Page 36 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights
Liora huffs out a sigh that’s equal parts exasperation and sympathy. She stands, dusts off her skirts, then takes my hands in hers.
“Maddie Quinn, you listen to me. That orc looks at you like he’s surprised the sun chose to rise anywhere other than your hair. I’ve never seen anyone so completely gone for another person. You’re it for him. Always were.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out wobbly. “Then where is he? Liora, it’s nearly time. The fiddlers are already tuning up. I can hear Mr. Griggs by the cider barrels telling people it’ll all start soon. What if he’s not coming?”
Her smile falters, just a twitch, and that’s all it takes to send my heart plunging into my stomach. Because if even my reckless, eternally confident friend is worried, then what does that say?
I wrench my hands free, pressing them to my cheeks as tears spring hot and fast. “Oh stars, what if hedidget cold feet? What if I was too much for him, Liora? Too loud, too messy, too...desperate for forever when he’s only ever known how to hold things loosely so it won’t hurt if they break?”
“Maddie—”
“No, I mean it. I kept telling myself I was being silly for doubting, that he was just nervous and needed space. But what if all my hope did was push him right out the door? What if the reason he’s late is because he’s halfway up the ridge by now, putting as many trees between us as he can manage?”
My tears are coming harder now. Big, ridiculous drops that track all the way down my cheeks and drip right onto my bodice, leaving tiny dark spots in the fabric. Liora tries to pull me in for a hug, but I back up, shaking my head.
“Don’t,” I croak. “If you’re kind to me right now I’ll fall apart completely, and I don’t have time to patch myself up before everyone realizes the bride’s been left standing under these lanterns alone.”
She draws in a breath, eyes dark and worried. “He’ll come. Thornak may be many things—brooding, slow to speak his heart, built like he could snap a cart in two—but he’s not a coward. Not when it comes to you.”
“But what if he finally realized how much I need him?” I whisper. “Because that’s the honest truth, Liora. I’ve never needed anything the way I need him. And I think maybe that’s exactly what scared him off.”
A hush falls over the orchard then. Even the wind stills, lanterns swaying gently in the sudden calm. Somewhere across the clearing the fiddlers strike up a hopeful little tune—light, bright, meant to set feet tapping.
But my feet won’t move. My heart won’t either.
So I stand there, hands trembling, tears slipping freely now, staring into the dim line of trees where the orchard meets the forest. Watching. Waiting. Hoping for that big, broad figure tocome striding out, scowling like always, pretending he’s annoyed by all the fuss even as his eyes give him away.
He doesn’t.
And slowly, painfully, the hope that’s been strung so tight inside me starts to sag, then snap altogether.
I press both hands over my mouth to stifle a sob. The orchard around me—lit by dozens of soft, bobbing lanterns, tables laden with pies and cider—suddenly feels like a stage set for a play I’m the only fool left acting in.
Liora catches my arm, her own eyes glossy. “Maddie, wait?—”
But I can’t. I turn away, half-running back toward the bakery, skirts catching on brambles, breath hitching in ugly little gasps.
Because tonight was supposed to be everything. And now I’m terrified it’s about to become the story of the girl who loved too loudly, too hungrily—who scared away the best thing she’d ever had.
CHAPTER 28
THORNAK
I’ve been cursing under my breath the whole godsdamned way down the ridge. Leaves scatter in startled bursts as I stalk through the orchard edge, still warm from hurrying. My lungs burn from more than just the climb, the ache deep in my chest a raw, scraping thing that’s only grown sharper with every step closer to her.
I’m later than I meant to be—later than Ievershould’ve been. And it gnaws at me like teeth. I’d planned to be early, to stand there stiff and awkward in this shirt she sewed with her clever little hands, to watch the lanterns light up one by one while she fussed over last-minute bundles of rosemary. To hold her hand the whole while so she’d know there wasn’t a chance in any realm I’d bolt.
But fate had its own ideas. That damned dwarf peddler’s cart went off the narrow ridge track halfway to Elderbridge, axle snapped clean, barrels of apples spilling everywhere. Couldn’t leave an old dwarf and two terrified mules stranded, even if my gut was roaring to keep going. So I heaved the cart near single-handed back on solid ground, loaded it tight, grunted through a thousand breathless thank-yous, then practically ran the rest of the way down.
Now I pause just inside the orchard, chest heaving, shirt clinging to my shoulders where sweat cooled fast in the evening air. It’s that green shirt she made me, the one with vines embroidered along the cuffs in careful, wandering stitches. My big hands keep tugging at the sleeves, trying not to tear them out of sheer nerves.
Because gods, she made this. With her tiny needle pricks and worried heart stitched into every line. And I’m about to step out in front of half the village and claim her loud enough that not even a band of fae could doubt what she is to me.
Lanterns float above the orchard rows, bobbing in little enchanted clusters that send warm gold spilling over everything. I spot gnomes from the mill and old Mr. Griggs in his too-small waistcoat, kids darting around with sugared plums on sticks. Everyone’s turned to face the wide aisle of grass under the biggest oak where she set up the ceremony.
Except there’s no sign of her.
My stomach drops. I take one step forward, then another, heart pounding harder than it ever did facing down beasts twice my size.
