Page 37 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights
And then I see her.
She’s halfway to the edge of the orchard, skirts caught up in one hand like she’s fleeing. Her shoulders shake, curls tumbling free from whatever careful pins she fussed them into, like she’s been running her hands through them in worry. For a heartbeat I just stand there, everything inside me cracking wide open.
Then I start moving.
People shift out of my way quick—some from respect, others because they’d rather not get steamrolled by an orc built like two barrels stacked. I don’t stop to nod or mutter greetings. Don’t slow when a nervous elf tries to offer me a little cup of cordial. I’ve only got eyes for her.
“Maddie!”
She freezes like a startled doe, her head snapping up. Tears streak her face, catching lantern light in tiny wet rivers that nearly undo me on the spot.
“Oh stars above, Thornak.” Her voice breaks, cracking right down the middle. “I thought—you weren’t?—”
“Couldn’t get here sooner.” I’m breathless, rougher than I mean to be, but it’s because my throat’s too tight to speak soft. “Helped a dwarf with a busted cart. Ran all the way. Was terrified I’d miss this. Missyou.”
Her shoulders tremble, relief crashing over her so fierce she covers her mouth like she’s afraid of sobbing.
I reach her in three long strides, drop to one knee right there in the grass, heedless of dew soaking through the fine fabric she fussed so long to stitch. My big hands fumble for hers, curling around them tight, trying to anchor both of us.
The crowd’s gone quiet. I can feel their eyes, all of Harvest Hollow craning to see. Normally that’d set every hackle I’ve got on end. But right now, it doesn’t matter.
Because I want them all to hear. Every last one.
I take a shuddering breath. Lift her hands so I can press them to my chest, right over the pendant she gave back to me this morning so I could wear it close.
“This is my heart,” I say, voice raw. “Right here. All tangled up with yours. Thought for the longest damned time I wasn’t fit to keep anything so bright. Thought I’d ruin it. But you—Maddie, you’ve made me want forever more than I ever thought I could. So I’m askin’—not quiet, not in secret. Right here where the whole town can hear it: will you keep it? Will you keepme,every rough edge and scar, for all the seasons we’ve got left?”
Her mouth drops open, tears spilling fresh, but there’s a laugh tangled in them now—soft and breathless, like relief’s broken loose at last.
“Oh Thornak. Of course I’ll keep you. Been yours since the first moment you grumbled about my crooked pie crusts. And if you think I’m ever letting go, you’re dafter than a drunk pixie.”
I let out a choked laugh that surprises us both, then surge up to catch her around the waist, lifting her clean off the ground. She squeals, arms flying around my neck, pressing her tear-wet face into my temple.
All around us, the orchard seems to sigh, lanterns dipping low as if they’re leaning in to listen. And then—like the fae themselves decided to bless it—a swirl of tiny gold leaves rises from the grass, twirling up in little warm eddies that dance around us. They catch in her hair, cling to my shoulders. The crowd lets out a soft, collective sound, half gasp, half sigh of delight.
A local priestess steps forward, eyes crinkling with quiet joy. “Shall we finish this proper?” she says, voice warm.
I grunt, one hand still firm on Maddie’s back. “Aye. Let’s do it before she changes her mind.”
“Never,” Maddie breathes, cupping my cheek so her thumb strokes just under my eye. “Not if you asked me a thousand more times.”
We say our vows again, this time sure and clear. Mine rough, hers bright and trembling. When it’s done, I pull her in and kiss her like we’re the only two fools left in the orchard.
And as the lanterns bob overhead, fae leaves spiraling slow all around us, I think maybe this is what every path through every forest was leading me to all along.
Home.
Right here, in her hands.
CHAPTER 29
MADDIE
The orchard’s last lanterns sway behind us as Thornak lifts me into his arms, his growl vibrating against my collarbone. "Need you somewhere the trees won’t gossip."
I snort, hooking my ankles behind his back as he carries me past the cider barrels toward the old caretaker’s shed. "Joke’s on you—maple by the fence’s a notorious blabbermouth."
He kicks the door shut with his boot, moonlight slicing through dusty windows to stripe the worktable we’ve covered in quilts. When he sets me down, my fingers fumble with his shirt buttons. His hands settle over mine, stilling them.
