Page 21 of One Stolen Night with Her Orc

“I mean it.”

And with that, I kiss him, tears, snot and all.

Epilogue

Grev

“Tea, please.” I can’tbelieve I’m doing this. I make perfectly good tea at home. One of Bjorn’s SAR buddies slaps me hello on the back as he passes, a wet, slimy, friendly slap with his tentacles. I should have stayed home.

“Sugar or milk?” Ravena asks in a sing-song voice, oblivious to my discomfort at being in her packed café and ordering tea instead of drinking my own at home. Alone. With no crow peering at me with beady eyes. No wind chimes jangling as the door opens and shuts. And opens and shuts. Ravena smiles and waves every time. It’s giving me a headache.

“Black.”

“That’s what I thought when you walked in. You know, it’s been a long time since you’ve graced me with your presence. Normally, if I want a glimpse ofillusiveGrev, I have to trek myself over to the library. Not that I mind. Betty always knows exactly what I itch I need to scratch in my reading.” She winks at me.Winks.

She hands me a hot mug of tea in a purple mug; the fragrance swirling up to tickle my senses with its slight floral bouquet, as my mind imagines Betty behind her desk overflowing with books at the town’s library. Her smile at each patron. Pushing her glasses up her cute nose when she’s reading something. Her hips sashaying as she pushes the book cart down the aisles to re-shelve books. I take my seat in the corner, sip my tea, and watch the bustle of the café.

That’s the nice part about hanging out in the library. It’s never crowded. Or loud or boisterous. It’s perfect. Just like Betty.

By the time I’ve finished my tea, I’ve got new resolve to talk to Betty next time I’m in the library. And not just about where the architecture books are shelved, or whether N. K. Jemisin should when the National Book Award this year (she should, period).

No, I’m going to talk to her about...gods, I don’t know. Somehow, I don’t think asking her if she wants to be mine forever is the right place to start. Trouble is, I don’t know what is. What comes between, “Hey, your book recommendations have changed my life,” to, “Let’s be mates, forever.”

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ravena appears before me, one hand on her wide hip, the other holding a tray, a smile stretching all the way across her face. Her eyes crinkle in the corners. Is she getting old? I always ignore Bjorn’s accusations that she’s a witch and never ages, but I also don’t spend any time around her or looking at her. He’s right, she looks much the same as she did when we were young orcs.

“What wasn’t so bad?” My voice is sharper than I intended. Interrupting my daydream about Betty having my orc babies is frankly, rude.

“Drinking tea here. Socializing,” she pats me on the shoulder as she takes my cup and hands me another mug. This one is the same blue as the sky, or would be if it weren’t about to snow. The scent is all off. Instead of clean and sharp, with a slight floral scent, this is mossy, muddled with a peppery spice, and violets.

Holding the mug in my hand, my skepticism about Ravena and her café blooms even more. “I didn’t order this.”

“I know, sweetcakes. It’s on the house. I needed a tester for my new blend, and you seem like the perfect choice.”

“Please don’t ever call me ‘sweetcakes.’ My name is Grev.” It takes all my power to keep my metaphorical hackles down. Her laugh fills the space with light, and it’s like everyone’s mood improves when she laughs.

“No problem. Anyway, enjoy the tea, and let me know what you think.” She takes the empty purple mug from me and walks off to chat up old Mrs. Hood.

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