Of course it’s Tavien, with his artfully tousled silver hair, his tailored sky-blue jacket that probably cost more than my roof, and that same easy swagger that once convinced me he was all charm instead of mostly self-satisfied hot air.
“Maddie,” he drawls, spreading his arms like he expects me to fly into them. “It’s been an age. Harvest Hollow’s still the quaint little treasure I remember. Though it’s grown positivelypicturesquelately—must be all the wedding talk.”
My stomach twists. I grip the edge of the counter so hard flour puffs up around my fingers. “Tavien. What are you doing here?”
He laughs, low and amused, stepping closer to brush an imaginary crumb from my shoulder. I resist the urge to flinch.
“Oh come now, sweet. I heard the talk at the northern market stalls—‘Maddie Quinn engaged to an orc woodcutter.’ Well, I had to see it for myself. Didn’t want to believe my bright little baker would settle for anything quite so… provincial.”
I bristle instantly. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. And you don’t get to waltz in here unannounced like nothing happened. You’ve had plenty of chances to act like I mattered to you. You didn’t take them.”
Tavien has the gall to look wounded, pressing a delicate hand to his chest. “I was traveling for business, Maddie. Expanding trade routes isn’t something you just ignore. I thought we understood each other. That you wanted—well, a bit of fun, a few dances, nothing quite so serious as a?—”
He cuts off when the door creaks behind us.
I turn and my heart jumps. Thornak’s standing there in the doorway, blocking half the sun with his broad, scowling bulk. His eyes flick from me to Tavien, taking in the space between us—small, but suddenly feeling far too close.
Tavien’s lip curls in a sly little smirk. “Ah. And there he is. The… fiancé.” He says it like it tastes sour. “My, you are a largespecimen. Tell me, do you fetch firewood and haul flour sacks on command? I suppose that’s handy in its own brute fashion.”
Thornak’s entire posture shifts, shoulders tightening, hands flexing at his sides. I catch the low rumble in his chest before he even opens his mouth. “Watch your mouth, elf. Or I’ll help you out the door faster than you can slick your hair back.”
Something dark and thrilled sparks in me. Stars, I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’t feel a delighted little flutter at the way Thornak squares off, how his jaw sets like he’s daring Tavien to so much as breathe wrong in my direction. But I do.
“Oh, protectiveandobedient,” Tavien coos, ignoring the warning entirely. “Quite the pet project. I suppose every girl eventually trades courtship for convenience.”
That does it. My vision goes hot at the edges. I step forward, planting a hand on Tavien’s chest and shoving—hard enough he staggers back a step, his smug expression slipping.
“Get out, Tavien. Go back to your polished city parties and your safe little flings. I’m not interested in being your occasional amusement, and I won’t stand here letting you talk down to someone who’s done more for me—and this town—than you ever bothered to.”
His mouth works, opening then closing like a trout, before he huffs an offended little laugh. “Very well. I hope your future is everything you imagine, darling. Though I suspect it’ll be rather less glittering than you dream.”
I cross my arms. “I’ll take warm and real over glitter any day. Now leave.”
He storms out, shoulders stiff, leaving a wake of awkward silence behind him. I press my hands to my cheeks—they’re burning—and let out a long, shaky breath.
That’s when I realize Thornak’s still standing there, fists clenched, looking like he’s wrestling a dozen different things he wants to say and none of them are coming out easy.
“Sorry you had to see that,” I say finally, voice wobbly. “He’s… old history. Bad history. Should’ve known better than to let him under my skin again.”
Thornak snorts, gaze dropping to the scuffed floorboards. “Weren’t him I was worried about.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
He shifts his weight, huge shoulders rolling like he can’t quite get comfortable in his own skin. “Mean… I’ve seen the way you look at lace patterns and fancy invitations, the way your eyes light up when that elf crap gets dragged out at market stalls. Didn’t know if maybe you’d look at him, all polished and perfumed, and decide that’s what you were missing. That you’d want pretty words more than a scarred-up brute who’s better at carving axes than spouting poetry.”
It hits me so hard my knees nearly give.
“Oh, Thornak,” I whisper, stepping right up into his space and taking his big, calloused hands in mine. “Is that really what you think? That I’d trade all this”—I gesture at the bakery, the orchard out the window, the world we’ve half-built together—“for someone who never gave me anything but empty promises and a headache?”
His eyes lift, dark and uncertain in a way that cracks my chest right open.
“I like your rough hands. I like your grumpy scowls. I like that you’d carve a thousand little foxes just so orphan kids wouldn’t cry at night. And yeah, Ilovethat you were ready to toss Tavien through the door without blinking. Because that means something real, something I’ve never once gotten from him.”
For a long moment he just breathes, heavy and slow, like he’s tasting every word. Then one big hand lifts to cup the side of my face, thumb brushing over my cheek so gentle it almost breaks me.
“Alright then,” he mutters, voice low and hoarse. “Long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I say, grinning even though my eyes are damp. “For the record, you could wear burlap and I’d still think you were the most dangerous thing to my heart in a three-county radius.”
