Page 16 of Her Orc Healer

"And your family?" Kazrek's question pulled me from my thoughts. "Besides Maeve?"

I tensed slightly, fingers tightening around my flatbread. "It’s just us now." The words came out shorter than I intended. "Father passed three years ago. Mother before the war."

"And my mama went away," Maeve added matter-of-factly, still focused on arranging her vegetables into intricate patterns.

Kazrek's gaze sharpened slightly, but he didn't press. Instead, he watched as I mechanically wiped sauce from my fingers, waiting for me to continue or deflect.

I surprised myself by choosing the former.

"My sister, Finn—Finola—she..." I paused, searching for words that wouldn't sound bitter. "She had other dreams. Bigger ones than Everwood could hold."

"She left Maeve with you."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "A few years ago. No warning, no explanation. Just..." I glanced at Maeve, making sure she was still absorbed in her food art. "Just gone."

Kazrek was quiet for a moment, his eyes steady on mine. "You stepped in."

"Of course I did." The words came out fierce, defensive.

"Mm." He nodded slightly, as if I'd confirmed something. "The responsible one."

I bristled. "Someone has to be."

"True." His voice held no judgment, just that same steady certainty. "But responsibility doesn't mean doing everything alone."

Heat crawled up my neck. "I manage just fine."

"Until you collapse in the market."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued before I could.

"Running yourself into the ground won't help anyone." His eyes flicked to Maeve, then back to me. "Especially not her."

The words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I looked away, focusing on gathering the empty plates just to have something to do with my hands.

"I appreciate your concern," I said stiffly, "but I know my limits."

Kazrek made a noncommittal sound that could have meant anything. He rose from his chair, and before I could protest, he was gathering dishes alongside me.

I moved faster, stacking the plates with more force than necessary, trying to end this before it became something too intimate—too familiar. But my fingers fumbled, and one of the plates slipped.

Before it could shatter, Kazrek’s hand shot out, catching it effortlessly.

I wasn’t prepared for how close he was.

His broad, solid chest was nearly flush against my back, his arm bracketing me in as he steadied the dish on the table. The air between us grew heavy, thick with something unsaid. I could hear his breath, steady and calm, while mine had turned shallow, unsteady.

I needed to step forward. To move away.

But for one long, unbearable second, I just stood there, acutely aware of the warmth radiating off him, the sheer size of him behind me. He wasn’t even touching me. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

Too much.

I jerked forward abruptly, breaking the moment with a muttered, “Thanks.” I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

Kazrek didn’t comment. He simply set the plate down, moving past me like nothing had happened, like I wasn’t in complete disarray inside my own skin.

I hated it. Hated that he was completely unbothered while my pulse thrummed too fast, while my thoughts tangled into something sharp and unfamiliar.