Page 15 of Built Orc Tough
I raise an eyebrow. “Where did you learn that?”
“Read it. Asked elders. Listened.”
I blink. “You’re telling me the guy who grunted through our first three conversations actuallylistens?”
He shrugs. “Quiet doesn’t mean empty.”
I hate that that lands.
We work in silence for a while, arranging practice bouquets for the upcoming contest. I watch him as he moves—slow, careful, with hands that should not be capable of such gentle precision. There’s something reverent about how he touches each stem, like he’s trying not to disturb the spirit inside.
“I thought you were all function over form,” I murmur, not looking up. “Herbs for healing. Roots and teas and whatever else.”
“Beauty can heal too,” he says, voice low. “Sometimes more than poultices can.”
I glance up, meet his eyes.
There’s something unguarded there for a moment. Something honest.
Then he clears his throat, steps back. “Yours still looks better.”
I snort. “Yeah, well, I’ve had more practice making things people cry over at weddings.”
He nods. “Mine usually make people stop crying at funerals.”
I blink, unsure if that was meant as a joke or a fact.
Then he cracks half a grin. “Kidding.”
“Gods, don’t do that,” I say, swatting him with a piece of eucalyptus. “Your sense of humor is like… like a knife in a cake.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You would.”
Sprout peeks in from the front room, her hands covered in glitter and pollen. “Are you two flirting or fighting? I can’t tell anymore.”
“Neither,” I say quickly.
“Learning,” Gorran says at the same time.
Sprout raises an eyebrow. “Right. I’ll just be over here pretending not to eavesdrop.”
She disappears with a giggle.
I sigh and glance at the bouquet in front of me. “You’re not terrible at this, you know.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“It’s just—” I hesitate. “You’re not who I expected.”
His voice is quiet when he replies. “Neither are you.”
And somehow, that feels more intimate than any bouquet.
I’m mid-trim on a deep red rose—classic, dramatic, just enough edge to say “I love you” without sounding like a lie—when Gorran reaches for a matching stem beside it.
Our fingers brush.
