Page 21 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights

MADDIE

T he world outside my window is burning itself down in the prettiest way it knows how.

Leaves fall in lazy, drifting curls of gold and ember, the orchard sighs under their weight, and even the fence posts look dipped in honey under the afternoon sun.

It’s the sort of day that would normally have me humming like a fool, arms buried to the elbows in dough, planning which pie to gift the old miller’s wife just to see her grin.

But instead, there’s this horrible, aching emptiness inside me. Like someone’s scooped out my chest and left nothing but a hollow space where my heart used to be.

I try to work through it. Roll out pastry, slice cold butter into the flour, pretend that the only reason my hands are shaking is because the kitchen’s drafty this time of year.

But it’s no use. Every swirl of cinnamon in the air reminds me of him—of that night he let me feed him tiny forkfuls, scowling the whole time but secretly loving it.

Every time I glance at the door, I half expect it to swing open and reveal Thornak, brow furrowed, muttering about a squeaky hinge just to have an excuse to hover close.

By the middle of the afternoon, I’m done. I pile turnovers—still warm from the oven—into a little wooden box, tucking a cloth over them to keep the steam in. My hands hover over it, unsure, before I finally drag over a scrap of parchment.

The pen blots twice before I find words.

I miss you. I shouldn’t, but I do. Even if you never come back.

I don’t sign it. Can’t. Just fold it, tuck it carefully under the edge of the cloth so it won’t blow away, and press the lid down like I’m sealing away something fragile.

The walk to his cabin is quiet, the hush of the forest almost tender.

Every now and then a breath of wind dances through, stirring the leaves, sending a few skittering across the path like playful little spirits.

The air smells like damp earth and woodsmoke.

It’s beautiful, and I hate it for being beautiful without him by my side to grumble about it.

When I reach his clearing, I hesitate. His cabin looks exactly the same—sturdy logs, a faint trickle of smoke from the chimney—but there’s a sort of stillness to it, like it’s holding its breath. Like maybe it’s missing him too, even with him inside.

I climb the steps, set the box right by his door. My hand lingers on the wood, fingers tracing a knot in the grain. I almost knock. Almost call out his name.

But I’m too afraid of the silence that might answer.

So I turn and walk away, my throat so tight it feels like I’ve swallowed stones.

By the time I get back to the bakery, I’m a wreck.

I try to lose myself in kneading dough, pressing my palms into it over and over like I’m trying to push all my loneliness right into the sticky mass.

But it doesn’t work. The dough clings stubbornly to my fingers, gooey and uncooperative, and the harder I work it the more it tears instead of smoothing.

Hot tears spill over, falling in fat splatters that mix with the flour on the counter. “Oh stop it,” I mutter to myself, voice wobbly and cracked. “Don’t you dare cry over a man who’s too stubborn to let himself be loved.”

But my chest heaves anyway, the sobs coming faster, shoulders shaking so hard I nearly knock over the bowl of sugar. I press my sticky hands to my face, dough smearing across my cheeks.

“Stars above, Maddie, look at you,” I whisper, trying to laugh and failing. “A complete disaster for a man who might never want to come back.”

The door bangs open, and Liora storms in, her skirts trailing a swirl of crisp leaves behind her. She stops dead when she sees me hunched over the counter, hands and face both a sticky, floury mess.

“Oh, Maddie,” she breathes, crossing the shop in three quick strides. Her arms are around me before I can protest, squeezing tight. “I thought you were just being your usual dramatic self. But you’re… you’re truly broken up, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I croak, though the tears keep coming. “I’m just… the dough’s being a stubborn beast, and I’m tired, and?—”

“And your heart’s gone and gotten itself tangled up with a giant, gruff orc who doesn’t know what to do with it,” she finishes for me, her voice gentler now.

“You think I can’t see it? You’ve been half in love with that brute since the first time he fixed your porch railing and pretended your pies weren’t the highlight of his entire week. ”

I try to sniff back the tears, wiping my face with my wrist, which only smears dough across my temple.

“It was supposed to be pretend. That was the whole point. Easy to end, clean. But now… I want it to be real so badly it hurts. And that’s what terrifies me.

Because if he decides it was all just a favor to keep the orchard safe—if he leaves for good—I don’t know how I’ll patch myself back together again. ”

Liora pulls back enough to look at me, her bright eyes fierce. “Maybe he just needs to figure out that what scares you isn’t loving him. It’s losing him. You’ve never been afraid of your feelings, Maddie. That’s what makes you shine so damn bright. Maybe it’s time to show him that.”

I let out a watery laugh. “Easy for you to say. You’ve never had to coax a heart twice the size of your whole body into trusting yours.”

“No,” she admits, squeezing my shoulders. “But if I did, I’d start by reminding that big oaf what he stands to lose. Because whatever else Thornak Ironjaw is, he’s not blind. Or heartless. He’s just… scared. Same as you.”

She helps me clean up the mess on the counter, dusts the flour from my hair, then plants a kiss on my forehead. “Don’t give up on him yet, sunshine. He needs your stubbornness right now, even if he’s too stupid to ask for it.”

And later, when I’m alone again in the kitchen, the lanterns glowing soft around me, I find myself whispering a tiny promise to the warm air.

“I won’t give up. Not yet.”

Because even if he never opens that door, never reads my note, never tastes the turnovers still warm with all the hope I kneaded into them—I’ll know I tried. I’ll know my heart was brave enough to keep loving him anyway.