Page 26 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights
Outside, the wind picks up, rustling through the pines like a low chorus. Somewhere out there, she’s probably closing up the bakery, humming to herself, maybe setting aside one of those sticky apple pastries for me out of habit. Thinking I’ll come by.
I scrub a hand over my face, every muscle tight, the old ache in my chest flaring worse than ever.
Because I want it. I want it all—her laughter, her stubborn sweetness, her bright, reckless love.
But deep down, I can’t shake the fear that I’m just some passing fancy. A season she’ll look back on fondly, heart already drifting toward something softer, cleaner, easier.
I stand in my doorway a long time, lantern light spilling out over the clearing, watching the night roll in.
I don’t go to her.
And that truth sits heavy on my shoulders—like I’m carrying the whole damn forest on my back.
CHAPTER 19
MADDIE
Iwake up with a knot in my chest, the sort that sits there heavy and sour no matter how many bright morning chores I throw at it. The bakery should be bustling, alive with warm bread scents and a tangle of chatter from gnomes arguing over scone prices. The orchard out my window is gilded in morning light, leaves falling in lazy little spirals like a blessing on the earth. It should be perfect.
But it’s not.
Because he hasn’t come by. Not yesterday. Not the day before. Not to drop off firewood, or to let me feed him pastries under the guise of “taste tests,” or even to grumble at the squeaky hinge on my shop door. And it feels like something’s come undone under my skin. Like a seam’s popped and all the hope I’d been stitching up is spilling right out.
By midmorning, I’m a mess of half-finished tasks. I roll out dough, forget the cinnamon, start over, accidentally knock over a bowl of sugared nuts that scatter everywhere. I’m still muttering curses under my breath when Liora breezes in, scarf trailing, eyes dancing with that sharp, mischievous glint that never fails to make me want to both hug and throttle her.
“By the sprouting ears of my mother’s third husband,” she says fiercely, “what hurricane spun through here? And don’t say it was gnomes. Gnomes at least keep their destruction confined to the counter with the fudge samples.”
I let out a weak laugh that cracks halfway through. “Oh hush, it’s just me. Being… me.”
She leans on the table, her elbows dusting up flour, chin in her hand. “Or just you pining for your grumpy green fiancé who’s apparently decided to ghost us all like some brooding ballad hero. Maddie, what’s wrong?”
I sigh, press both hands to my cheeks. The words slip out before I can swallow them. “I’m scared, Liora. That’s what’s wrong. Scared this is all going to slip away the second I start believing it could be something real.”
She arches a brow. “Isn’t it already real? I mean, you spend more time gazing at him like a lovesick sprite than actually baking.”
“That’s the problem!” I burst out, startling both of us. “Itwas supposed to be pretend.A clever little arrangement to save my orchard, his forest, keep the council busy so they wouldn’t sell everything off to some developer with too many rings. But now I can’t stop thinking about how he smells like sawdust and rain, how he looks at me like I’m… like I’meverything.And it has to stay pretend, because if it doesn’t—if I let it be real—and then he leaves? It’ll hurt too much. It’ll ruin me clear through.”
There’s a thick pause. I turn away, busying myself with folding dough, because it’s safer than looking at her.
“Maddie,” Liora says finally, softer than usual, like she’s tiptoeing around broken glass. “I’ve seen how he watches you. That’s not a man planning his escape. That’s a man terrified he doesn’t deserve to stay.”
Before I can untangle that—before I can decide if maybe she’s right—I hear it. A heavy creak on the porch. The soft thunk of boots.
I spin around, breath caught right behind my teeth. Through the open back door, I spot him. Thornak. Standing there like a dark, solid wall of muscle and scars, half-shadowed by the overhang. His expression is carved from stone.
And I realize, with a gut-punching clarity, that he’s heard every last word.
“Thornak—” I start, voice too bright, too brittle. But he doesn’t give me a chance.
Just gives a stiff little nod, mouth pulling down hard. “Don’t want to intrude on… whatever’s bein’ decided here.”
Then he’s gone. Footsteps heavy on the steps, fading into the crunch of leaves down the orchard path.
I stand there with my hands twisted in my apron, chest tight, the room suddenly cold around me.
“Smooth, Maddie,” Liora mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Really. Gold star for diplomacy.”
I drop onto the nearest stool, burying my face in my floury hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant… oh stars, I don’t even know what I meant. Except I’m terrified, and I think he might be too, and now I’ve gone and made it worse.”
