Page 21 of Bidding on the Orc Outcast

She hurried into her bedroom, sighing at the sight of her flour-dusted hair and the smudge of chocolate on her cheek. Stripping off her food splattered work clothes, she ducked into the bathroom for the fastest shower she’d ever taken, then quickly surveyed her wardrobe. She discarded three dresses before deciding on a vintage-inspired emerald green dress - not too formal but special enough for the occasion. The sweetheart neckline and full skirt always made her feel pretty.

She slipped it on, then added a pair of low heels. Her wavy hair cooperated for once as she styled it into soft curls that framed her face. A touch of mascara, a swipe of rose-colored lipstick, and she was ready just as the antique clock chimed seven.

The chimes were immediately followed by a sharp knock on the door. Her heart fluttered as she smoothed her dress one last time and hurried to the door.

Varek filled the doorframe, his shoulders almost touching each side. He’d traded his usual flannel for a black button-down that stretched across his broad chest. The scent of pine and spice drifted from him, making her stomach tighten. His eyes went wide when he saw her, and she could almost feel them traveling over her skin. The tips of his ears flushed as his eyes dipped to the curve of her cleavage, and her nipples tightened under that heated gaze.

He awkwardly thrust a small bouquet of delicate white and purple wildflowers wrapped in brown paper towards her.

“These are-” His nostrils flared and his head snapped up. “Something’s burning.”

Before she could react, he ducked through the door and charged towards the kitchen. Smoke billowed from the oven, filling the small space with an acrid haze. He pulled the smoking pan of blackened chicken out of the oven and dropped it in the sink before throwing open the window, letting in a blast of cold winter air that cleared away the worst of the haze.

Her eyes stung, though whether from the smoke or mortification, she couldn’t tell.

“I don’t understand. It was supposed to be crispy, not turn into charcoal.”

The first laugh startled her. A deep rumble, like distant thunder. It transformed his face, his eyes crinkling as his mouth curved in a smile that made her heart skip. This was how he should look all the time - happy.

“Did the recipe say something about turning the oven down?” he asked gently, still smiling.

“Oh. I think I forgot that part. But the truth is, I can’t cook. At all. My ex used to…” She swallowed hard. “Well, he made it clear how useless I was in the kitchen. I thought maybe I could manage something simple, but clearly I was wrong.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she blinked rapidly, determined not to cry over burned food and bad memories. His eyes softened as he pulled her close, his strong arms encircling her in a warm embrace.

“Then he was a fool. I can’t think of anything better than a home-cooked meal, even if it doesn’t turn out well.”

“Even if it’s completely inedible?”

“Even then. It’s the effort that counts.”

She gave him a watery smile and he gently brushed a stray curl back from her face. His hand lingered on her cheek and she licked her lips in anticipation of another kiss, but although he followed the movement, he took a step back. She could still feel the warmth of his body, and she had to resist the urge to press herself against him.

“We could… there’s a cafe,” he said gruffly. “At the end of Main Street.”

Her heart skipped. He was willing to go into town, to be seen in public with her? After everything that had happened at the auction, she could guess what the offer must have cost him.

“The River Cafe? Are you sure?”

He couldn’t quite hide the uncertainty in his eyes, but he nodded firmly enough.

“Yeah. I think we need to give your apartment a chance to air out.”

“That would be wonderful.” She smiled up at him, touched by his willingness to step so far outside his comfort zone just to salvage their evening. “But first I have something for you.”

She hurried back to the kitchen, waving away the lingering smoke as she retrieved the candle from the windowsill where it had been cooling. It wasn’t much to look at - just a small glass container filled with wax and a few sprigs of dried herbs - but he looked down at the gift with a strange expression on his face.

“I know it’s not very impressive,” she began, then stopped when he looked back at her.

“You made this for me?”

“Yes. It’s a calming candle. I used lavender and chamomile because they’re soothing.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Of course you already know that. Anyway, the herbs have a nice scent when they burn. I thought maybe you could light it while you worked and it might help relax you a little.”

“It’s wonderful. No one’s ever made something for me before.”

The words were so quiet she wasn’t sure if she’d heard them correctly, but he carefully tucked the candle in his pocket as if it were something precious, and she smiled to herself. Before she could overthink it, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him. His whole body went as rigid as if he were made of stone.

Heat flooded her cheeks as she pulled back. What was she thinking, ambushing him with another kiss?

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