Page 21 of The Passionate Orc
I couldn't resist pulling her into my arms, lifting her off the chair and setting her gently on the counter. She automaticallywrapped her legs around my waist, instantly reminding me of last night.
"I know how to make pancakes," I said, pressing my forehead to hers.
Her eyebrows shot up. "You do?"
"Don't sound so shocked." I pretended to be offended. "I have many talents."
"Besides being a fearsome warrior and a secret artist?" She wound her arms around my neck, her eyes dancing with amusement.
I shrugged, suddenly a little self-conscious. "My mother taught me. She said no son of hers would starve if left alone."
A soft look crossed Emryn's face. "That's sweet. No one in my family cooks. We're all hopeless. Dad once set fire to a salad."
"A salad?" I pulled back to look at her. "How is that even possible?"
"He was trying to make a warm vinaigrette." She laughed. "Our smoke alarm got more use than our oven."
I kissed the tip of her nose. "Sit down and let me handle this."
Emryn hopped off the counter, pulling herself onto the stool at her small kitchen island. I felt her eyes on me as I moved around her kitchen, finding bowls and ingredients. I was acutely aware of my bare chest, of the scars that crossed my green skin, badges of honor among my clan, but probably strange to her.
"You're staring," I said without turning around.
"You're shirtless in my kitchen making pancakes. Of course I'm staring."
I smiled to myself, mixing the batter with practiced movements. This felt both strange and right, domestic in a way I'd never experienced before. Warriors of the Red Blade Orcs didn't do "domestic." We conquered, we fought, we protected. But standing in Emryn's sunlit kitchen, with her watching mewith those bright blue eyes, I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.
"Where did you learn to paint?" she asked suddenly.
My hand stilled for just a moment. No one had ever asked me that before.
"The clan elder's wife," I said, pouring batter into a fresh pan. "She saw me drawing in the dirt when I was a child. Instead of scolding me for wasting time, she gave me paints."
"And you had to hide it?"
I nodded, flipping a perfectly golden pancake with a flick of my wrist. "Among my clan, warriors are warriors. Artists are something else. Something less."
"That's sad," Emryn said quietly.
I shrugged, trying to make it seem less important than it was. "It's just our way."
"And cooking? Is that allowed for warriors?"
I glanced at her over my shoulder with a grin. "Only because everyone needs to eat. But if you tell anyone I can make heart shapes with the batter, I'll deny it completely."
Her laugh was like music. "Your secret's safe with me."
Soon I had a stack of pancakes on a plate, golden and fluffy, nothing like the charred remains of Emryn's attempt. I added some sliced fruit I'd found in her fridge and set the plate before her with a flourish.
"Impressive," she said, her eyes widening at the sight.
I watched as she took her first bite, her eyes closing in appreciation. A strange pride swelled in my chest, different from the pride of victory in battle, but somehow just as satisfying.
"This is amazing," she mumbled around a mouthful. "Where have you been all my life?"
"Waiting for you to find me," I replied, the words out before I could stop them.
Emryn's eyes softened, and she reached across the counter to take my hand. "I'm glad I did."
