Page 30 of Thankful for My Orc
He settles into Riley’s chair with the deliberate restraint of someone who’s not sure he’s welcome. Up close, the faint scent of smoke and cedar hits me, and it’s unfair how it unravels me in one breath.
“Based on the look on your face, Jordan, I’m guessing she didn’t tell you that you’d be meeting me here today.”
“No. She called about a vague emergency.” My voice is resigned. “I should have known something was up.” I stare down at my coffee, unable to meet his eyes. “She’s not subtle.”
“No, she’s not.” There’s a pause that stretches between us like a taut wire. “But she’s not wrong, either.”
I force myself to look at him. “Wrong about what?”
“About you having a crisis. About us needing to talk.”
The rational part of me knows he’s right. The part that listens to his voicemails without calling back, that fights the urge to drive past the firehouse, knows this period of silence hasn’t been fair to either of us. But the part that remembers how my marriage imploded—still raw from David’s betrayal—wants to run.
“I told you how I felt,” I say quietly. “That morning. I was clear about where I stood.”
“You were scared,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“Maybe. But scared or not, the problems I mentioned haven’t changed. We don’t know each other, Forge. Not really. We had great chemistry and one amazing night, but that’s not enough to build anything real on.”
He leans back in his chair, studying my face with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. “You’re absolutely right.”
I blink. “I’m… what?”
“You’re right. We don’t know each other.” His mouth quirks up in what might be the beginning of a smile. Why at this moment does my body have to betray me, remembering the calloused touch of his palms and the rumble of his voice against my skin?
“I don’t know where you grew up, or why you became a lawyer, or what you’re afraid of besides taking risks. I don’t know if you’re a morning person or a night owl, whether you prefer mountains or beaches, if you have siblings, what your favorite book is, or if you sing in the shower.”
Each admission feels like a small blow, confirming everything I’ve been telling myself for the past few weeks. We’re strangers who had incredible sex. That’s all.
“But I’d like to learn.” His tone is so earnest, my breath catches. “I’d like to know all of those things about you. The question is whether you’re brave enough to let me try.”
For a second, all I can think about is how dangerous this feels—not because he’s wrong, but because he might be right. The thought punches through me, leaving my pulse erratic and my skin too tight to hold me together.
He leans forward, voice lower now, almost unsteady. “With you, I don’t want to hold back. And that terrifies me because I don’t know if you can handle what I feel when I stop trying to be careful.”
The words hit like a live wire, short-circuiting every defense I’ve built. I’ve spent weeks convincing myself what we had was a mistake, a moment of weakness—but this? This sounds like truth, like something solid I could fall into and never recover from. And God, that shakes me to my core.
The coffee shop noise fades to background static. “Forge—”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, Jordan. Nor am I asking you to move in or plan a future or make any promises you’re not ready to keep. I’m just asking you to give us a real chance.” His voice is low and achingly sincere. “A chance to actually get to know each other without the pressure of expectations or timelines.”
“How?” The word slips out before I can stop it.
“I have an idea,” he says, and now there’s definitely a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “But it’s going to sound crazy.”
Despite everything—the ambush, the emotional whiplash, the way my carefully constructed walls are already starting to crack—I find myself curious. “Crazy how?”
“Trust me?”
It’s such a simple question, but it feels loaded with implications. Trust him with what? My time? My heart? My tendency to overthink everything until it falls apart?
But looking at his face, at the careful hope in his eyes and the way he’s holding himself like he’s prepared for rejection, I realize that maybe trust isn’t about guarantees. Maybe it’s about being willing to take a chance on something that could be good, even if it might hurt.
“Tell me your crazy idea,” I hear myself saying.
His smile is like a sunrise—slow, warm, and completely transformative. “Let me prove this isn’t just physical chemistry.”
Chapter Thirteen
