Page 32 of The Orc Chief's Baker
She had to stop looking at him or she was going to turn into a bumbling ninny. Her tongue already felt tied.
But she managed to get back to the matter at hand anyway.
“I’m not really one for small talk, so I’ll get right to it. I really just wanted to talk to you about creating these.” She pulled the parchment out of her basket of sweets and passed over the first one. It was a simple diagram. Just a flat pan with slightly raisededges with measurements. It would be easy for any blacksmith worth his salt to make.
But the amount of metal needed was a whole other story.
Her heart clenched as Brovdir took the book from her hand. He examined it inquisitively and her anxiety forced her into unusual babble. “My sister... well... let’s just say I don’t have my baking pans anymore. It’s made getting the loaves done almost impossible. I’ve been basically cooking all night in order to get them done. Which is fine since that’s where I live anyway but...”
The male rose a brow at her.
“It’s far better to live there than my former home. Believe me. My sister can be a nightmare.” And her childhood home was basically in shambles anyway. After years of being neglected by her drunkard of a father who traded every extra scrap he had on mead, it was a wonder the whole thing hadn’t caved in.
He rose both brows now and blinked with surprise.
“I know what you’re thinking, but trust me, sleeping behind the oven is preferable to sleeping in the same room as Yerina. She can be...”
Conniving. Manipulative. Petty... how she’d convinced their father to write a will specifically sayingsheinherited their childhood home was beyond her. Their father may have been fallen over drunk half the time, but he was usually somewhat fair.
It didn’t matter now and judging from the orc’s shocked expression, she’d been rambling about this far too long.
“I just need to get my pans replaced. And since the goblins abandoned the surface world two decades ago, there hasn’t been any metal trade. The supply we’ve got here in the Rove Woods is so limited. That’s why... well... I was hoping you had some extra where you are from?”
“Much.”
The single word sent a cascade of relief and delight through her. “Really?” She breathed. “So, you have enough to make that pan? Perhaps a few of them? And maybe these too?” She pulled the other sketches out of her basket and passed them over.
He purposefully brushed her hand with the pads of his fingers as he took them, and a little shiver raced down her spine. Fades, his hands werehuge.
“Those”—he pointed to the basket she still had on her arm—“for these?”
A zing of delight burst through her. She’d done it! This was actually going to work!
She pulled a bun back out of her basket and handed it to him. He took it carefully. “You mean these, right? Because I can actually make you anything. If you tell me what flavors you prefer, I can bake goods specifically for you.”
The male tipped his head in thought as he considered this. It made his shaggy hair flop over his forehead and her fingers twitched with the want to brush it back.
“W-we should discuss quantity too.” She hoped the flush of her cheeks wasn’t noticeable. “How many do you think is fair?”
His brows furrowed as he considered before he ventured carefully. “Three?”
Trinia tried to stop her laughter. She really did, but it came anyway, and before long, she was wiping her eyes and trying to get words out. “I’m sorry. I’msosorry. I just thought you meant you only wantedthreebuns in exchange for a pan.”
“Three pans, three buns.”
Her laughter died out.
He was serious? “That is not a fair trade.”
His brows came together and disappointment flashed on his face. He carefully tapped the bun as if testing its softness. “Two pans for one?”
“By Fades,no. Brovdir, you cannot be serious.” She searched his face and found no humor there. “You are serious. Brovdir, have you traded with someone before?”
“Yes.”
“Really? And that trade still seems fair?” He nodded his head, and she was instantly flummoxed. How badwerethings outside of Rove Wood?
Now was not the time to ask.
