Page 18 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights
It’s supposed to be a simple enough afternoon—fix a loose shutter on the orchard house, make sure the porch railing I carved last week hasn’t started to sag. Maddie fusses about with her pumpkins nearby, humming some nonsense tune that worms its way straight under my ribs like it always does.
But then the sky decides to open up. One moment it’s soft blue with lazy clouds drifting by; the next, it’s a roiling sheet of iron, dumping buckets of cold autumn rain. The wind barrels through the orchard, bending the trees till they creak and shiver.
Maddie squeals, dashing up onto the porch with her skirts bunched in her fists. “Oh stars, that came out of nowhere—like the whole sky decided to dump its washbasin on us!”
I grunt, following her under the overhang just as fat drops start pelting down in earnest. Rain runs in rivulets over my shoulders, soaking into my shirt—her shirt, really, that dark green flannel she had made for me—and I try not to think about how warm it was just moments ago, how good it felt seeing her beam when I wore it.
“Come inside before you catch a chill,” Maddie says, grabbing my wrist with a little tug that’s ridiculously effective for someone half my size.
“I don’t catch chills,” I mutter, but I let her drag me in anyway.
The orchard house is dim and hushed, filled with the scent of apples and cinnamon from whatever she was baking earlier. I shrug off my damp outer coat and hang it by the door, watching water drip steadily onto the mat.
She scurries off to the tiny kitchen and returns with two steaming mugs of cider, pressing one into my hand with a bright, grateful grin. “Trapped here till it lets up, looks like.”
“Doesn’t bother me none,” I say. Which is mostly true—storms don’t scare me. But being trapped here with her, with nowhere to escape the way her eyes keep flitting to my chest, to my hands, to my mouth… that’s a different kind of trouble entirely.
It gets darker as the afternoon crawls by, the storm showing no sign of easing. The wind rattles the windows, rain lashes the walls, and Maddie starts chewing her bottom lip in that way that drives me half mad.
She peeks into the tiny spare room. “Well. Looks like the roof’s leaking in here too. Only the main bedroom’s dry.”
I stiffen. “There a couch?”
“Not unless you want to wedge yourself on a bench by the table and get splinters in places you don’t want splinters,” she says, crossing her arms, clearly trying to look stern and failing because her smile keeps twitching back to life.
I glance toward the bedroom, then back to her. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Oh don’t be daft, Thornak. The floor’s freezing and drafty besides. I won’t have you waking up stiff and miserable on account of your chivalry.”
“It’s not chivalry, it’s sense,” I grumble. “I’m twice your size. I’ll crowd you clear off the mattress.”
She rolls her eyes—stars above, actually rolls them at me—then grabs my wrist again and tugs me toward the door. “We’ll make it work. Or I’ll pummel you with pillows until you get over yourself. Your choice.”
The bedroom is small, cozy, scented faintly of dried lavender. The bed looks even tinier now that I’m looming beside it. I eye it like it’s a trap. Maddie just sighs, kicks off her shoes, and climbs in, patting the other side with exaggerated patience.
“Come on, big fella. I promise I won’t bite.”
I grunt—something low and half-strangled—and awkwardly maneuver myself down beside her, careful to keep to the edge so I don’t accidentally crush her. The mattress groans under my weight, the frame protesting with a soft creak.
For a while, we just lie there in the dimness, the storm outside filling the quiet with its wild, relentless music. I stare up at the low-beamed ceiling, feeling every inch of her warmth beside me. Maddie’s breath evens out slowly, her body relaxing bit by bit until she’s nothing but a gentle curve of heat against my side.
With a soft little sigh, she shifts. Her arm drapes across my chest, her cheek nestles against my shoulder, curls spilling warm and ticklish against my jaw.
My whole body locks up.
It’s ridiculous how fast my heart starts hammering. I could be facing down a charging bear and feel calmer. I grit my teeth, try to keep breathing steady, try not to give in to the urge to curl an arm around her and pull her even closer.
But gods, it’s hard. She smells like orchard air and sugar, feels like something I’ve been missing long before I ever knew her name.
She mumbles something soft in her sleep—just a breath of a word, my name maybe. Her hand twitches, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt right over my ribs.
That’s it. I’m done for.
Carefully, like I’m handling something fragile and precious, I turn just enough to tuck her closer. She fits there so naturally it’s unfair, like she was always meant to settle against me in the dark.
Her next exhale comes out a content little hum, lips brushing against the skin of my throat. The sound punches straight through me, leaving something raw and hot in its wake.
I close my eyes, press my nose into her hair, and let the storm batter the walls all it wants. Out here, it can rage and howl and try its best to tear the world apart. But inside, right now, with her tucked safe in my arms, everything feels steady in a way I’ve almost forgotten how to hope for.
