Page 11 of Till Orc Do Us Part
“Hi, Mr. Drokhaz!”
I turn.
Jamie, curls wild, sits cross-legged on the floor beside a stack of picture books. He waves cheerfully.
“Good evening,” I say, inclining my head.
Rowan groans. “Jamie. We talked about this.”
He shrugs. “I like when he visits.”
She shoots me a look that could peel paint. “He won’t be staying long.”
“I am merely a customer today,” I say smoothly.
Rowan huffs. “Fine. Then be one. Fifteen minutes.”
I nod once, then let my gaze return to the shelves. My fingers brush a slim volume titledSalt and Story: Legends of Lowtide Bluffs.Next to it,The Boardwalk Companion: 100 Years of Sea and Wood.
I take both.
Without thinking, I reach for a third—Oceans Within: A Collection of Local Poetry.
Not my usual fare. Not a practical choice. And yet… something about the cover—a faded watercolor of the boardwalk under starlight—draws my hand.
Rowan watches, suspicious.
“That all?”
“For now.”
She rings up the books in terse silence, fingers quick despite the faint tremor I catch as she slides one title across the scanner. Ink smudges the edge of her palm. I find myself staring longer than I should.
“You bake,” I say suddenly, noting the faint scent of sugar beneath the salt and ink.
She blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Flour on your temple.” I gesture.
She wipes it away with a muttered curse. “Occupational hazard. The oven helps heat the shop.”
“Resourceful,” I murmur.
Her gaze sharpens. “I survive, Mr. Vellum. That’s what people do when you try to buy their lives out from under them.”
I meet her eyes, steady. “Survival is admirable. But so is evolution.”
She laughs then—a bitter sound. “Tell me, when was the last time you evolved, Mr. Vellum? You wear the same suit every day.”
I allow a faint smile. “Some things do not need changing.”
She slides the books across the counter. “That’ll be thirty-two seventy-five.”
I hand over a black credit card. Her jaw twitches.
“I take cash, too.”
“This is convenient.”
