Page 27 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights

MADDIE

I f someone had told me when I was fifteen, perched on a ladder in this same orchard stringing up lanterns for Harvest Hollow’s cider festival, that I’d be standing here years later—same orchard, same festival night, heart thundering because I’m about to marry the biggest, grumpiest, most wonderful orc in half the province—I would’ve fallen right off the rung laughing.

Yet here I am, trying to slow my breathing so I don’t swoon right into the baskets of spiced pears.

The lanterns are already glowing soft above me, tiny bobbing lights wreathed in little puffs of enchanted warmth to keep the night from biting too hard.

Ropes of clove-studded oranges and rosemary sprigs wrap around every post. The tables are loaded up with hand pies, roasted chestnuts, tiny cider cakes—my heart practically bursts seeing it all.

It’s exactly the sort of warm, rustic celebration I’d always dreamed of.

Except.

Thornak isn’t here.

I keep smoothing my skirts like it’ll magic him into view—my hands are already fussing over the lace at my shoulders for the dozenth time.

Every time the breeze shifts the lanterns and sends shadows leaping across the orchard rows, I swear I see his broad shape moving through the trees.

And then it’s gone, just another trick of light and leaves.

Beside me, Liora’s perched on a hay bale with a mug of warm cider, trying very hard to look casual. Which I know means she’s worried.

“Would you sit down, Maddie? Or at least have some cider before you wear a trench clear through the grass with all this pacing.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, voice pitched low so it won’t crack.

“What if he changed his mind? What if he realized—right at the last moment—that marrying me means being tied to this tiny orchard forever, with all its nosy neighbors and my overexcited baking experiments and my absolute inability to keep from crying over little things like… like how he makes tea now without me even asking?”

Liora huffs out a sigh that’s equal parts exasperation and sympathy. She stands, dusts off her skirts, then takes my hands in hers.

“Maddie Quinn, you listen to me. That orc looks at you like he’s surprised the sun chose to rise anywhere other than your hair. I’ve never seen anyone so completely gone for another person. You’re it for him. Always were.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out wobbly. “Then where is he? Liora, it’s nearly time. The fiddlers are already tuning up. I can hear Mr. Griggs by the cider barrels telling people it’ll all start soon. What if he’s not coming?”

Her smile falters, just a twitch, and that’s all it takes to send my heart plunging into my stomach. Because if even my reckless, eternally confident friend is worried, then what does that say?

I wrench my hands free, pressing them to my cheeks as tears spring hot and fast. “Oh stars, what if he did get cold feet? What if I was too much for him, Liora? Too loud, too messy, too... desperate for forever when he’s only ever known how to hold things loosely so it won’t hurt if they break?”

“Maddie—”

“No, I mean it. I kept telling myself I was being silly for doubting, that he was just nervous and needed space. But what if all my hope did was push him right out the door? What if the reason he’s late is because he’s halfway up the ridge by now, putting as many trees between us as he can manage?”

My tears are coming harder now. Big, ridiculous drops that track all the way down my cheeks and drip right onto my bodice, leaving tiny dark spots in the fabric. Liora tries to pull me in for a hug, but I back up, shaking my head.

“Don’t,” I croak. “If you’re kind to me right now I’ll fall apart completely, and I don’t have time to patch myself up before everyone realizes the bride’s been left standing under these lanterns alone.”

She draws in a breath, eyes dark and worried. “He’ll come. Thornak may be many things—brooding, slow to speak his heart, built like he could snap a cart in two—but he’s not a coward. Not when it comes to you.”

“But what if he finally realized how much I need him?” I whisper. “Because that’s the honest truth, Liora. I’ve never needed anything the way I need him. And I think maybe that’s exactly what scared him off.”

A hush falls over the orchard then. Even the wind stills, lanterns swaying gently in the sudden calm. Somewhere across the clearing the fiddlers strike up a hopeful little tune—light, bright, meant to set feet tapping.

But my feet won’t move. My heart won’t either.

So I stand there, hands trembling, tears slipping freely now, staring into the dim line of trees where the orchard meets the forest. Watching.

Waiting. Hoping for that big, broad figure to come striding out, scowling like always, pretending he’s annoyed by all the fuss even as his eyes give him away.

He doesn’t.

And slowly, painfully, the hope that’s been strung so tight inside me starts to sag, then snap altogether.

I press both hands over my mouth to stifle a sob. The orchard around me—lit by dozens of soft, bobbing lanterns, tables laden with pies and cider—suddenly feels like a stage set for a play I’m the only fool left acting in.

Liora catches my arm, her own eyes glossy. “Maddie, wait?—”

But I can’t. I turn away, half-running back toward the bakery, skirts catching on brambles, breath hitching in ugly little gasps.

Because tonight was supposed to be everything. And now I’m terrified it’s about to become the story of the girl who loved too loudly, too hungrily—who scared away the best thing she’d ever had.