But as I dressed in fresh clothes and prepared to return to the sheriff’s office, I couldn’t ignore the insistent whisper in my heart that it might already be too late.
The wooden stairs creaked beneath my boots as I descended to the main floor of the saloon. My stomach growled, reminding me that sleep wasn’t the only thing I’d missed since arriving in Lonesome Creek. The wall clock showed past noon, but my body clock was thoroughly confused after everything that had happened.
The saloon had transformed from its quiet morning state to a bustling lunch spot. Tourists filled thetables, their excited chatter creating a pleasant hum beneath the tinkling piano music coming from a self-playing instrument in the corner. The whole scene felt like stepping into a movie set, except the orcs were real, and somehow, I belonged here.
An orc wearing a chef’s apron arranged sandwiches behind the glass counter. Each looked like an edible work of art, piled high with colorful ingredients I couldn’t identify from this distance. This must be Lavon, the chef Jessi had mentioned yesterday.
Aunt Inla stood beside him, her silver-streaked hair pulled into a loose bun beneath her poke bonnet. She hovered over his shoulder, rearranging his carefully placed plates while batting her eyelashes at him.
“If you put the cragroot fritters here, Lavon, they’ll catch more light.” She moved a plate of golden-brown nuggets to a different spot.
Lavon’s expression showed equal parts exasperation and fondness. “Inla, I’ve been arranging food displays for thirty years.”
“And I’ve been looking at handsome males for far longer,” she said with a wink that made the chef’s cheeks darken.
At the far end of the bar, Greel leaned close to Jessi, nodding toward Aunt Inla and Lavon with a roll of his eyes. He whispered something that made Jessi snicker and cover her mouth to stifle her laughter.
Watching their easy intimacy sent a pang of sadness through my chest. I wasn’t jealous. I guess it felt more like hunger. These people had built lives together. Theyhad inside jokes and shared stories. They belonged to each other.
For someone who’d spent the last few years carefully avoiding attachment, the sudden longing for that kind of connection felt like a betrayal of my survival instincts. Yet I couldn’t deny the pull.
I approached the bar, and Lavon’s attention shifted to me. “You must be our new deputy. Riley, right? Welcome to Lonesome Creek.” He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a mug he filled with coffee from a pot sitting on the long shelf behind, handing it over. “Cream or sugar?”
“Just cream, and I love you for this.” I almost cringed at how friendly I sounded, how personal. For all I knew, I’d just committed a grave faux pas and insulted an orc elder.
He gave me a tusky grin. “Love you too.” He plunked a creamer that matched the mug on the counter between us. “If I’ve learned nothing since coming to the surface, it’s that humans adore their coffee. Some might even say they love it.”
“I do. Thank you.”
Inla beamed. “Did you sleep well? I heard about your escapades from last night. That boy is full of mischief.”
“I hope he didn’t get into too much trouble. And yes, I slept great.”
“He’ll understand that locking people inside a cell together and taking the keys is wrong, and I guess that’s the lesson he must learn,” she said.
I stared down at the gorgeous mug, deep azure bluewith swirls of cream and gold that seemed to dance through the glaze, then took a sniff of the lovely coffee inside. The handle fit my hand perfectly.
“Did Hail or Allie make this?” I asked, lifting the piece up to eyelevel to study it further. “It’s beautiful.”
Lavon nodded, his dark eyes warming. “Hail makes all our dishware. Says it helps people feel more welcome when they’re eating from something made with care.”
“He’s right.” I took a sip of the rich coffee, moaning my appreciation as I swallowed.
“Staff eats for free,” Lavon told me with a nod toward a basket full of wrapped muffins.
I picked one of the muffins, holding it up, admiring the deep purple berries scattered through the rich, golden mix. “These look amazing.”
“Dartling berries,” Inla said with a sweet smile. “We make them here ourselves from berries we import from the orc kingdom. A lot of dishes feature orc ingredients.”
“I can’t wait to try the muffin.”
“Take the coffee with you.” Inla plucked four muffins from the basket and popped them into a paper bag along with the one I’d selected, handing the folded-top bag to me over the counter. “Take the extras to Dungar, would you? He adores them.”
“I will. Thanks again.” Bag and coffee in hand, I headed for the door. Everyone in the saloon seemed paired off. Tourists with their families, orcs with their human mates, even Aunt Inla and Lavon with their flirtatious dance. Each person orbited aroundsomeone else, creating a constellation of connections I’d denied myself for much too long.
My pace quickened as I stepped onto the boardwalk, my thoughts already racing ahead to Dungar, with his careful movements and thoughtful eyes. To the way I’d felt safe in his arms last night.
For the first time in two years, I was walking toward something instead of away.
