Page 15 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights
“Anytime,” I whisper.
That night I can’t sleep. I toss and turn under my quilt, the moonlight painting pale shapes across my ceiling. My mind keeps replaying the afternoon in Thornak’s clearing—the way helooked half-wild with his scars and tattoos on display, the way he actually smiled, the way his chest felt under my hand.
Eventually I give up, roll onto my side, and stare at the little wooden leaf he carved, still sitting on my nightstand. I reach out, tracing it with my fingertips, feeling every delicate groove.
Because apparently my self-control is nonexistent—I press it to my lips, close my eyes, and let out a long, shivery sigh.
“Dangerous,” I whisper into the dark. “This is all so, so dangerous.”
But for the life of me, I can’t bring myself to wish any of it away.
CHAPTER 12
THORNAK
Ihate crowds. Always have. Too many bodies packed in close, too many eyes that flit over me then away like they’ve brushed something unpleasant. It’s worse with elves—thin little folk who look at me like I’m some barn animal that wandered inside to sniff the linens.
So of course that’s exactly what Maddie’s cider tasting is full of.
She’s set up a long table outside her bakery, all laid out with little glass cups, plates of flaky pastries and tiny boards of sliced pears drizzled with honey. Lanterns swing overhead, catching the gold in her curls every time she tips her head back to laugh. She’s in her element—chattering, pouring samples, teasing the gnomes into trying stronger cider than they can handle.
And damn if I don’t hover at the edge of it all like a mossy boulder someone inconveniently dropped in the middle of town square.
It’s worth it just to watch her work. The way she lights up, dimples flashing, hands fluttering as she describes a tart’s crust or the sparkle of spiced clove in the latest brew. Her voice wraps around everyone like a warm quilt.
But then three elf dandies stroll up to her table, all sleek tunics and smug mouths, with that lilting sneer that’s half politeness and half dagger. They pick up one of her tarts—apple-caramel with a buttery crumble—and prod at it like it might crawl off the plate.
“This is charming in a rustic sort of way,” drawls the tallest, pale as moonlight, his hair twisted in a braid so fine it probably took him an hour to fuss with it. “Though you know, dear baker, in Thalavar we’d never serve something so… unsophisticated. It’s practically peasant fare.”
The other two chuckle, flicking Maddie glances like they expect her to giggle along at her own expense.
Her bright expression falters for just a breath, mouth parting like maybe she’s going to laugh it off, make some cheerful joke. My chest goes hot—slow, molten fury that trickles out through my fingers as they curl into fists.
I step forward before I’ve thought it through. Shadows swallow me up, and all three elves look up in tandem, their smug faces going pinched and uneasy. I let the quiet stretch until they’re practically fidgeting under it. Then I lean in, dropping my voice to that deep growl that rumbles from somewhere behind my ribs.
“Funny,” I say, slow and deliberate, “how folk with so little to feed their bellies always manage to stuff their mouths with smug opinions. Seems to me you’d be better off tasting before flappin’ your jaws.”
Their eyes widen. The tallest elf’s mouth snaps shut, a faint green tinge creeping up his throat. One of them clears his throat, mutters something about“provincial amusements,”and they scatter down the cobblestones so quick I might’ve laughed if I wasn’t still seething.
Maddie stands there blinking at me like I’ve just sprouted a second head. Her cheeks are flushed, her hands twisted up inher apron, eyes shining so bright it punches straight through my irritation.
“Thornak,” she breathes, voice soft and wobbly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
I grunt, shifting my weight. “Yeah, well. I did.”
She just looks at me for a long moment, eyes searching my face, like she’s trying to decide if she’s about to scold me or throw herself into my arms. Then—gods help me—she beams, and it’s like the entire street gets warmer.
“You’re… you’re something else, you know that?”
“Careful, sunshine. Folk’ll start thinkin’ you’ve lost all your sense.”
Her laughter spills out, light and sweet, chasing off the last of the elf stink.
Later, we walk back toward the orchard together. She’s got her hand looped through the crook of my arm, even though the road’s wide enough she doesn’t need to cling. Her thumb rubs slow little circles against my sleeve—over that new flannel she gave me—and it’s doing things to my chest I’d rather not name.
She chatters about how much cider they sold, how the dwarves ordered three extra crates for the winter stock, how Mrs. Tallow’s cat finally caught the mouse that’s been stealing scone crumbs from her porch. I grunt responses where I can, trying not to notice how nice it feels to have her tucked up against me.
Then she tilts her head, looks up at me with those wide eyes, all candlelight and curiosity. “Can I ask you something a little personal?”
