Page 16 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights
I sigh. “Reckon I can’t stop you.”
She grins, undeterred. “Has anyone ever made you treats just for you? Like… not part of a festival or village feast. Just because they wanted to?”
The question’s so soft, so genuine, it stops me dead in my tracks.
I stare out over the orchard, moonlight spilling silver across the rows of trees. The breeze rattles the leaves, sending a faint scent of apple and earth drifting by.
“No,” I say finally, rougher than I mean to. “Can’t say anyone’s bothered. Not much use pamperin’ an orc who’s more comfortable chewin’ jerky by a stump than sittin’ down to fancy tarts.”
She goes quiet, her thumb still tracing that slow path over my arm. Then she whispers, “Well… I think that’s wrong. Everyone deserves to be thought of. Deserves someone to make them things just because.”
I want to tell her she’s naive. That the world’s never been kind like that, not to folk like me. That it’s better not to expect sweetness, better to keep your claws out and your heart hard.
But instead I just grumble, “That why you keep pushing pastries on me?”
“Maybe,” she says, smiling up at me like she’s got a secret, all sunshine and soft freckles. “Or maybe I just like seeing you eat something that makes your eyes go a little squinty with pleasure.”
My ears go hot. I grumble something noncommittal, start walking again, and she gives my arm a playful squeeze.
When we reach her porch, she pauses, tugging me to a stop. “Thank you again. For earlier. I know you didn’t have to. And for what it’s worth… I like knowing you’ve got my back. Even if you do it all scowly and growly.”
“Scowlin’ keeps idiots away,” I mutter.
“Mmhm. Well, I’ll just keep ignoring it.”
She stands on tiptoe like she’s considering pressing a kiss to my cheek, then seems to lose her nerve. Instead she pats my chest—right over where her flannel lies warm against my skin—then hurries inside, leaving me alone on the porch with my heart thudding far too hard.
The walk back to my cabin is quiet. I watch the moon rise through the branches, smell the rich mulch of fallen leaves, listen to an owl hoot somewhere off near the creek.
And for the first time in a long while, I don’t feel entirely like a thing apart. Like maybe there’s someone who sees more than tusks and scars and muscle meant for hauling logs. Someone who looks at me and thinks,he deserves sweetness too.
It’s dangerous. Foolish. Probably doomed from the start.
But damned if I don’t let myself hope anyway.
CHAPTER 13
MADDIE
Iwake up to the soft thunk of something landing on my front step—a little bundle tied up in twine that’s quickly revealed to be the latest issue of theHarvest Hollow Whistle.It’s probably dripping with all the usual local gossip: who’s courting who, which family of sprites is squabbling over garden plots, what suspicious new tonic the dwarf apothecary is peddling to “make your beard grow twice as fast.”
Except today, when I unravel the twine and open it, my breath catches right at the top of the first page.
There we are.
Me and Thornak, smack in the center of a grainy but somehow still charming ink-pressed photograph, standing under the lanterns at the last orchard dinner. I’m caught mid-laugh, leaning slightly into him, and he’s looking down at me with this expression—rough, almost shy, like he’s still not sure how he ended up there. His hand’s resting lightly on my waist, as if he’s trying not to hold too tight.
Scrawled above it in bold curly script:
“Harvest Hollow’s Cutest Couple! Orchard Heiress and Her Gentle Giant Promise the Sweetest Autumn Yet!”
A startled laugh pops right out of me, loud enough to send a startled robin darting from the porch railing. “Oh Thornak, you’re going to absolutely?—”
I pause. Because speaking of grumpy forest giants, there he is, ambling up the path with a crate balanced on one shoulder. He’s wearing that dark green flannel I gave him, the sleeves rolled up over his thick forearms, and he looks so ridiculously good it makes my brain skip like a scratched record.
I dash down the steps, waving the paper over my head. “You havegotto see this!”
He eyes the paper warily, tusks flexing. “What’s got you squealing like a startled fox this time?”
