Page 46 of Orc Me, Maybe

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping he’d show.

I glance toward the archway gate and there he is.

Oh.

Okay.

So maybe my stomach flips. A little.

He’s not dressed like he’s trying to impress anyone, which somehow makes him look more commanding—black henley rolled to the elbows, cargo pants, utility belt strapped with spell fuses.

He walks like he owns the dirt under his boots and has no intention of making small talk about cupcake displays.

But he’s watching the kids. I know that look. Not assessing. Appreciating.

I wave him over. He raises a brow but heads my way.

“Did you approve the pixie petting zone?” he asks, deadpan.

“Yes,” I say. “They’re on a leash system.”

“I didn’t know pixies could be leashed.”

“They can’t. It’s symbolic.”

He eyes the giggling chaos near the hedgerow. “One of them’s juggling frogs.”

“They signed a consent form,” I say brightly. He huffs something that might be a laugh. I hesitate.

Then, quietly, “They’re getting along. The kids, I mean.”

He nods once. “I see that.”

“And the parents aren’t throwing things,” I add.

He glances around. “Yet.”

There’s silence for a second too long, which is always dangerous for me because it makes me say the things I usually filter out.

“I know you didn’t love the outreach idea,” I say.

“I didn’t,” he agrees.

“But it’s working.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. And then: “It is.” He looks down at me. “You were right.”

I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said you were right.”

I put a hand to my heart. “Do I get a trophy? A badge?”

“Don’t push it.” But his mouth twitches, and that’s enough.

A group of kids stampedes past us toward the snack tent, and one of them stops in front of Torack. It’s Lillian.

“Daddy,” she says, breathless. “Come see the dragon egg hatching! Julie said it’s notrealfire, but I saw sparks and everything!”

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