Page 17 of The Passionate Orc
I didn't have time to tell him it wasn't necessary before I heard the familiar sound of his motorcycle in the alley behind my studio. Of course, he'd drop everything. That was Nar, protective, impulsive, and weirdly attuned to my moods already.
When he ducked through my doorway (literally ducked because the orc was massive), I felt the air change in the room. Nar filled spaces, not just with his physical presence, though God knows those shoulders took up plenty of room, but with his energy. His dark eyes scanned my face, immediately picking up on my distress.
"What's wrong?" His voice was low, rumbling with concern as he crossed the room in three strides.
I tried to smile, but failed miserably. "My landlord's selling the building. I have three months before I have to be out."
Nar's jaw tightened, his tusks gleaming in the afternoon light. I'd learned that was his thinking face, the one where he was trying to solve a problem rather than smash through it. He took the notice from my hands, those large fingers surprisingly gentle.
"This is your life," he said, eyes narrowing as he read. "They can't just take it away."
I sighed, leaning against my workbench. "They can if they own it. The rent's been cheap because the building's old, but now some developer wants to 'revitalize' the neighborhood."
"Revitalize," Nar spat the word like it tasted bad. "You mean make it too expensive for artists."
"Exactly." I gestured around at the space I'd spent three years making my own. The shelves of supplies, the walls covered in canvases, the corner where neighborhood kids made their first artistic discoveries. "I don't know what I'm going to do. Studio spaces are impossible to find at prices I can afford."
Nar was quiet for a moment, his eyes roaming around the studio before settling back on me. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch sending sparks across my skin.
"What about that art competition you mentioned? The one with the cash prize?"
I blinked. "The Harrington Foundation Grant? That's $25,000, Nar. It would be enough for a down payment on a small commercial space, but..." I trailed off, doubt creeping in. "The competition is fierce. Some of the best artists in the city enter."
Nar made that grumbling sound in his chest that I learned meant he was dismissing my doubts. "Your work is better than theirs."
"You're biased," I said, but I couldn't help smiling at his unwavering belief in me.
"I have excellent taste." He grinned, those tusks making his smile uniquely his. My heart skipped again. "When's the deadline?"
"Two months from now. But even if I won—and that's a huge if—I'd still need more money for renovations, security deposit, moving costs..."
Nar's eyes lit up in a way that both thrilled and terrified me. I'd seen that look before, right before he'd decided to "fix" my leaky sink and flooded my bathroom.
"We'll raise the money," he declared.
"We?" I raised an eyebrow.
"You helped me embrace my art," he said, suddenly serious. "Let me help you save yours."
The way he looked at me then, so earnest, so determined, made my chest ache. Three weeks ago, he'd been a stranger. Now, somehow, he was offering to fight my battles alongside me. I leaned into him, and his arms came around me automatically, solid and secure.
"Thank you," I whispered against his chest.
He pressed his lips to the top of my head. "We start planning tonight. After dinner."
"After dinner," I agreed.
Dinner was a blur.I barely tasted the food, my mind racing with calculations and worst-case scenarios. Nar noticed, of course. He always noticed.
"You're not eating," he said, reaching across the table to take my hand. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in a way that sent heat up my arm.
"Sorry. Just thinking." I forced myself to take a bite of pasta.
"About the studio?"
I nodded. "About everything I'll lose if I can't find a solution."
Nar's expression darkened. "You won't lose anything. I promised to help."
