Page 60 of Thankful for My Orc
“Especially the partners. I want them to know I’m not the same woman who used to live at the office.” We push through theheavy glass doors and step into the late afternoon sunshine. “I want them to know I have something in my life more important than billable hours now.”
Forge stops walking and turns to face me, his expression serious. “Are you sure about that? Your career is important, Jordan. I never want you to feel like you have to choose.”
“I’m not choosing,” my voice is firm. “I’m integrating. There’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Choosing would be giving up my ambitions to focus on our relationship, or giving up our relationship to focus on my ambitions. Integrating is building a life where both can coexist.” I step closer, tilting my head back to meet his eyes. “Integrating is winning the biggest case of my career and knowing that celebrating with you matters more than immediately strategizing about my next promotion.”
“And how does that feel?”
“Terrifying,” I admit with a laugh. “And absolutely perfect.”
He kisses me again, softer this time, and I can feel his love and pride through our bond like a warm current running between us.
“So,” he says when we break apart, “dinner. Somewhere fancy to celebrate your victory, or somewhere comfortable where we can really talk?”
“Somewhere comfortable. I want to hear about your day, and I want to tell you about the look on that terrible father’s face when he realized he’d lost.” I pause, then add with a grin, “And I want to plan what we’re bringing to Thanksgiving dinner at the firehouse.”
He chuckles, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Already volunteering us for kitchen duty?”
“Of course. I’m not showing up to meet your firehouse family empty-handed. What’s everyone’s favorite dessert?”
His smile widens, equal parts amusement and pride. “Anything sweet—and plenty of it. Kam will eat half before we even sit down.”
I laugh softly, my thumb tracing the sharp curve of one tusk before skimming down his jaw. “Then we’ll bring two. I want your family to know I come prepared.”
“Good thing,” he murmurs, eyes soft. “They already can’t wait to meet you.”
“And I can’t wait to meet them,” I say, meaning it. “Your family is my family now.”
He leans in, brushing a kiss against my forehead. “Kam’s still going to be insufferable.”
“Good thing I’m a lawyer,” I tease. “I know how to handle difficult witnesses.”
We walk toward his truck, my hand in his and a spray of sunflowers bright against my dark suit. This, right here, is happiness. Not the sharp, competitive satisfaction of winning a case or earning a promotion, but the quiet joy of sharing a victory with someone who loves me for exactly who I am.
For the first time in my life, I’m not chasing anything. I’m exactly where I want to be.
“One question,” I say as Forge opens the passenger door for me.
“Anything.”
“How exactly am I supposed to concentrate at Thanksgiving dinner in two days when I’ll be spending the entire time trying not to think about what you did to me after the gala? Everyone’s going to know.”
His eyes go molten. “Let them know. I want them to see exactly how adored you are.”
“Promise?”
The look he gives me is full of dark promise and infinite love. “Always,” he says, and somehow it feels like forever begins right there.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jordan
Thanksgiving morning, I wake to the scent of coffee and find Forge already in the kitchen, wearing an apron over his jeans (no shirt, because apparently he’s trying to kill me) and humming something that sounds like an orcish folk song.
“Morning,” he rumbles, not looking up from the dough he’s kneading. “Thought I’d make bread for the feast. Old family recipe.”
