Page 8 of The Passionate Orc (The Teddy Orcs #1)

E mryn

I stood in amazement watching Nar surrounded by members of his clan, their expressions a mixture of awe and disbelief as they examined his latest painting.

The gallery had dedicated an entire wall to his work with vibrant landscapes and powerful portraits that captured the essence of both orc and human life in our city.

"You really made these, Humperdink?" One of the older orcs asked, his tusks gleaming under the gallery lights as he leaned in close to a striking canvas.

"With these hands," Nar replied, holding up his massive green hands that could just as easily wield a battle axe as a delicate paintbrush.

I couldn't help but smile. Just three months ago, Nar had been hiding his artwork from his clan, convinced they would mock his "soft" interests. Now, his paintings were selling faster than he could create them, and the Red Blade Orcs were his biggest supporters.

"My warrior has many talents," I murmured to myself, feeling a flutter in my chest as I watched him interact with his clan members.

The gallery owner, Ms. Petrovich, sidled up next to me. "Your boyfriend is quite the sensation, Emryn. I've never seen anything like it—an orc artist! And such raw talent. The public can't get enough."

"He's amazing," I agreed, unable to take my eyes off him. Even in his attempt at formal wear. a black suit that strained against his muscular shoulder. Nar looked deliciously out of place among the art crowd. But that was part of his charm.

"The invitations for tonight's cocktail reception went out yesterday," Ms. Petrovich continued. "I expect everyone who's anyone in the art world will be there to see both your works featured side by side."

My stomach tightened with nervous excitement. Our first joint exhibition. My delicate watercolors paired with Nar's bold, emotional oils. It was a dream come true, even if I was terrified of the scrutiny.

"We'll be there," I promised.

One week later, I adjusted Nar's bow tie in the hallway outside the gallery, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.

"Stop fidgeting," I said, though I was the one with shaking hands. "You look handsome."

Nar's brown eyes softened as he looked down at me. "And you look beautiful, my little human." His massive hand gently tucked a curl behind my ear. "That dress matches your eyes perfectly."

I smoothed down the blue silk dress I'd splurged on for the occasion. "Are you ready for this? Your first real high-society art event?"

"I face enemy warriors without flinching. How hard can a room full of humans with tiny food be?" Nar grinned, his tusks giving him a roguish appearance that made my heart skip.

"Just... try not to break anything," I said, remembering how he'd accidentally crushed a teacup at my apartment last week.

"I am grace personified," he declared, striking a pose that made me laugh despite my nerves.

The moment we entered the gallery, heads turned. It wasn't every day that a seven-foot orc in a tuxedo attended an upscale art function. Waiters circulated with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, while the city's elite clustered around our artwork displayed on the feature wall.

"They're actually here to see you," I whispered to Nar as several patrons cast curious glances our way. "The mysterious orc artist who's taken the city by storm."

Nar squeezed my hand. "They're here to see us. We're a team, remember?"

Before I could respond, Ms. Petrovich swept over, leading a group of well-dressed potential buyers.

"And here they are! Our stars of the evening. Emryn Lister, whose delicate watercolor techniques bring such emotion to urban landscapes, and Nar Humperdink, the revolutionary orc artist whose bold strokes have captivated critics across the city."

The next hour passed in a blur of introductions, compliments, and discussions about artistic influences.

I answered questions about my process while Nar charmed everyone with his honest, sometimes blunt observations about human art culture.

Despite his size and warrior background, he spoke passionately about color theory and emotional expression in ways that impressed even the most pretentious critics.

Things were going surprisingly well until a waiter approached with champagne flutes.

"Ah, thank you," Nar said, reaching for a glass.

I saw it happening before I could warn him—his powerful fingers closed around the delicate stem, and with a sharp crack, the glass shattered. Champagne splashed across his shirt and onto the marble floor.

A hush fell over the nearby crowd.

"Sorry," Nar mumbled, his cheeks darkening to a deeper shade of green. "Human glasses are so fragile."

The waiter looked mortified, but I quickly grabbed napkins from a nearby table.

"It's fine," I assured everyone, dabbing at Nar's shirt. "Just an accident."

As conversations slowly resumed around us, Nar leaned down to whisper, "Maybe I should have brought my drinking horn instead."

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "Maybe next time."

We'd just recovered from the champagne incident when disaster nearly struck again. As Nar turned to point out one of his paintings to an interested collector, his broad shoulders bumped a pedestal holding a delicate glass sculpture valued at more than my yearly income.

The sculpture wobbled precariously. My heart stopped.

"Look out!" someone shouted.

