Page 4 of How To Woo A Warrior Orc

Carefully, I pat her back.

Once, when I was a very small orc-child, I found a bird with a broken wing. I made a nest for it in a hollowed out log, far enough from my home that my parents would not find it, were they to bother looking for me.

I took care of it for two weeks, feeding it worms and bugs and berries until it was able to get around for itself.

She feels like that bird in my palms.

The fluttering heart beneath the fragile structure of her ribs, the small breaths.

A little sigh escapes her, fluttering against my stomach like the wings of that same bird.

I am afraid to hold her too tight.

I am afraid of what that means.

“Thank you,” she finally says, smiling up at me with watery eyes. She brushes her knuckles against her cheekbone, dashing the remainder of the moisture from her peachy skin. “I really needed a hug.”

With that, her arms fall from my hips, and she turns back towards the dough, the occasional sniffle punctuating her low, steady hum as the familiar brush of her magic tingles against my skin.

She’s back to working like nothing happened.

Like hugging someone, especially an orc, is as ordinary as breathing.

Meanwhile, I can hardly function. My heart’s hammering in my chest, my skin’s on fire, and I’m sure if I found a mirror, my normally sage-toned cheeks would be pine-green.

Breathe.

I never once in my life thought I would have to remind myself to breathe.

But here I am, in a witch’s deliciously scented kitchen, turned to complete breathless putty by the mere brush of her cheek against my body.

It’s a good thing I call myself a warrior no longer, because I don’t think I could withstand any attack from this woman, much less another embrace.

CHAPTER THREE

PIPER

Usually, it’s easy to lose myself in the daily minutiae of running The Pixie’s Perch.

Making the baked goods as the sun rises, double checking the cleanliness of the small eat-in area, refreshing the enchantments on the very expensive glass counters to keep everything fresh, and writing the day’s menu on the huge board enchanted to update pricing automatically based on the cost of supplies and business overhead.

A neat bit of work, that.

Normally, I’d grin every time the nifty board shifted the prices, but today, all I feel is dread.

I smile at my regulars, put on a pleasant face, and manage to make it through the morning rush without any major stumbles.

My business has always been my anchor, the one thing I’ve felt I’m good at, baking and kitchen witchery and customer service as natural as breathing.

A cold sweat breaks out between my shoulders, and I clench my jaw.

“Brie and ham sandwiches on pretzel dough coming through,” Ga’Rek says quietly from behind me, and I paste a smile on my face as I step out of his way.

I lean against the prep counter. The butcher paper and colorful twine and embossing seals for packaging up orders lay in neat compartments, ready to be used, and I try to do the same to my wayward emotions.

“Piper,” Ga’Rek intones, raising an eyebrow at me. “You are not yourself,” he says.

And just like that, I want to hug him again.

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