Page 40 of Tusks, Tails & Teacakes
“I thought I could help.”
She was glad she’d already poured in the flour or she certainly would have dropped the sack. “You’ve already helped me by fixing the oven.”
He nodded but made no move to leave. She bit back a sigh. Maybe he wanted to see his handiwork in action or maybe he wanted to make sure the oven didn’t explode when she turned it on.
Despite having run with a crew, Lira was accustomed to working alone. When they’d needed to break into a locked vault, it had been nothing but her nimble fingers and silence. When they’d needed to know secrets that were whispered in the comfort of shadows, it had been her alone who’d slipped unseen through pools of darkness to gather them one by one.
But she couldn’t send him away. Not when he was the reason she’d be able to bake at all, and not when he was looking at her like he might crumble at the most delicately pointed word. Besides, she didn’t mind his presence. There was something tentative and sweet about him that was such a mismatch to his orc physique that she didn’t mind him being in her space.
“How are you at cutting butter?” she finally asked.
“I’m good with blades.”
Since he was a guardsman, Lira didn’t doubt this.
She gestured to the block of butter on the counter. “Half of that in small bits, please.”
He moved behind her, his body brushing hers as he took up the task. Lira focused on grating a papery cinnamon stick into the flour, the brown spice speckling the mound of white. They worked in silence until she felt his gaze on her back.
“If you’re done, you can drop that into the bowl,” she said, trying not to sound too commanding.
Korl was instantly at her side, his massive hands opening over the flour and unleashing a cascade of tiny yellow flakes. Lira smiled at how fastidiously he’d cut the butter. She glanced around for a pair of knives, reaching for the daggers he’d left on the counter behind her.
She deftly cut in the butter until the mixture was like sand, aware that the orc was watching her every move. He clearly wasn’t one who felt compelled to fill silence, so she didn’tattempt to engage him in conversation. Aside from that, the quiet in the kitchen didn’t need filling.
“I’ve eaten these before,” he said after a few minutes.
She tipped her head to meet his eyes, taken aback that he’d been the one to speak first. “Scones?”
He nodded then shook his head. “Your gran’s scones. She brought some to us once after my dads fixed her cart.”
Lira didn’t remember this, but she now knew there was a lot she didn’t remember. “Did you like them?”
Another nod and then several more moments of silence. “And we all liked her.”
Lira jerked her attention back to her bowl, pouring in a glug of cream and cracking an egg as the backs of her eyes burned. She folded the batter with a wooden spoon and then slung a handful of flour onto the table, her deft movements keeping her mind busy and the tears at bay. As she flopped the dough onto the surface and worked it into a flat disc with her fingers, a wisp of a memory fluttered to the surface. “That wasn’t the only time your dads fixed our cart.”
Korl shook his head, as she expertly cut the dough into wedges and transferred them to a baking sheet. He opened the oven door for her and they both braved a blast of heat as she slid it inside. “One time we got an apple spice cake.”
It warmed Lira’s heart that he still remembered the types of baked treats her gran had used to repay them.
“We ate the whole thing instead of supper that night,” Korl confessed. “I had a tummy ache the next day. So did my dads.”
Lira laughed, Korl’s memories of her gran’s baking unlocking something deep inside her, a joy that had been bundled snugly in grief. She laughed until tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and the velvet rumble of the orc’s laugh joined hers. In that moment, Lira felt like she had when she’d baked alongside her gran. In that moment, she felt safe, she felt at home.
When she put a hand to her side, she gasped a hitching breath. “I’mnot laughing at your tummy ache. I’m laughing at your dads letting you eat a whole cake.”
“They ate more than I did.”
She sucked in a breath. “That’s what’s so funny.” She looked up at Korl, his smile warming her. “I can’t promise that it will be as good, but I can try to make that cake for you.”
“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice suddenly solemn again. “That’s not why I told you that story.”
“I know.” She smiled at him, enjoying the flash in his dark eyes. “Maybe I want to.”
Korl cleared his throat and looked away, glancing at the oven instead of her. “Your gran wasn’t the only one who was nice. Do you remember sticking up for me?”
Lira searched her memory, vaguely recalling some bigger boys trying to provoke Korl when he’d been young and smaller. “They wanted you to fight them, right?”
