Page 36 of Orc Me, Maybe

But now?

Now I’m the girl who fucked her boss and is trying to pretend her heart isn’t rewiring itself around the idea of a grumpy orc with kindness behind his scowl and a daughter who looks at me like I invented magic.

Speaking of magic...

“Julie!”

The voice cuts through my spiral like a ray of sunshine aimed squarely at my ribs.

I turn just in time to catch a blur of purple hoodie and messy braids barreling toward me down the gravel path from the art tent.

It’s Lillian, carrying something in both hands and wearing a look of triumph that makes my knees weak before she even opens her mouth.

“I made this for you!” she shouts, skidding to a halt like a tiny, freckled comet.

I blink, hands instinctively rising to accept her offering—which turns out to be a wild bouquet of… something. It’s an explosion of color and shape: daisies, thistles, bright blue campanulas, what Ithinkis a sprig of mint, and… is that a stick of chewing gum?

She’s beaming.

“It’s a Lillian Special, for being so awesome,” she says. “And because Groth said you made my dad ‘less murdery’ yesterday.”

I choke. “Did he, now?”

“Mmhmm,” she nods. “He said Daddy smiled and didn’t growl once during morning rounds. And he didn’t even yell when the goblin crew tried to paint a raccoon on the side of the mess hall.”

I cough into my fist. “High praise.”

Lillian tilts her head. “Are you okay? You look all red in the face.”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just, um, pollen.”

She shrugs and shoves the bouquet into my arms. “You’re my favorite grown-up, Jools.”

That nickname again.

“Not everyone gets the honor of a Lillian Special.”

“Oh?”I ask. “And may I ask what makes it special?” Other than it being offered from the sweetest kid I’ve ever met.

Shw beams proudly. “It’s special because it’s made of anything I think looks cool!”

“Well, that explains the caterpillar.”

I smile, but my heart is doing weird, fluttery things that make breathing kind of a chore. “Thanks, Lil. This is… wild and dangerous and probably contains three allergens, but it’s perfect.”

She beams. “I knew you’d like it.”

She grabs my hand with her tiny one and tugs me off the trail, dragging me toward the communal garden without warning.

“Wait—where are we going?”

“I have to show you my fairy trap!”

I laugh. “You built atrap?”

“Uh-huh. Don’t worry. It’s humane. Just sparkly. I made it with string cheese and glitter glue.”

I try to stay present. I really do. But I can feel the tension building behind my eyes. The longer I walk with her, the more my carefully constructed denial house of cards wobbles.

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