Page 10 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights
“Oh hush. Come on.”
Inside the maze, it’s quieter, the walls of green closing around us, lit only by little lanterns strung overhead that sway when the wind picks up. The path crunches underfoot. I walk ahead a bit, chattering about how the local teenagers always try to sneak kisses in here after dark, waving my hands around like I’m painting the whole story on air.
Then I trip over an exposed root, stumble sideways, and my hand shoots out—right into Thornak’s.
He stiffens immediately, muscles locking up so hard it’s like grabbing a warm stone wall. I freeze too, heart skipping like it’s forgotten how to keep a steady beat. For a second neither of us moves, just stand there tangled together, my smaller hand swallowed in his huge palm.
His thumb brushes over my knuckles, almost like he’s testing the texture of me, and that tiny, accidental touch sends a wild flutter racing up my spine.
I try to laugh it off. “Wow. Um. Good reflexes there. I—uh—probably would’ve face-planted again if not for you.”
“Figured I’d save the pie table from bein’ short a baker,” he mutters, voice low and rough.
“Very heroic of you,” I say, but it comes out breathless.
We stay like that a moment longer than strictly necessary—hand in hand, corn rustling around us, lanterns swinging overhead. Then he clears his throat, lets go, and scowls off down the next path like it insulted his grandmother.
I follow him, heart fluttering wildly, trying to hide the silly grin stretching across my face.
Because maybe this fake engagement is going to be more complicated than either of us planned. And maybe I’m entirely, recklessly okay with that.
CHAPTER 8
THORNAK
If there’s a hell designed just for orcs who agree to hair-brained schemes with bright-eyed bakers, it probably looks a lot like the village square tonight. Lanterns dangle from every post and tree, flickering gold and peach in the dark. Tables creak under the weight of cider jugs and platters piled with roasted squash and glazed pork. There’s laughter everywhere—humans, elves, dwarves, even a couple trolls from the river market—and all of them gathered under a wash of stars that seems unfairly smug about the whole affair.
And in the middle of it is Maddie, tugging at my hand like a sprite hopped up on honey wine, dragging me toward a circle of people stomping out some lively reel. The fiddles are fast, the drums faster, and the entire square feels like it’s vibrating.
“Come on,” she chirps, eyes bright, curls bouncing around her face like they’re dancing on their own. “It’s tradition! Harvest dance—everyone does it, even stoic forest hermits with tusks and scary growls.”
“Don’t know the steps,” I grunt, trying not to look like I’m digging in my heels. Which I absolutely am.
“That’s fine. Most of them are made up anyway. Just follow me.”
She flashes that grin at me, the one that kicks me square in the ribs every time, and next thing I know I’m letting her haul me into the throng.
The music picks up—wild, tumbling notes that sweep people into twirls and spins. Maddie grabs my other hand and starts moving in time, feet skimming the worn cobbles. I try to follow, carefully placing each step like I’m tiptoeing across thin ice. My boots are big enough to flatten a good-sized pumpkin, and she’s so tiny next to me it’s a wonder I don’t snap her right in two by accident.
“Relax,” she laughs up at me, breathless. “I promise you’re not going to break me. Just… let go a little.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not built like a damned battering ram.”
Her answering giggle goes right to my gut. She squeezes my hands, twirls under my arm, and when she spins back around, her face is all flushed and her smile so bright it might shame the lanterns.
I barely notice my feet anymore. Too busy watching her.
There’s a moment—just a fleeting brush—where she presses close, hand braced on my chest, and the scent of her hair hits me like a slow ambush. Apples and warm bread, something sweet clinging to her skin. I glance up, catch a couple of young human lads on the edge of the crowd watching us, smirking to each other, eyes lingering on the way Maddie’s skirts flare around her legs.
A low, dark thrum wakes in me. I don’t much like it. Don’t much understand it either. Just know I want them to look elsewhere.
I pull her a little closer, enough that she lets out a surprised squeak, eyes darting up to meet mine. For a heartbeat, neither of us says a word, the dance continuing around us in a blur of color and light while I anchor her right there against me.
“Uh… Thornak?” she breathes, blinking like she’s trying to figure out which way is up.
“Just makin’ sure nobody tramples you,” I lie badly. My voice comes out lower than I intend, rougher.
“Very protective,” she teases, though her cheeks are pink as cider.
