And so, as the evening lengthened, we discussed the wedding plans, and different ideas for how to incorporate orcish traditions. Sylvik pulled out a hand-carved wooden tray and began to lay out an impressive charcuterie board—what kind of single guy kept brie and prosciutto and mixed olives and baguettes just…on hand? He poured us some wine, and he apologized for not having a summer sausage—apparently his brother ate it all this afternoon—and we waited for the ornaments to cool and swapped stories of formal events we’d attended.
I had plenty of experience with weddings of all sorts, of course, but it turned out that he’d often attended formal events in place of his reclusive boss, Abydos. I asked questions and marveled at his thoughts about succeeding as an orc in the human’s world.
“This afternoon, we decided we’d like to bring one of our traditions to Eastshore,” he confessed almost shyly. “It’s an outdoor—well, I suppose you’d call it a bonfire. The night of the solstice. I think I got volunteered to host, since my house is the only one ready so far.”
I peppered him with questions, and while he readily described what he knew of the ceremony, I had the feeling he was avoiding part of the explanation. But I was too fascinated by his descriptions of the traditions to worry.
By the time I finished showing him how to braid long lengths of the red string into garlands, the cinnamon ornaments were ready to decorate the tree, and we moved into the living room once more.
Most of the houses on Eastshore had been built around the same time in the same design, but his was refreshinglymodern, with an open floor plan for entertaining. He’d already given me a proud tour—his bedroom, office, and a spare utilitarian bedroom—and we’d had a long chat about the use of space in design. I really enjoyed his insights, and my mind was sparking with ideas when it came to entertaining.
“That’s a great idea,” he said, when I suggested a hot chocolate cart for the back patio as he finished draping the garland around the tree to complement the paper chain. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to volunteeryouto help organize the Solstice Circle.”
Chuckling, I laid out ornaments and the cut string in front of the tree. “I would be delighted to. That’s next week, right?”
We’d only managed to get two of the dough ornaments hung up when my phone—in my back pocket—buzzed. I gasped, then winced and reached for it. “I should have let Mom know I wasn’t going to be home for dinner.”
Except, when I swiped up on the screen, it wasn’t to see a text from Mom. It was an email notification. From an address I knew well.
Unable to believe my eyes, I clicked on the email, and the words—hiswords—popped up.
Hi Brooke,long time no see. I know it’s a little strange to reach out to you like this but hear me out. I’ve recently been approached by a man—let’s just say he’s a well-known movie star and leave it at that—who attended one of our beach receptions last year. He says his fiancée wantsthat exact vibe, and he’ll pay well for it. Most of that vibe was your idea, and I’ll confess that my recent attempts to replicate it haven’t been quite as successful. If you’ll agree to work with me on this gig, I’ll split the profits with you down the middle. Just like old times. Whattaya say, Brooke-bear?
My hands were shakingby the time I reached the end of the email, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of grief or rage. The whole thing juststankof Ethan’s smarmy charm. Brooke-bear?Offering to split to commission? As if he wasn’t begging me to work with him because his untalented ass couldn’t?—
“Brooke?”
At first, I didn’t remember where I was, and it wasn’t until the large green hand closed around mine, blocking the phone from my view, that I blinked and shuddered. Oh yeah, this was mostdefinitelyrage.
“What is it?” Sylvik’s tone was calm, low. Soothing. “What’s wrong? Is it your mother?”
I was still shaking as I pulled the phone from him to type a quick text to my mother, then emphatically deleted the email from Ethan. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry,” I managed as I slid it back into my pocket.
But Sylvik wasn’t fooled. “That wasnot‘nothing.’ I couldn’t tell if you were going to cry or scream.”
My breath whooshed out of me with a little laugh. “Both, probably.” Taking a deep breath, I rolled my shoulders. “That was from my ex-partner. We had awedding planning business on the West Coast—Wish Upton A Starr, a combination of our last names. His came first, of course,” I muttered with a roll of my eyes.
“Who came up with that name?”
“Him.” My eyes cut toward Sylvik. “Why?”
He shrugged without lifting his gaze. “Because it’s a stupid name.”
Thatshocked a giggle-snort out of me. “It wouldn’t have been stupid ifI’dcome up with it, though?”
He finished tying a ribbon for one of the ornaments and handed it to me. “If you’d come up with it, it would have been called something fun or sensible, likeStarr EnterprisesorWish Upon a Starr, and you wouldn’t have tried to shoehorn his stupid name into it.”
I found myself snorting again, then shaking my head. “You’re right. He was so proud of that name, too.
Sylvik hummed. “I’m guessing the company isn’t in business anymore.”
“No.” Frowning at the harsh memories, I tried to find the perfect place for the lopsided little star. “We broke up—I mean, the company broke up about a month ago. It’s why I’m taking an extended visit to Eastshore for Riven’s wedding.” Ah, there, it would fit perfectly in that bald spot. I hung Sylvik’s star with a flourish. “I was always the…well, I suppose you’d say the creative side of the business. He was all spreadsheets and Type-A organization.”
Realizing that sounded dismissive, I shot Sylvik a guiltylook, but one side of his lips curled as he finished tying the next ribbon. “There’s a need for spreadsheets.”
“I know. I couldn’t run the business alone?—”
“Of course you could.” He held out the snowflake to me and reached for the next one without looking up, as if his words hadn’t rocked me to my core. “You could do anything you put your mind to, Brooke.”
