Page 18 of Pumpkin Spiced Orc
My heart hammers.
Then she retreats, whispering, “I’m not ready.”
I don’t let her pull farther. I cup her jaw, thumb brushing the shift in her expression.
“Neither am I,” I say.
The branches overhead rustle—the orchard’s approval or warning, I don’t know—but the air crackles between us, hot and heavy.
We stay there until the moon slips behind clouds and the glyphs at your feet glow faint in the dark. I hold her hand as we walk out of the clearing, returning to the house in silence that hums louder than any spell.
Our bond deepened. The promise sealed.
And the orchard knows we’re no longer alone.
CHAPTER 11
IVY
The orchard’s quiet the next morning—too quiet in that suspicious, holding-its-breath kind of way, like the trees know something they’re not saying. Like they saw what happened beneath the crimson moon and have decided to keep it to themselves for now, but only because they’re waiting to see what we do next.
The air’s gone heavy again, not in temperature but in weight, like it’s pressing just a little harder on my skin. I don’t go to the clearing. I avoid it like it might whisper out loud. Instead, I sit on the back steps with a chipped mug of over-steeped tea that tastes like regret and bark and pretend like I haven’t been thinking about him all night. Like my dreams weren’t stitched together out of sweat and his voice—low, growling, broken with heat—and the memory of his hands almost,almosttouching the bare skin just above my ribs.
I kissed him.
God help me, I kissed him.
Soft, at first—like maybe I could taste the answer I’ve been chasing for days on his mouth. Then desperate, like all the unspoken things between us had finally cracked open and poured out faster than I could contain them.
I don’t know who leaned in first. I don’t remember deciding to do it. One second, we were inches apart beneath that ancient tree, and the next my lips were on his and my hands were tangled in his hair and I wasn’t thinking anymore—I was justfeeling.
And then I ran.
Well—notran, exactly. I stepped back like I’d been burned and made some excuse about needing air, which was hilarious, considering I couldn’t breathe for a solid minute after leaving him there.
Now I sit on these steps, watching the wind pull through the tall grass like fingers through hair, and I try to act like nothing’s changed.
Footsteps crunch across the gravel. I don’t look up until I hear the familiar creak of the porch boards.
“You gonna sit out here all morning, or should I send someone to take your order?” Brody’s voice cuts through the silence, casual and obnoxious as always.
I blow on my tea. “Unless they serve emotional damage on toast, I’m good.”
He huffs. “You’ve been weird since last night.”
I glance at him. “Have I?”
He flops down beside me. “You’ve got that look again.”
“Please don’t say it’s the look my mom had before a storm. I’ve reached my prophetic women quota for the week.”
“No,” he says, smirking, “it’s the one you used to get before you shoved me into the pond behind Grady’s mill.”
“That was self-defense.”
“I called you bossy.”
I sip my tea. “And I wasn’t?”
