Page 6 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights
When I glance back a second later, she’s already skipping off down the trail, humming under her breath. The sound follows me even after she’s gone, seeping into the cracks I’ve spent years sealing tight.
I stab my axe into the chopping block, hard enough to make the wood shiver.
Bloody humans and their bright eyes and hopeful voices. Going to be the death of me yet.
CHAPTER 5
MADDIE
I’m up at some ridiculous hour, the kind of hour that doesn’t even count as morning yet because the sun is still rubbing sleep from its eyes. My bakery feels different in this dim hush. The lamps are turned down low, the ovens barely humming, and there’s a weight in my chest that all the warm dough in the world can’t quite rise against.
I’m baking because it’s the only thing I know how to do when my thoughts start to spin themselves into ugly little whirlwinds. I mix batter with more force than necessary, knead dough until my arms burn, mutter under my breath like the cinnamon buns are to blame for all my problems. It’s either that or stare out the window waiting for a grumpy orc who might not come at all.
Every time the front door creaks in the wind or the building settles with a wooden groan, my heart leaps right into my throat. Then it crashes back down when there’s no one there, leaving behind an ache that feels embarrassingly dramatic. I mean, really, who gets this twisted up over a possible fake marriage to a towering, scowling lumberjack who’s made a career out of terrifying small children and glaring at polite society?
Apparently… me.
By the time the sun is properly up and streaming in through the front windows in long buttery stripes, I’m elbow-deep in pumpkin bread batter, completely lost to a swirl of panicked what-ifs.
What if Thornak decides it’s not worth it? What if he thinks I’m foolish for even asking? What if he walks away and I’m left here with nothing but a crumbling orchard and a ghost of a future I can’t bear to let go of?
I imagine myself rattling around Aunt Hester’s old house alone, boards creaking underfoot, weeds climbing the porch like they’re trying to swallow it whole. I’d still bake—of course I would—but it’d be just me and empty rooms and maybe a stray mouse or two nibbling on crumbs.
The thought makes my throat close up so tight I nearly drop the entire mixing bowl.
It’s evening by the time I clean up the whirlwind of flour and regret. I’m halfway through stacking fresh loaves on the front counter when the door opens with the softest chime, and my heart does a stupid little leap that almost knocks me over.
Because there he is. Thornak, filling the doorway like the bakery was built just a fraction too small for him. His shoulders are massive, that broad chest rising and falling under a threadbare shirt that looks like it’s threatening to split at the seams if he so much as breathes too hard. The shadows under his eyes make him look even more imposing, like a storm cloud that decided to grow tusks and walk into my shop.
“Evenin’,” I squeak, then immediately wince because why does my voice always betray me like this? “Or… um… whatever time of day counts as evening for big scary orcs who probably stay up half the night wrestling bears for fun.”
A flicker crosses his face—might be confusion, might be amusement, hard to tell with all the tusks. Then he steps fullyinside, shuts the door with surprising gentleness, and clears his throat.
“Been thinkin’ on your scheme,” he rumbles, voice like gravel tumbling down a hillside. “And I reckon I’ll do it.”
For a heartbeat I’m so lightheaded I might float right out of my body. My hands fly up, batter-smeared fingers almost reaching for him like I’m about to throw my arms around his neck. Then I freeze, halfway between a wild hug and waving off a fly, which must look absolutely ridiculous.
“Oh—oh stars, really? You’ll do it? I swear, I won’t make it weird. Or, I mean, it’ll be weird, obviously, because marriage—fake or otherwise—is inherently weird, especially when it involves you know, tusks and flour and inheritance clauses, but I promise I’ll be on my very best?—”
He lifts a massive hand, palm out, and I snap my mouth shut so fast my teeth click.
“One condition,” he says, fixing me with a stare so direct I have to grip the counter to keep from fidgeting myself into a puddle. “Absolute honesty. If we’re gonna pull this off—fake papers, town whispers, whoever comes sniffin’—you don’t lie to me, not about a damn thing. No sly workarounds, no pretty little fibs to spare my feelings or yours. We clear on that?”
I suck in a breath, letting it fill every corner of me until I don’t feel like I’m going to topple over. Then I nod. “Yes. Absolutely, one hundred percent clear. I can be honest. Maybetoohonest sometimes, actually—ask Liora, she says I’ve got the subtlety of a goat in a glass shop.”
His lips twitch, and for half a heartbeat I swear he’s fighting off a grin. Then he exhales through his nose, almost like a tired bear deciding not to maul the nosy campers, and mutters, “Good enough.”
The door bursts open behind him so abruptly it slams into his back, which is honestly a testament to how solid he is—he barely sways.
“Oh by the sprouting tips of my grandmother’s pointy ears, did I just hear correctly?”
Liora sweeps in like a breeze trailing gossip and crushed rosemary. She plants her hands on her hips, eyes darting between me and Thornak with gleeful malice. “You two are actually tying the knot? By the stars, this is the best thing to happen to my entertainment calendar since old Mr. Harroway fell into the cider press at last year’s harvest fair.”
“It’s notactuallytying the knot,” I sputter, cheeks flaming. “It’s just… paperwork. And mutual benefit. And?—”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” she drawls, making a shooing gesture that has me sputtering like an overturned teapot. Then she tips her head back and grins up at Thornak. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s been daydreaming about you carrying her over a threshold since the day you first stomped past her window. Probably didn’t even care if it was to toss her into a dungeon.”
I make a strangled sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. “Liora! That isso far beyond inaccurateit’s in a different postal district!”
