Page 19 of Built Orc Tough
I peel back the parchment and eye the sandwich warily. “Smells like it.”
But I sit, too. Across from her. The counter between us, cluttered with half-finished arrangements and dried herbs, feels less like a barrier today and more like... shared territory.
We eat in silence at first. Not the hostile kind. Not anymore.
She chews thoughtfully, then says, “You always work through meals?”
“When I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy.”
“So are you.”
She shrugs. “Comes with the territory. Turns out trying to resurrect a dead brand while cohabiting with a man who uses the term ‘infusion bloom ratio’ is time-consuming.”
I grunt. “You remembered the ratio.”
“I remember all sorts of things,” she says, and I can’t tell if it’s a warning or a compliment.
She nudges a stray leaf off the table, then taps her finger on the counter. “Today wasn’t terrible, you know.”
I glance at her.
She’s not smiling. Not quite. But her eyes are softer.
“You’re better at this than I gave you credit for,” she adds. “You don’t just throw herbs in a pot and hope for magic. You actually... care.”
I nod. “People deserve to feel better. Doesn’t matter if it’s with flowers or tonics.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a second longer than it should.
Without thinking—I ask, “Why flowers?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Why this? Floristry. Could’ve done anything.”
She hesitates, then picks at a corner of her sandwich like it’s suddenly very interesting.
“My mom was a florist,” she says quietly. “She used to tell me that when words don’t land right, flowers do the heavy lifting. She was big on... sentiment. Big on making things beautiful even when they were messy.”
I wait.
“She died when I was seventeen,” she adds, barely above a whisper. “And after that, nothing felt beautiful anymore. So I started making it up.”
There’s a beat of silence.
I say nothing. Just nod.
She doesn’t need comfort. She needs space to be heard.
That, I can give.
She looks up at me again, something unreadable flickering in her expression. “Why herbalism?”
“Because I was tired of breaking things,” I answer simply. “I needed to learn how to fix them.”
Her gaze sharpens slightly, like she’s realizing there’s more to me than just muscle and moss.
