Page 2 of First Comes Orc, Second Comes Baby
At that point, Matchmaker lowered her gaze to the electric blue puppy purse slung around Charlotte’s chest. A small, fluffy white dog with brown eyes stared through a ventilation panel.
It was kind of adorable.
It had also better stay in the purse.
Matchmaker sat and leaned back, crossing her legs.
“Oh, thanks for letting me bring her with me,” Charlotte said, intercepting Matchmaker's gaze. “I have an emotional regulation issue, and my therapist prescribed Snowkiss. She goes with me everywhere.”
“An emotional regulation issue? Do you mean anger management?”
Charlotte’s eyes widened, then she threw herself into the loveseat. “Oh my god, no. I wish it were that easy. No, it's this overdeveloped need to take care of everyone else around me?” Charlotte gave Matchmaker a quizzical look. “Any time I feel the need to go out of my way—which is all the time—to take care of someone else's needs before my own, I'm supposed to redirect all of that energy into Snowkiss.”
“I see. You have boundary issues.” Orcs, fortunately enough, were a nurturing species. Charlotte might do very well among them.
“Yup! That's the term. I’m glad you understand. I feel comfortable placing myself in your hands.”
Matchmaker pressed the comm on her laptop. “Frederick, can you send in a pot of chamomile tea?” The sleepy time blend, were the unspoken words. “For my guest.”
“Right away.”
“Let's get started, Charlotte. Tell me about yourself. Your goal for love, your wants, and your emotional wounds.”
* * *
Charlotte took a deep breath then exhaled, trying to settle some of her excess energy.
Well, to be honest, none of it was exactly excess. It was who she was. Positive, upbeat, outgoing. She'd been driven into therapy because of it, not because those were bad traits, but because they were slightly. . .
. . .unbalanced.
Unhinged, her twin liked to say.
Snowkiss yipped.
Charlotte gave Matchmaker, staring at her with steady brown eyes, a strained smile and sank deeper into the cream loveseat. Smiles always made everything better, her mother used to say. Smiles diffused a situation and signaled your willingness to go the extra mile to reach a happy accord.
But then her mother had also spent her entire marriage placating a man who liked to communicate with his fists, so there was that.
So maybe she was in therapy for more than just her upbeat personality.
But, evidently, Orcs weren’t like that. Charlotte had spent as much time studying their culture as she had stalking Matchmaker.
“Okay,” Charlotte said. “I've watched every episode of your YouTube serial, and I've been thinking about these questions for weeks.”
Lie. She'd been thinking about those questions for months, years. Telling Matchmaker she stalked her on social media was a polite, happy way of reframing a mild obsession.
But no one needed to know all that.
“My goal is simple. I'm looking for true love. Yes, I know you're going to ask me what true love means to me. To me it means compatibility, open communication, and the freedom to be spontaneous.”
It had taken months to drill a thesis down to those three simple things.
Because there was so. Much. She. Wanted.
But, focus.
Matchmaker notated her digital notebook. Charlotte recognized the model. She recognized the model because it was on her five-year aspirational wish list for when she actually had money; actually meaning money that wasn't earmarked for rent, utilities, and the bare minimum of food.
