Page 31 of Thankful for My Orc
Forge
Jordan studies me across the table, her expression shifting through a dozen emotions—curiosity, skepticism, hope, fear—all flashing by in a heartbeat. She grips her cup tightly, but she doesn’t look away.
I set my small incident-report notebook on the table between us. Her gaze narrows instantly, sharp and assessing, as if she’s preparing for cross-examination.
“Random selection,” I say, flipping it open.
Her eyebrows rise. “I’m sorry, what?”
“We get to know each other using the time-honored tradition of dating.”
The attorney across from me straightens in her chair, already preparing an objection, so I hurry to explain. “Not ordinary dating, though. No one in charge. No pressure. Completely non-traditional.”
Her shoulders ease, just slightly, and I take it as permission to continue.
“We each write down ten activities. Nothing too intimate, nothing too expensive—just things we might actually enjoy together. Then we let chance decide where we go and what we do. No overthinking, no grand gestures. Just… seeing what happens.”
Jordan stares at the notebook as if it might bite her. “You want to plan our… whatever this is… using random chance?”
“Think about it.” I lean forward, warming to the subject now that I can see genuine interest flickering in her eyes. “Random selection removes all the pressure. You can’t overthink the choices because you didn’t make them. I can’t try to impress you with perfectly crafted dates because I don’t know what we’re doing until we pick. We’re just two people spending time together, seeing if we actually like each other when there’s no agenda.”
“That’s…” She pauses, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her lawyer brain. “Actually, oddly genius. In a completely insane way.”
“I prefer ‘unconventional.’” I flip to a clean page and tear it out, sliding it across the table to her along with my pen. “The rulesare simple. Ten activities each. Nothing that requires overnight travel, nothing that costs more than a hundred dollars per person. We’ll count each outing as one activity, regardless of how many stops we make. Beyond that, anything goes.”
She picks up the pen, then sets it down again. “What if we pick something terrible? What if we end up at a monster truck rally and I hate every second of it?”
“Then we’ll have learned something about each other.” I shrug. “Maybe you’ll surprise yourself and love the chaos. Maybe I’ll discover I have strong opinions about automotive entertainment. Either way, we’ll have a story to tell.”
“And if this doesn’t work? If we do this whole random dating experiment and discover we have nothing in common beyond good chemistry?”
The question lands sharper than I want to admit, like a splinter under the skin. I force my voice steady, even though part of me sags at her resistance. “Then we’ll know. And we can both move on without wondering ‘what if.’”
She’s quiet for a long moment, studying my face as though she’s trying to solve a puzzle. Around us, the coffee shop hums with afternoon conversations and the hiss of the espresso machine. The couple at the next table is arguing quietly about weekend plans, and I find myself hoping we never end up like that—quarreling over logistics instead of fighting for each other.
“You’ve really thought this through,” she says finally.
“I’ve had since that morning to think about it.” I scrub my chin with my palm, suddenly feeling exposed. “Long days of wondering if I imagined the connection between us, of second-guessing every moment from that night.”
“Forge—”
“I know you’re scared, Jordan, and I know jumping into something new feels dangerous. But I’m not asking you to jump. I’m asking you to take one step at a time, with no promises except honesty.”
She picks up the pen again, this time holding it like she means to use it. “How many dates are we talking about before we… reevaluate? Ten? Five? Until we get through all twenty activities?”
“How about we start with three?” I suggest, wanting to eliminate any reason she might use to back out now. “Three random selections, three chances to see if there’s something worth exploring. After that, we reassess.”
“Three dates to determine the fate of… whatever this is.” Her hand waves back and forth between us and goes on a beat too long as though she’s deep in thought.
“Three opportunities to get to know each other without the pressure of grand romantic gestures or relationship timelines.” I tap the empty page in front of her. “What do you say, counselor? Brave enough to let fate have the wheel?”
I’m betting everything on this crazy plan, hoping random chance will show her that we’re worth the risk.
The smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth is the first genuine one I’ve seen from her since I walked into the coffee shop. “You know, for someone who runs into burning buildings for a living, you’re surprisingly methodical about dating.”
“Firefighting is all about calculated risks. You assess the situation, make a plan, and then execute with precision.” I gesture to the notebook. “This is just risk assessment with better coffee.”
“And if I say yes? What happens next?”
