Page 7 of The Orc and the Innkeeper

I shoved open the back door of the brewery with enough force that it slammed against the wall, leaving a dent to deal with later. The chaos hit me like a wave—the stench of burnt barley and hops, the hiss of escaping steam, and Gruna ankle-deep in frothy, sticky wort painting the floor.

“Thorak!” she yelled over the clamor. Her amber eyes were wide, her hands coated in the sweet, gooey mess as she struggled to wrench the valve on a malfunctioning mash tun.

Without hesitation, I waded in beside her, our movements synchronized by years of teamwork.

“Three...two...one!” We turned the wheel together, muscles straining until it gave way with a reluctant groan. The flow ceased, leaving only the sound of our labored breathing and the soft drip, drip, drip of the aftermath.

“Still think opening a brewery was a good idea?” Gruna teased, a smirk playing on her lips despite the catastrophe surrounding us.

“Better than letting Dad keep all the fun to himself,” I grunted, surveying the damage. Brewing isn’t just tossing ingredients together; it’s alchemy, a dance with elements both mundane and magical. And right then, that dance had turned into a stumble.

We set to work cleaning the mess, our arms moving in rhythm as we shoveled the ruined grains into bins. Gruna’s laughter rang out when I accidentally flicked a dollop of wort onto her cheek. She retaliated, flinging a handful back at me, and for a moment, the weight on my shoulders lifted.

“Watch it, or you’ll wear the next batch,” I warned playfully, though there was a warmth behind my words reserved only for her.

“Promises, promises,” she shot back, and we fell into a comfortable silence, save for the scrape of shovels and slosh of mops.

As the mess receded and the equipment began to gleam anew, my thoughts drifted to the meeting I had in a few hours at the Moonflower Inn.

Of all the places Robert could have chosen, he picked Mariah’s inn.

My chest tightened as memories of high school foolishness played across my mind. How I tormented her, how her face twisted in pain from my cruel jibes.

The best thing I’d done over the past decade was give Mariah some space from me.

Perhaps she wouldn’t be there this morning. She could be out on an errand, and I’d continue to avoid responsibility for being a fucking idiot.

“Let’s focus on getting things running again,” I declared, trying to shake Mariah out of my mind.

Gruna nodded, and we set to work recalibrating the mash tun. The rhythmic clanking of metal on metal was a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. My large hands maneuvered with practiced ease, tightening bolts and checking gauges. We moved in a silent dance, the unspoken language of siblings who’ve weathered many storms together.

“Thorak,” Gruna said, her voice carrying over the hum of machinery, “Mum and Dad were asking about Ygra again.” She paused, watching me for a reaction. “They still think you two are destined for each other.”

I groaned.

Ygra and I had dated for four years. My parents loved her; still did. She was a giantess whose clan hailed from an area nearby our family’s historical clan.

At first, things were great—Ygra was fierce, ambitious, and stunningly beautiful. But over time, the cracks started to show. Ygra thought I should have taken over my parents’ brewery, which is the most popular in the magical world. She wanted me to expand our wealth and influence. Ygra liked the status and power that came from operating a conglomerate like that.

When I told her about my plans to strike out on my own and open a craft brewery, Ygra laughed in my face. It was the beginning of the end for us. We broke up a year ago.

“Not this again, Gruna,” I said, my voice a low rumble. “That part of my life...it’s over.”

Gruna clicked her tongue, pausing to look at me. “They just want you happy, big bro. You know that, right?”

“Happy,” I echo, the word tasting like unsalted porridge. The truth is, my happiness lies here, in the brewery, not in rekindling old flames. “Right.”

Once the brewery was cleaned up, I left Gruna to go get ready for my meeting, and then headed to the Moonflower Inn. The quaint, cozy building seemed to mock me with its welcoming glow. I paused at the door, my hand hovering over the weathered wood.

Just get it over with, Thorak. In and out. You’re here for business, not Mariah.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside, immediately smelling freshly baked bread and something floral I couldn’tquite place. My eyes scanned the room, searching for Robert Kingsley, but instead landed on her.

Mariah.

Gods above, she was as gorgeous as ever.

She stood behind the reception desk, her chestnut hair pulled back in a messy bun, a few stray tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. Even in a simple white blouse and jeans, she radiated an effortless beauty that made something turn over inside of me. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

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