voice called out, “Knock, knock.”
“In the kitchen,” I called out.
Laina appeared, Brovish behind her, Sofia riding on his shoulder.
“We were passing by,” Laina said. “Thought we’d stop in.” Her gaze landed on the cooling rack. “Are those cookies?”
“Oatmeal raisin.”
“My favorite.”
I laughed. “That’s what Drogar said.”
“Did he try to take all of them?”
“Just four, though he’s coming back for more. You’d better eat some before they’re all gone.”
She walked to the counter, Brovish following. Sofia launched from his shoulder and flew to mine, chirping.
“Hi there,” I said, scratching under her chin.
She leaned into the touch, her wings settling.
Brovish took a cookie, studying it before biting. His eyes widened. “This is excellent.”
“Thank you.”
“Willa’s been making cookies a lot lately,” Traig said. “The cottage smells like a bakery.”
“That’s not a complaint,” I said.
“Not even close.”
Laina bit into a cookie and hummed in approval. “I need your recipe.”
“I’ll write it down for you.”
We stood in the kitchen, eating cookies and talking. Laina asked about the school program—we’d settled on a firm date for two weeks from now. Traig pulled up his tablet and showed her the updated timeline. Brovish asked if I’d reorganized the spice cabinet because it looked different.
“She did,” Traig said before I could answer. “It makes more sense now.”
Laina’s eyebrows rose. “You let her reorganize something?”
“I did.”
“And you didn’t immediately change it back?”
“I made one adjustment.”
“One,” I said.
Brovish and Laina exchanged a look I couldn’t read.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Laina said, but she was smiling. “It’s just nice to see.”
They stayed for another twenty minutes before Brovish reminded Laina they had an appointment with another family interested in adopting a puddlewump pair.
“Good luck,” I said.
“Thanks.” Laina hugged me on her way out. “The cookies were perfect.”
Sofia flew back to Brovish’s shoulder as they stepped outside.
Brovish shut the door.
Traig was already at the sink, washing the mixing bowl I’d left there.
I dried while he washed, the two of us falling into the rhythm we’d developed over the past few weeks. He’d hand me a bowl, I’d dry it. His arm would bump my shoulder. My hip would graze his thigh. Small touches that didn’t need words.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what I might lose soon. I was already mourning something I hadn’t lost yet.
The front door opened again an hour later. This time, Krem arrived, a clipboard in hand.
“I have questions about the school program timeline,” he said, not bothering with a greeting.
Traig sighed. “Alright.”