Page 8 of Pumpkin Spice & Orc Cinnamon Roll
I don’t argue. “Yes.”
“Well.” She shrugs. “Least you’re smart enough to buy her flowers now.”
By dusk, I’m back outsideMaple & Mallow. Again.
Lantern light spills in warm gold through the front windows. I don’t go in—I never do. Not unless I’ve got something in hand that gives me an excuse to be there. Today it’s a box of hand-poured beeswax candles from the apothecary stall I passed on the way in, each one scented with things that remind me of her—cedarwood, dried apple, black tea and smoke.
I stand there like an idiot for twenty minutes, pretending I’m checking messages on my scrying stone, pretending I’m waiting on a courier. Truth is, I’m waiting for her.
I watch the silhouette of her moving inside—fluid, graceful, constantly in motion. She ties a bouquet with those clever fingers, then pauses to tuck a curl behind her ear. A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I want to.
Gods help me, Ineedto.
Then the front door opens, and she steps out.
But she’s not alone.
Some local lad—mid-thirties, gangly build, polite smile—walks beside her. He’s got that eager, slightly-too-nice charm of a man who’s practiced how to flirt without spooking the hens. He hands her a wrapped pastry, something flaky with powdered sugar that makes her laugh. That laugh—thatdamnlaugh—used to be mine.
I feel it like a punch to the gut.
She touches his arm as she says goodbye, nothing more than a friendly gesture, but my fists clench anyway. My teeth grind. My jaw aches with the force of it. That possessive edge I try sohard to dull flares bright and hot, and I have to fight the instinct to go over there and make it very clear that she isnotup for grabs.
But I don’t move.
I just stand there in the shadows, jaw locked, letting the burn of it settle under my skin.
When she disappears back inside, I finally exhale. It’s bitter.
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Bramley says behind me, startling me into a curse.
I turn. He’s leaning on his cane near the shop’s garden bed, watching me with his usual grumpy amusement.
“You’d know,” I say, forcing a chuckle.
“I also know you’ve been sniffing around this place like a lost hound for the better part of a week.”
“I’m just supporting local business.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m the queen of the harvest fair.”
I don’t answer.
He hobbles a little closer, gives me a look that’s equal parts fond and exasperated. “You want my opinion?”
“Not particularly.”
“Too bad. You had her once, boy. And you let her go for money and shadows. Now you’re back, all muscle and regret, trying to buy your way into something that don’t have a price tag.”
I wince. He doesn’t stop.
“She don’t need your empire. She needsyou.And you better figure out who that is before she decides she’s better off without the both of you.”
He adds, “Wouldn’t mind more sturdy little half-orc feet runnin’ around the orchard one day, though.”
I stare at him, mouth open.
He just winks and strolls away, whistling a tune older than sin.
