Page 13 of Her Orc Healer

I shoved it away immediately.

Without another word, I turned for the door, ignoring the warmth still lingering where his hands had steadied me.

Kazrek followed.

And no matter how much I told myself otherwise, I felt his presence at my back, solid and sure, a weight I couldn’t shake.

Chapter 4

Theledgerwasn'tgoingto balance itself.

I squinted at the columns of numbers, willing them to make sense. They blurred slightly at the edges—probably because I'd been staring at them for hours, not because I was still tired. Definitely not because a certain orc healer had been right about me needing rest.

"Ro?" Maeve's voice drifted up from beneath my desk, where she'd been contentedly destroying scraps of parchment for the better part of an hour. "Can I have more paper?"

"What happened to the stack I gave you?"

A guilty shuffle. "I made birds."

I glanced down. Sure enough, the floor around her was littered with crumpled attempts at origami—lopsided creatures that looked more like wadded missiles than anything avian. But her eyes were bright with creative determination, and really, what was a few scraps of parchment compared to keeping her occupied?

"Third drawer," I said, rubbing my temples.

She scrambled up, practically vibrating with excitement as she yanked open the drawer. A few sheets fluttered to the floor, but I didn't have the energy to scold her.

My mind drifted, unbidden, to the way Kazrek had watched her yesterday—patient, attentive, like her excitement over simple things was worth his full attention.

I shook my head sharply. No. I wasnotthinking about Kazrek.

I especially wasn't thinking about his hands—steady and sure as they'd gripped my elbow, warm against my skin. Or his voice—that low rumble that seemed to settle in my bones. Or the way his presence had filled the entire room, making everything else feel...

"Stop it," I muttered, pressing my palms against my eyes.

This was ridiculous. I didn't have time for this. I barely had time to sleep, let alone... whatever this was. These intrusive thoughts about a man I barely knew. A very large, very capable man with surprisingly gentle hands and—

I exhaled sharply and dropped my hands to the desk. I needed to focus.

Once, a man had told me I was difficult to love. He had wanted more from me than I had to give. More softness, more time, more space in my life for things that weren’t survival. I’d let him go without much regret.

That was how it always went. Men came and went but were never important enough to hold my attention for long. My life had never allowed for it. Something else always demanded my focus—the shop, Maeve, the endless list of things that needed doing.

Unlike my sister, I had always been the practical one. While Finola chased romance and adventure with reckless abandon, I kept my feet firmly planted. I ran the shop, kept the books, made sure the ink flowed and the doors stayed open. There was no time for impulsive love affairs, no room for whispered promises that would only be broken when responsibility pulled me elsewhere.

And yet here I was, losing time in the middle of the day—valuable time—thinking about the weight of an orc’s hands on my skin.

Absolutely not.

I shook myself, grabbing my quill and forcing my focus back to the numbers. They still blurred slightly, but I ignored it. This was my life. My work. Not... him.

The bell over the shop door jingled.

I didn’t even look up. "Welcome," I called absently, still trying to wrangle the figures into something that resembled balance.

Silence.

Then, the unmistakable sound of the door’s lock turning.

That got my attention.