Page 28 of Charming the Orc's Mate

The screen door banged open and Torain bounded down the front steps before I could kill the engine. His massive frame filled my driver’s side window, grinning down at me around his tusks.

I barely got my seatbelt off before he yanked open my door and hauled me into his arms. His scent—wood shavings and all the things that made uphim—wrapped around me as he buried his face in my neck.

“Missed you,” he rumbled against my skin.

“It was only two days.” But I melted into him anyway, letting the stress of navigating Seattle traffic and finalizing paperwork fade away. This. This was home.

“Two days too long.” His hands slid lower, squeezing my ass. “Next time I’m coming with you. No more letting you handle things alone.”

“You were there when we packed up my apartment last week.” I pulled back enough to see his face. “This was just boring legal stuff that couldn’t be done while we were there.”

“Still.” He nuzzled the spot behind my ear that always made me shiver. “Mates shouldn’t be separated.”

The possessive growl in his voice shot straight between my legs. But there was tenderness there too—the same steady support that had gotten us through everything with Tate and rebuilding the store.

“Come on.” He finally set me down but kept hold of my hand. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

I tensed. “You didn’t unpack my boxes, did you?” The organizational system I’d implemented was essential for a smooth transition. Trying to unpack a bedroom and finding nothing but baking supplies was not on my agenda.

“Sugar, I’m not suicidal.” He snorted and pressed a kiss to my temple. “Your labels are safe.”

“Good.” I relaxed slightly. “Because?—”

“You’d color-code the body bags used to hide my bits?” He caught my hands and tugged me toward the house. “Come on. You’re going to love this.”

The front door opened to the organized chaos I expected. My neatly labeled boxed lined the walls, untouched as promised. But Torain filled the spaces between—a half-empty coffee mug sitting in the sink, sketches laid out on the table where he’d considered variations on designs, his jacket draped over the back of a chair.

Through the back window, I could see the shed he’d claimed as his workshop. The doors stood open, revealing neat rows of tools in the process of being arranged. It wasn’t my precise system, but there was a method to his madness.

Just like there was method to the way he’d quietly rearranged his life to make room for mine.

“Close your eyes,” Torain said as we reached the bedroom door.

“What did you do?”

“Humor me.” His fingers squeezed mine. “Please?”

I sighed, but obeyed. The door creaked open, and his hands settled on my shoulders. Warmth curled through me at his whispered instructions—step forward, step back, turn a little.

“Okay, sugar.” Anticipation buzzed in his voice. “Open ‘em.”

I opened my eyes, and gasped.

A four-poster bed dominated the room. But calling it just a bed felt like calling the Mona Lisajusta painting. Dark wood gleamed in the afternoon light, carved with intricate designs that drew the eye up towering posts to a canopy frame. Vines and leaves twined around each post, so lifelike I expected them to sway in the breeze. And there, hidden among the foliage—books. Tiny carved volumes nestled in the curves of branches.

It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“When did you...” I stepped closer, running my fingers over the details. “How long have you been working on this?”

“Since you agreed to move in. I promised you a bed, didn’t I?” His arms slid around my waist from behind. “The basic frame didn’t take long, but I finished the details last night.”

“It’s perfect.” I turned in his embrace, emotion swelling in my chest. Our bed.Our bed.The one in which he planned to claim me as his mate. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

“Do you like it?” There was a thread of uncertainty in his voice, even as his gaze searched my face. As if I could ever doubt him. “I wanted our first real piece of furniture to be special.”

I framed his face with my hands, overwhelmed by the gesture. Not the grand, sweeping kind designed to win points or prove something. But the steady, reliable kind that showed up day after day. The kind backed by action instead of empty promises.

The kind that felt like home.

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