A massive, deliberate bite that removes nearly a quarter of the entire pie in one go, his tusks catching slightly on the burnt crust before he tears through it. I can hear the crunch of carbonized pastry from where I'm sitting.
I watch in absolute horror as he chews slowly, methodically, his strong jaw working through what has to be the most unpleasant texture ever created by human hands. His expression remains completely neutral, unreadable, giving away nothing. He could be eating sawdust and I wouldn't know the difference.
My stomach twists into knots.
He's going to be polite about it. He's going to pretend it's good because he loves me and he doesn't want to hurt my feelings and that somehow makes this so much worse.
"Lanek—"
He swallows.
Then he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose like he's savoring the finest cuisine he's ever encountered.
"This," he rumbles, his voice thick with something that sounds dangerously close to genuine emotion, "is the best thing I have ever tasted."
"You're lying."
"I have never lied to you." He opens his eyes, pinning me with that intense, unguarded stare. "You made this with your own hands. For me. You learned how to prepare meat because you wanted to speak my language. Do you understand what that means to an Orc?"
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.
"It means you see me as a worthy mate. It means you value my culture enough to honor it. It means you are willing to meet me halfway." He takes another enormous bite, demolishing half of what remains. "This terrible, burnt, structurally unsound meat pie is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me."
The tears start again, hot and fast, and I press both hands over my face.
"Stop making me cry."
"No." I hear him set down what's left of the pie, hear his heavy footsteps crossing back toward me. "You cried because you thought I was leaving. Now you cry because you know I am staying. These are good tears. I will allow them."
"You'll allow them?"
"Yes." His hands close around my wrists, gently pulling my hands away from my face. "Look at me, Quinn."
I look up, vision blurred, and watch in absolute shock as this massive, intimidating Orc lowers himself slowly to both knees right in his pristine butcher shop floor.
Even kneeling, he's almost at my eye level, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the room behind him.
"What are you doing?"
"I am groveling." He says it matter-of-factly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You asked me to stay. I will stay. But first, I will prove that I have learned. That I can be the partner you need."
"Lanek, you don't have to?—"
"I do." He reaches into the pocket of his work apron, pulling out a thick, official-looking document bound in leather. "I spent the last three days learning your human laws. Corporate real estate law. Tenant protection statutes. Historic preservation codes. I hired lawyers. Good ones. Expensive ones."
He sets the document in my lap, and I stare down at it, not quite processing what I'm seeing.
"What is this?"
"Open it."
My hands shake as I untie the leather cord binding it shut, spreading the heavy pages across my knees.
It's a legal injunction.
Pages and pages of dense legal text that I can barely parse through the tears still clinging to my lashes, but certain phrases jump out at me in sharp relief.
Permanent lease protection.
