Page 44 of Thankful for My Orc
As Sarai glides away to place our order, I look around the restaurant with new eyes. This isn’t just a place to eat—it’s a gathering spot, a piece of home recreated in a new world.
“How often do you come here?” I ask.
“Every few weeks. After tough shifts, when I need to remember who I am beyond the job.” He leans back in his chair, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. “This place… it’s what we’ve built together. Not just orcs, but all of us. The Unity Bowl recipe combines traditions from every species that came through the Rift. These tables were made by a minotaur carpenter. The bread comes from a bakery run by three naga sisters.”
I can hear the pride in his voice, which warms me from within. “You love it here.”
“I do. It’s not perfect—nothing about our situation is perfect. But it’s ours.” He meets my eyes across the table. “I wanted you to see this part of my life. The part that isn’t about emergencies or protocols or fitting into your world.”
The honesty in his voice draws me in. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
Sarai returns with two steaming bowls and a basket of bread that smells like heaven. The stew is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted—rich and complex, with flavors that seem to tell stories of distant places and different worlds. The meat is tender, the vegetables perfectly seasoned, and there’s something in the spice blend that makes my taste buds sing.
“Oh my God,” I say after my first spoonful. “This is incredible.”
Forge’s smile is brilliant. “Right? I knew you’d love it.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the warmth of the food and the gentle buzz of conversation around us creatinga cocoon of intimacy. But there’s something weighing on me, something I’ve been avoiding since our arcade date.
“Forge,” I say, setting down my wooden spoon. “I need to talk about something. Something I’ve been thinking about since we started this.”
His expression grows serious, attentive. “Okay.”
I take a breath, choosing my words carefully. “You know how I am with work. You’ve seen it—I’ve told you about it, Riley’s complained about it, hell, I’ve canceled dates over it.” I meet his eyes. “But what I haven’t told you is why it scares me so much.”
“Why it scares you?”
“David used to say I had a pattern. That I’d choose work over personal time until people gave up on me.” I tear my bread into small pieces, needing something to do with my hands. “And yeah, that pattern is real. We both know it. But here’s what I haven’t said out loud to anyone: I don’t actually know if I CAN change it.”
Forge leans forward slightly, his focus entirely on me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I force myself to look at him. “What if this is just who I am? What if I’m fundamentally wired to put cases before people, emergencies before relationships? Because if that’s true—if I can’t change—then getting close to you is just setting us both up for the same inevitable ending.”
The vulnerability in my voice surprises even me. This isn’t about telling him something he doesn’t know—it’s about admitting my deepest fear: that I’m unfixable.
Forge is quiet for a moment, his amber eyes studying my face with an intensity that makes me want to look away. But I don’t. I hold his gaze because he deserves to know what he’s signing up for.
“Is that what you think will happen with us?” he finally asks. “That inevitable ending?”
“It’s what has always happened before,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He sets down his wineglass and leans forward, elbows on the table. “Walk me through it. What exactly is the pattern? Not what David said, but what actually happens.”
The question catches me off guard because it’s not what I expected him to ask. “What do you mean?”
“Start from the beginning,” he says quietly. “What happens, step by step?”
I consider this, trying to analyze my behavior with the same objectivity I’d bring to a case. “Someone needs me—a client, usually. There’s a crisis or a deadline. And I… I drop everything else to handle it. I tell myself it’s just this once, that I’ll make it up later, but then there’s always another crisis.”
“And how do the people in your life usually react?”
“They get frustrated. Resentful. They start fighting with me about priorities, and I get defensive because I’m helping people who really need me. Eventually, they either demand I choose between them and my work, or they just… give up and leave.”
Forge nods slowly. “So the pattern is that you get put in a position where you have to choose between work and love, and work wins.”
“Yes.” The admission comes out stark, but I don’t want to sugarcoat anything. If we’re going to have a relationship, we have to get this right.
“What if the problem isn’t that you choose work? What if the problem is that you’ve been with people who needed you to choose?”
