Page 23 of One Night with Her Mountain Orc

“How are you so poetic?”

“Do you think that orcs don’t read poetry? Or listen to music?” There’s a challenge in his voice, but his eyes are still tender. God, I love his eyes. Deep pools that see right through to my core. It’s hard to explain how something which could be so unsettling gives me so much peace. To be seen, known. To be loved just as I am.

Surveying the bookshelf against the wall that we installed, there are a spattering of books on it. No poetry. “I don’t think there’s a single book of poetry in this apartment,” I challenge. His laugh at my statement is a deep rumble. It shakes us both and rolls through me.

“My mom and grandmother read poetry to us. I occasionally get a book from the library, or did. I think I might have a five-year-old fine to deal with.” His face twists in a funny grimace, as if he just ran in on the librarian having sex, instead of a few dollars fine. I look aghast back at him.

“Tomorrow we can pay your penance to the library. I’d love it if you read me poetry.” I croon, just a little, my toes curling at the idea of my huge green orc reading Elizabeth Barrett Browning or Kate Baer to me.

“That’s a great idea. In the meantime, how about I recite some to you now, my love?” My eyebrows raise in surprise, but there’s a smile on my face, giving me away again. My heart thumps in excitement, in contentment at beinghis love.Bjorn props himself up on one elbow, clears his throat, places one thick hand on my hip, and begins to recite an E.E. Cummings poem.

Epilogue

Koru

“Koru! You’re back.And so soon. I thought it would be at least another year before your presence graced my doorstep again. What can I get you?” Gods, will Ravena shut up? I hate being called out like this. Maybe I should just buy my own espresso machine for the brewery, so I never have to come here again.

“Yeah, I surprised myself, too.” Her damn crow caws, loudly, and I jump. I hate birds. “That coffee you made me the other day...I can’t get the flavor out of my head. Some sort of spice, but not cinnamon. What is it?” What I don’t say is I think it would be fabulous in a beer. Light, hoppy, with some citrus and whatever the hell her spice is.

“Ah! I had a feeling the other day that you would like that. I’ll make you another. Go sit down.” Any normal customer would go sit down. It’s what I would expect someone at my brewery to do if told the same thing.

But I don’t move. And neither does Ravena. Somehow, the coffeeshop owner and I are in a standoff. Great. Her look becomes more pointed, her grey eyes drilling into me, reading my darkest secrets.

No thanks.

Huffing, I go pick a seat in the corner. Away from the game of cribbage being played by Njal and Sune. Those guys. They play Rumikub at the bar, cribbage here. When do they work? Do they even have a life outside of drinking and games?

When Ravena brings my coffee to me, she also brings me a scone. It’s a piece of art on a plate. Big red berries, a glaze dripping perfectly along the edges. A groan escapes me as she sets it in front of me. She doesn’t smile, just looks smug and satisfied, like I’ve confirmed what she already knew. How does she do it? Maybe Bjorn is right and she is a witch.

“Thank you. Now, what is the spice in here?” I say after a satisfying sip. Loathe to admit I’ve been craving it for the last week.

“Ah, Koru. It’s proprietary.” She winks, and the crow nods his head in agreement. “When you enter my shop, I get anurgefor what you need. Then I make it.” A shrug, like no big deal.

Arms crossed across my chest, I lean back and ask, “And what is it I need?”

“You don’t know? Well then, I’m going to have to let you figure that out for yourself. You andfate.”

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