Page 68 of Halfling
The thought had her looking back at him.
What if they began something only to have it end when she returned home?
Sorcha had had her share of dalliances and trysts, but somehow, neither of those felt right for Orek. She could acknowledge her growing attraction to him, but there was something deeper, something putting down roots in her heart that made her catch her breath if she thought too much about it.
He isn’t a tryst. Whatever happens with him, it’d be…more.
The thought sent a shudder through her, not unpleasant, making her blush.
Grumbling at herself, Sorcha swiped the cloth once more over her face and replaced it in the bucket. She’d been chasing her own proverbial tail with these thoughts for days now without coming closer to an answer.
Sorcha joined Cara at the sturdy outdoor table the family enjoyed their meals at when the weather was pleasant, like today. While she and Orek were downright cozy in their stall, kept warm by the bodies of the many farm animals, the days were growing crisper, frost settling on the ground in the night.
They’d have to return to their journey if they had any hope of outrunning winter, but Sorcha wasn’t sure Orek was ready. He’d tell her he was, assure her he’d had worse and was used to a challenge, but that didn’t mean she wanted to risk him.
A sharp wail had Sorcha cringing, and she gave Cara plenty of room as she soothed her fussing children. The siblings had been bickering all day, and it’d finally come to a boil. Having dealt with her share of tantrums, Sorcha knew to stay out of the way and not crowd.
When Cara waved her toward a pile of apples to tide her over, Sorcha grabbed one and beat a hasty retreat to the barn.
Orek looked up and grinned when he saw her approach. Her stomach swooped, and she had to tell herself not to look at the ground and blush like a maiden with her first love.
“Might be a while before we eat,” she told him, handing him the apple.
Orek took it while glancing over her shoulder. “Is the youngling well?”
“Just a disagreement about something. They’ll sort it out. Sometimes you just have to let it take its course.”
“Hm.” His brows pinched when the boy screeched again, his pointed ears twitching. It wasn’t that the antics annoyed him; he genuinely looked concerned over the boy, and it plucked at Sorcha’s heart.
Orek finally inspected the apple she’d brought him. It was large, with a red peel striated with golds and greens, but still looked tiny in his big hands. He turned it about before slicing into it with his small knife.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“I’ll eat with everyone else,” she said.
He made a grumbling noise deep in his throat and nodded to his side. “Sit.”
She opened her mouth and closed it before plunking down beside him. It was the midday break, so really there wasn’t work she should be doing, but it still felt like she should keep to her feet. In case she was needed.
No sooner had she sat than a juicy apple half appeared in front of her. She took it with her fingertips, the juices glistening in the sun.
“Eat,” he insisted. “You’re wearing yourself out.”
“I do chores all the time at home,” she replied.
He rumbled but didn’t say anything more, instead digging the core from the apple and popping it into his mouth. His eyes cut to her expectantly.
She rolled hers, licked the exposed meat, and took a hearty bite.
Orek shifted beside her, and Sorcha grinned around her mouthful of apple.
They ate in silence, the beauty of the day seeping across the homestead. It truly was a beautiful place Cara and Anghus had. A thriving farm, hearty orchard, healthy animals, and two bouncy, happy children—when they weren’t screeching at each other, of course.
A life like this, or something akin, was what she’d always envisioned for herself. A small homestead of her own near her family. Perhaps a farm. Perhaps just something close to the stables. She could see the house and the garden she’d keep, but otherwise…
“Just wait until you have your own house,”her mother would say sometimes, but they never spoke about her truly having one, never made plans or talked about when.
Even in her imaginary one, she hadn’t thought much past the front door. Not who’d live there with her nor what they’d do with their days.
