"I trust your terrible cooking experiments."
"Lies. You've never tasted my cooking."
"Your spice crate crushed my awning. That's evidence enough." But she's laughing. The sound fills the shop, bounces off bookshelves.
The door rings. A woman enters, dragging two small children. The kids stare at me, eyes wide. I wave. The boy hides behind his mother's leg.
"We're here for the reading," the mother says, uncertain gaze flickering between Lacy and me.
Lacy brightens. "Perfect timing. Stone, would you mind helping set up the children's corner?"
I salute. "On it, boss."
Twenty minutes later,the store fills with kids. They sprawl on cushions, clutching picture books. Parents hover near the cafe counter, sipping coffee. Lacy coordinates, moving between groups with practiced ease.
She catches my eye. "Stone? Want to read to them?"
Panic flares. "Me?"
"You have the perfect voice for it. Deep. Dramatic."
The children turn toward me. Expectant faces. One girl waves a book featuring a dragon on the cover. I recognize it.The Brave Knight and the Gentle Beast.A pulp fantasy classic Lacy shelves in her "guilty pleasures" section.
I crouch down. The floor creaks under my weight. "You want me to read this one?"
Nods all around. The dragon girl thrusts the book at me.
I settle cross-legged. Open to the first page. The words blur at first. Then I find my rhythm. Lower my voice to a theatrical rumble.
"Once, in a kingdom of stone towers and whispering forests, there lived a knight whose heart was braver than her sword..."
The kids lean in. I add sound effects. Growl when the dragon appears. Whisper during the sneaky scenes. Make my voice soar for the knight's battle cry. The children gasp. Giggle. Shout warnings at the characters.
One boy climbs onto my knee. "Do the dragon again!"
I roar. Gentle enough not to scare, loud enough to thrill. Laughter erupts. Parents smile, phones out, recording.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Lacy watching. Her expression melts me. Soft. Fond. Like she's seeing me and liking what she sees.
A flash goes off. I glance up. A woman with a camera and press badge stands near the door. She grins, snaps another photo.
"This is gold," she murmurs to her companion. "Local orc integration project volunteer reads to kids. Heartwarming stuff."
My ears burn. I keep reading, but nerves flutter under my ribs. Publicity could be good. Or dangerous. Councilwoman Blair's warnings from Darius echo. Not everyone wants orcs blending in.
After the reading,kids swarm me. They touch my scars, fascinated. Ask if I eat rocks. If I can lift a car. I answer patiently, showing off the hand-drawn doodles in my ledger when one asks if orcs write.
"This is a poem about soup," I explain, pointing to cramped verses.
"You write about soup?" The dragon girl wrinkles her nose.
"Soup is important. Comfort food. Universal language."
She considers this. Nods solemnly. "My dad makes good soup."
"Then your dad is a wise man."
Lacy joins us, crouching beside me. "Alright, friends. Stone needs a break. Who wants hot chocolate?"
