“Two is perfect.” I retrieved plates from the spot in the cabinet where they always lived. The ceramic was warm from the plate warmer he kept running at a precise 103 degrees, which was hot enough to keep food from cooling too quickly but not so hot it would burn fingers.
He cracked the eggs, no shells falling into the pan, no drips on the stovetop. It was a small thing, but watching him cook was like observing a carefully choreographed dance.
“Toast?” I asked, already moving toward the refrigerator for a loaf from Holly and Sel’s bakery.
“Please.”
We moved around each other in the kitchen with the ease of people who’d been sharing a house for years instead of days. I knew to hand him the spatula before he asked, and he set the blue coffee mug, the one with the sheriff’s badge that had become “mine,” next to the coffee maker as it finished brewing.
“Plate,” he said, and I slid one next to him right as he turned with the perfectly cooked eggs.
“Butter for the toast?”
“Yes. Jam too please.”
He liked it with exactly two tablespoons spread across the surface, though not touching the crust.
There was something reassuring about the predictability.
We ate at the kitchen table. Dungar’s methodical way of eating—cutting each bite to the same size, alternating between eggs and toast—felt endearing rather than odd. These rituals were part of who he was, and I found myself adopting some of them, finding comfort in their rhythm.
“More coffee?” he asked, noticing my nearly empty mug.
“Only if we can take it outside. It’s too beautiful to stay indoors.”
His smile transformed his face, softening the sharp angles and making his dark eyes crinkle at the corners. “I was hoping you’d suggest that.”
We cleaned up together, rinsing the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. While he washed the frying pan, I wiped down the counters with the specific cleaner he preferred, making sure to get the spots I might’ve missed three days ago but now knew to look for.
The back deck offered a great view of the mountains rising in the distance. I settled into one of the oversized chairs, my feet dangling above the deck boards, and cradled my refilled coffee mug between my palms.
“I could get used to this view,” I said, not just meaning the mountains. Dungar in the morning light, relaxed and unguarded, was a sight worth savoring.
“It never gets old.” He leaned against the railing, his own mug orc-sized and custom made by his brother at the Pottery Barn. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to live here, above ground, with sunlight and open sky.”
“Do you miss the orc kingdom?” I’d been curious about his homeland since arriving, but we’d been dancing around personal topics, both of us careful not to push too far or too fast.
“Sometimes.” He turned to look out at the mountains. “The crystal caverns where I grew up had their own kind of beauty. But down there, everything felt confined. Up here, there’s room to breathe.”
Iunderstood that feeling intimately, the suffocating weight of confinement, the desperate need for space to simply exist. Before I could respond, the sound of approaching hoofbeats drew our attention.
Ruugar rode up on his sorhox, a ginormous beast with a deep green hide and a friendly look in its eyes. He waved as he approached, a cloth-covered basket hanging from one arm.
“Morning,” he called out, dismounting with the easy grace all the Bronish brothers seemed to share. “Holly sent these over. Said something about our new neighbor deserving welcome treats.”
My cheeks warmed. I wasn’t exactly a new neighbor, just temporarily displaced. But the thought of being considered Dungar’s… What was I? His roommate? Partner? The undefined nature of our relationship made uncertainty flutter in my belly.
“That was thoughtful of her.” Dungar took the basket. “Join us for coffee?”
Ruugar accepted, though he took tea, and soon we were all seated on the deck, fresh-baked cinnamon spirulina and chocolate chip cookies on a plate between us. Conversation flowed easily, with Ruugar sharing stories about the latest tourist mishaps.
“How are the luminooks doing?” Dungar asked, reaching for another cookie, taking a big bite.
Ruugar’s expression clouded. “That’s actually why I wanted to stop by. Something’s off with them. The entire colony is behaving strangely. They’re more agitated, less willing to approach thefeeding stations. They seem nervous for some reason.”
“What kind of nervous?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Restless. Their humming patterns have changed, and they’re not glowing as brightly at night. It could be nothing. Maybe they’re adjusting to the changing seasons. But I suspect something’s wrong.”
