Page 5 of Bidding on the Orc Outcast

Something flashed across her face too quickly for him to read before she shook her head.

“Remember when you climbed Mr. Thompson’s apple tree and got stuck?”

He blinked at her, the abrupt change of subject catching him off guard.

“Yes. Why?”

“Because you’re still stuck. You’re letting one event define you. That’s why you’ve retreated to this cabin in the middle of nowhere and turned your back on everyone and everything.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. The truth was lodged somewhere deep inside, but bringing it out into the open was still more than he could bear.

She sighed and patted his knee again. “You don’t have to be alone.”

His chest ached and he swallowed hard, forcing down the feelings that threatened to rise to the surface. Why did she have to start stirring up everything he’d buried?

“What do you want?” The words came out rougher than he intended.

“Just for you to rejoin the land of the living. Starting with the bachelor auction.”

He focused on the strap of his satchel, running it between his fingers as he avoided her gaze.

“Fairhaven Falls has changed. You’ve changed,” she said softly. “You can’t spend the rest of your life gathering herbs and mixing oils all by yourself.”

His jaw clenched. The oils helped people, even if they didn’t know where they came from. That was enough for him.

“I mean it.” The feathers on her tracksuit fluttered as she shifted to face him. “This self-imposed exile needs to end. You’re not that angry teenager anymore, and what happened wasn’t your fault.”

The old guilt churned in his stomach, and he stood, unable to stay still under her knowing gaze. “I’m fine here.”

“You’re existing. There’s a difference.”

“Drop it,” he growled.

“When have I ever dropped anything?” Flora shook her head. “You think I don’t see right through this ‘perfectly happy’ act?”

So maybe he wasn’t happy. But he was resigned to his quiet life, to the solitude of his cabin and the predictable rhythm of gathering herbs and brewing oils. It was better this way - for everyone.

“The woods don’t judge,” he muttered.

“The woods don’t love either. And you deserve that, whether you believe it or not.” She pulled a pink flyer from her tracksuit pocket and waved it under his nose. “You’ll be Bachelor Number Seven.”

“What?”

“I’ve already paid your entry fee.”

Blood roared in his ears. The thought of standing on display, of watching faces twist with fear or disgust…

His tusks ached from clenching his jaw. “Take it back.”

“Can’t. No refunds.” Black eyes sparkled mischievously. “Besides, it’s for charity.”

“The town won’t want me there.” The words scraped his throat raw as memories of sideways glances and mothers pulling children closer flickered through his mind.

Flora sighed.

“You have every right to be there. And anyone who doesn’t like it can kiss my ass. You’re going.”

“No.” He crossed his arms over his chest, drawing himself up to his full height.

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