Page 65 of Thankful for My Orc
“Proud. Satisfied. Ready to take on the next family that needs fighting for.” She pauses, then adds quietly, “And grateful that now I have someone to share the victories with.”
The simple statement moves me deeply. This woman, who spent years celebrating alone, who thought professional success was the only kind that mattered, now understands that shared joy is infinitely sweeter than solitary achievement.
“Coffee’s ready,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And I may have gotten started on Christmas breakfast.”
“May have?”
“Pancake batter is in a bowl, bacon strips are in the pan waiting for someone to turn on the burner, and there’s fresh orange juice in the fridge.” I grin at her impressed expression. “I wanted this morning to be perfect.”
“It already is.” She goes up on her toes to kiss me, soft and sweet and full of promise. “But pancakes wouldn’t hurt.”
We make breakfast together, moving around each other in the kitchen with the easy choreography of people who’ve learned each other’s rhythms. She flips pancakes while I handle the bacon. It hits me that not so long ago, she wouldn’t even stand near the pan—back when everything between us still sizzled with uncertainty. Now she’s fearless. Now she’s home. Both of us steal bites and share coffee from the same mug. When she laughs at my terrible joke about syrup, the sound fills our kitchen like music.
“Time for presents?” she asks as we finish eating, fidgeting in her chair with excitement that makes her look ten years younger.
“Yes, it’s present time,” I agree.
We settle on the couch in front of the tree, Jordan curled against my side with her legs tucked under her. She hands me a small, wrapped box first, watching my face with nervous anticipation.
Inside is a watch—not expensive or flashy, but clearly chosen with care. The face is simple and clean, the band genuine leather, and engraved on the back are an odd set of numbers.
“Those are the coordinates of the restaurant where we hashed out the most serious of our differences,” she explains softly. “That night means a lot to me, and I hope it does to you, too.”
The thoughtfulness of it, the way she’s taken something meaningful from our relationship and made it permanent, makes my throat tight. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head before slipping free and retrieving the jewelry box from its hiding place, my hands suddenly unsteady. Over a year together, and she still makes my pulse spike at times like this.
“I made this for you,” I say, settling the box in her hands. “It’s not much, but—”
“You made this?” She runs her fingers over the smooth cherry wood, tracing the intricate carved pattern on the lid. “Forge, it’s beautiful.”
“Open it.”
The tiny mechanism activates as the lid lifts, filling our living room with the gentle melody of the orc lullaby. Jordan’s eyes go wide, then bright with unshed tears.
“It plays music,” she whispers, like I’ve performed actual magic.
“An old song my grandfather taught me. About finding your other half.” I watch her explore the hidden compartments, her face lighting up as she discovers each secret space. “I thought… I thought you might like having somewhere special to keep the things that matter.”
“The things that matter,” she repeats softly, then looks at me with an expression so full of love it takes my breath away. “Like this.”
She removes her necklace—a simple chain with the small pendant I gave her last Christmas—and places it carefully in the main compartment. Then she closes the lid, and the music plays again.
“I love it,” she says simply. “I love you. I love this life we’re building, one handmade piece at a time.”
The metaphor resonates perfectly—we have been building this relationship like I build furniture, carefully selecting each piece, testing the joints, making sure everything fits before moving to the next step. Patient craftsmanship instead of rushed construction.
“Speaking of building,” I say, pulling her closer. “I have something else to tell you.”
“More gifts?”
“More like an opportunity. The department has asked me to participate in an integration pilot program.” I pause, stroking her hair. “I’d be assigned to Station 23 across town—working with a human crew to test cross-cultural cooperation outside the Zone.”
“Why?” Her confusion is genuine. “You love your crew here.”
“Because it could open doors for other orcs. Because representation matters, and someone has to be first.”I tip her chin up so I can see her face. “But I haven’t agreed to it because I don’t make major life decisions without my partner.”
The smile that spreads across her face is radiant. “I think you should do it. You’d be an incredible ambassador.”