Three gallery patrons lunged forward, steadying the pedestal just as the sculpture tilted toward the floor. Crisis averted by inches.

Nar's expression of horror was so genuine that I couldn't help but feel for him. He stood frozen, afraid to move lest he cause more damage.

"Perhaps we should admire from a distance," the collector suggested kindly, leading Nar to a safer spot away from breakable items.

As the evening wore on, I could sense Nar's growing discomfort. Despite his success and the genuine interest in his work, he was painfully aware of how out of place he was in this environment. Every time he moved, people flinched slightly, as if expecting more destruction.

After selling four paintings and receiving two commissions, we finally had a moment alone near the refreshment table.

"Everyone loves your work," I said softly, touching his arm. "That's what matters."

Nar's eyes met mine, and I saw vulnerability there. "They love my paintings but watch me like I'm going to rampage through the gallery at any moment. One man actually moved his drink when I approached."

My heart ached for him. "Their loss. They're missing out on knowing the real you."

He glanced around at the elegant crowd. "Maybe the real me doesn't belong here."

I followed his gaze, seeing the stark contrast between my green-skinned warrior and the polished art patrons. "Do you want to leave?"

The relief in his eyes was immediate. "Can we? Your pieces are selling too. We've both made our splash."

"Let me just say goodbye to Ms. Petrovich."

After a quick explanation to the gallery owner (who looked secretly relieved that the threat to her valuable displays was departing), we slipped out into the cool night air.

The moment the gallery door closed behind us, Nar let out a dramatic groan. "By the ancestors, I thought I was going to destroy half the art in there before the night was over."

I couldn't hold back anymore—the laughter I'd been suppressing all evening burst out. "Your face when that sculpture started to tip! I thought you were going to faint!"

"Me? Faint? Warriors don't faint," he protested, but he was grinning too. "We... strategically lose consciousness."

That set me off again, and soon we were both doubled over with laughter on the sidewalk, ignoring the curious stares of passersby.

"The champagne glass just exploded in your hand!" I gasped between giggles.

Nar flexed his fingers. "Human craftsmanship is clearly inferior to orc strength."

When our laughter finally subsided, Nar looked down at me with such warmth that my breath caught.

"Let's go to my place," he suggested. "No fragile art, no tiny food, no judging eyes. Just us."

I nodded, suddenly aware of how much I wanted to be alone with him. "Just us sounds perfect."

Nar's apartment was exactly what you'd expect from an orc warrior who was also an artist, a fascinating blend of traditional clan artifacts and creative chaos.

Weapons hung on the walls alongside his paintings.

A massive couch that could accommodate his frame dominated the living room, and his painting area took up an entire corner, splattered with colors and surrounded by canvases in various stages of completion.

It felt more like home than my apartment sometimes.

"Much better," Nar declared, loosening his bow tie and kicking off his formal shoes. "Fancy human parties are worse than battle. At least in battle, I'm supposed to break things."

I slipped off my heels with a sigh of relief. "You did wonderfully. And more importantly, people loved your art."

"Our art," he corrected, pulling me into his arms. "We're a team, remember?"

The feeling of his muscular arms around me, the familiar scent of his skin mixed with paint made something shift inside me.

Here, away from the pretension and the judgmental eyes, I could see us clearly for what we were—two people who had found each other against all odds, who supported each other's dreams, who fit together despite every difference.

"What are you thinking about?" Nar asked, his thumb gently tracing my cheek. "You have that look."

"What look?"

"The one where you're feeling something big but haven't put it into words yet."

I looked up at him—this imposing, gentle, passionate orc who painted with the same intensity he brought to everything in his life. Who cared what anyone at that gallery thought? They only saw the surface. I knew the heart beneath.

"I'm thinking," I said slowly, "that I love you."

The words hung in the air between us, simple but monumental. It wasn't a planned moment, but it felt right, maybe I'd known it for weeks, but hadn't been ready to admit it.

Nar's eyes widened, and for a moment he was completely still. Then his face broke into the most radiant smile I'd ever seen.

"Say it again," he whispered.

"I love you, Nar Humperdink."

He lifted me off my feet in a crushing embrace, spinning me around in his living room while I laughed and held on tight.

"I've loved you since you first criticized my brush technique," he confessed when he finally set me down. "I just didn't think you'd ever feel the same for a clumsy orc like me."

"Not clumsy," I corrected. "Just enthusiastically sized for a human world."

He kissed me then, and I melted into him, realizing that for all the success and validation we'd received tonight, this was the real triumph—finding someone who saw past the surface to who we really were, someone worth breaking all the champagne glasses in the world for.