? Cook the bannock until nicely browned (between 10-15 minutes), then flip to the other side and cook for another 10 minutes or so.
? Traditionally, the bannock is best served still warm and cut into wedges. In my opinion, you need blackberry or strawberry jam and fresh whipped butter. (My editor says you need molasses and whipped butter, so there’s that.)
Eat with one Orc or several hungry friends. In the unlikely event there are leftovers, you can store them in an airtight container for about three days at room temperature.
A Widower Would a Wooing Go
Starring Douglas and Georgia fromThe Orc’s Second Shot at Love
The picnic takes place on a sunny patch near the cabin, Georgia leaning on one hip while she eats, showing off her long, toned legs, enslaving me further with every casual caress of her hand on my arm or leg.
She’s tucked away two pasties and is working on her third. My stomach flip-flops.
She hasn’t touched the bannock. What if she doesn’t? What if that’s not proper picnic lunch food? What if she’s full?
I swallow hard, fighting to get the lump of deviled egg down my suddenly sawdust-coated throat.
What if she only wants a sliver of it? It’s not exactly sweet. Why didn’t I bake a proper cake?
Because I can’t bake!
Whydidn’t I learn to bake?!
“Babe? You don’t look so good.” Georgia rises to her knees and hands me a water bottle.
I swallow it sloppily, water splashing over my chin and front. I pull the plastic bottle away and snag it hard across one tusk, sending more water cascading down my thin white shirt.
“Bloody hell!”
“Ooh.” Georgia makes a breathless noise, even as she rushes to hand me napkins. “Do you realize how hot you look in a wet t-shirt, Doug? I thought that was strictly for girls, but I was wrong.”
“Minx.”
“I prefer vixen.” She rubs her nose to mine.
“Your chin fits right between my tusks,” I marvel, not for the first time.
“I know. I’m way smaller than you.”
Wet and all, she presses to me, stroking my damp face. “You’re the perfect fit for me,” I whisper. I swallow again, thumb stroking over her smooth peach cheek, so fair and so different from my green skin, so different from Nicola’s, too.
“You are the most beautiful to me.” I pull her hand into mine and capture her fingers, netting each one between my own so I can kiss the tiny hills of her knuckles, dwarfed by the mountains of mine.
“And you are the most handsome to me. The second I saw you—you took my breath away. Like, literally, because I had a cookie in my mouth, and I gasped when I saw you. Sucked that thing down my windpipe.” She groans against my shoulder for a moment. “So unsexy.”
“On the contrary, I thought it was highly seductive.”
More laughing, more nuzzling. More marveling at how she fits against me, under me, and with me in all ways.
“You are my first love,” I murmur.
Georgia’s eyes widen. “Me? I— No, I—”
“You are myfirst love,” I repeat firmly. “My first. Myonly. I have loved and cared for others. I have never beeninlove with another. You are what they mean when they say ‘true love.”
“And you are mine, Douglas. Honestly.” Her sweet blue eyes overflow. “I don’t know why I’m crying. No, I do. Because I’m really happy,” she whispers.
My small and gentle smile broadens. “You know, my grandmother’s ring is at home in my chest of drawers. Waiting for my bride.”
