Page 32 of Her Orc Healer

He set the basket on the counter between us. "I did." His voice was steady, matter-of-fact. "Now I'm back."

Maeve launched herself at Kazrek's legs, wrapping her small arms around his knees with enough force to make a lesser man stumble. But Kazrek merely chuckled—a deep, warm sound that seemed to come from somewhere in his chest—and scooped her up as easily as if she weighed nothing at all.

"What's zoo-zoor-ack mean?" Maeve asked, her face scrunched in concentration as she tried to pronounce the unfamiliar word.

"Zuzu'rak," Kazrek corrected gently, the orcish syllables rolling off his tongue like music. "It means 'little spark' in my language." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked at her. "Because that's what you are—a bright little spark."

Maeve's face lit up with pure delight. "I'mzuzu'rak!" she declared proudly, though her pronunciation was still charmingly mangled. Her attention quickly shifted to the basket sitting on the counter. "What's in there? Is it treats?"

Kazrek's eyes flickered to mine for a moment, and I could have sworn I saw a hint of color darken his cheeks beneath the green. "Ah. It's... lunch. For Ro."

"For Ro?" Maeve's bottom lip jutted out in an impressive pout. "What about me?"

Before I could intervene, Auntie Brindle's cheerful voice cut through the tension. "Now then, I thought you and I were going to make honey cakes for lunch? With the special sparkle-sugar on top?"

Maeve's eyes went wide. "Sparkle-sugar?" She wiggled in Kazrek's arms until he set her down, then bounded over to Auntie Brindle. "Can we make them now? Please?"

"Of course, dearie." Auntie Brindle's eyes twinkled as she took Maeve's hand. "Let's leave these two to their lunch, shall we? And if lunch happens to take them to the riverside for a nice relaxing afternoon in the sun... Well, I don't see any problem with that."

I stared at the basket, realization dawning slowly. "I can't just—" I gestured helplessly at the shop, at the ledgers that needed balancing, at the orders waiting to be filled. "There's too much to do."

Kazrek's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes softened. "The work will still be here in a few hours."

"That's exactly the problem," I muttered, but the words lacked their usual edge.

"Go," Auntie Brindle called over her shoulder. "The shop won't burn down while you're gone. Though..." She paused, considering. "Perhaps best not to tempt fate by saying that too loudly, given recent events."

I opened my mouth to protest again, but the words died in my throat as I looked at Kazrek. He was waiting, patient and steady, holding the basket in those strong hands that had helped clean up my mess last night. Hands that had held me when I broke.

He'd stayed.

He'd come back.

He'd done this—whatever this was—for me.

The realization hit like a physical thing, stealing my breath. When was the last time someone had done something just for me?

"I..." I swallowed hard. "I should at least change first."

Kazrek inclined his head, the faintest ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Take your time."

I climbed the stairs on unsteady legs. My tunic was smudged with ink, my sleeves wrinkled from sleep, and I didn’t need a mirror to know my face was still drawn from the weight of everything that had happened. I should have felt foolish for caring—but I did.

So I washed up quickly, running cool water over my face, brushing my fingers through the worst of the tangles in my hair. I changed into a soft, deep green dress—not fancy, but clean, simple, the kind of thing I would have worn to the market when I still had the energy to care about such things. When I wasn’t just surviving. The dress skimmed my hips, snug in places it hadn’t been a year ago. I told myself it didn’t matter—but still, I checked the mirror twice before going downstairs.

Kazrek waited just outside the shop, the basket still in hand. His eyes flicked over me, slow, assessing, before he gave a small nod of approval.

Something warm uncurled low in my stomach.

He turned toward the path leading away from the shop, away from the city’s usual noise, and I fell into step beside him. We walked in silence, the easy kind that didn't demand to be filled.

Then, as we passed beyond the last row of buildings and into the quiet shade of the trees, he shifted—just enough that his fingers brushed against mine.

I hesitated.

Then, before I could think better of it, I let my hand slip into his. His fingers curled around mine, warm, solid, and I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I was stepping off the edge.

But maybe, this time, I could let myself fall.

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