Page 12 of My Orc Package Deal

“I just… I’m going to head to bed. Long day. Wanted to check if you needed anything from me first?” The question came out more formal than I intended, like a hotel concierge, and a full pitch higher than usual.

He stood, and the room suddenly felt smaller. “I was going to ask you the same thing. This is your home now too, Kesha. Please, take whatever you need. Food, space, quiet… it’s yours.”

There it was again, that staggering generosity that left me feeling unbalanced. “That’s the thing,” I blurted out, the words tripping over my fatigue, my panic making them swirl as my gesture tried to encompass everything. “You keep giving. The room, the school, the healthcare, this whole… life.” My wide-eyed gaze was locked on his chest, as if I couldn’t meet his eyes. “And I just show up with a car full of mismatched towels and a kid who asks a million questions. I’m not…”

My words slowed as my burst of energy petered out, and I snuck a quick glance up at his impassive expression, then turned away. Taking a deep breath, I finished my plaintive worry to what looked like a bass guitar, which—understandably, it being made of wood and lacquer, didn’t judge me.

“I just don’t know how to give back in equal measure,” I whispered. “It feels one-sided.”

He took a step closer, then stopped, as if remembering an invisible line between us. “Marriage is not a transaction, Kesha,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “You gave me a son who makes my son happier than I’ve ever seen him. You’re giving him a brother. That’s…” He shook his head, searching for the word. “Priceless. So stop keeping score. Just…be here.”

Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, stupid and sudden. I blinked them away fiercely. “Okay,” I whispered to the stringed instrument. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Get some sleep, Kesha.”

I nodded, already backing into the hallway. “You too. Goodnight, Korrad.”

“Goodnight.”

I fled to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind me. The house was quiet, but the echo of those guitar chords seemed to have woven themselves into the silence, a gentle undercurrent beneath the unfamiliar creaks and sighs of the new building.

I changed into an old t-shirt, my mind too tired to properly spiral into anxiety. The image of him, head bent over the guitar in that pool of lamplight, played on a loop behind my eyelids.

He wasn’t keeping score.

The thought was a lifeline.

Just be here.

I crawled into the lower bunk, the sheets cool and unfamiliar. Exhaustion, deep and bone-heavy, washed over me immediately, muting the stress, the strangeness, the sheer newness of everything.

I was married.

To a male who gave without reservation, and who would keep us safe.

The last coherent thought I had was a snippet of that wandering melody, a quiet comfort in the dark. Then I was gone, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep as if someone had finally switched off the world.

That weekend was less awkward than you might have thought, considering my freak-out, and I gave all credit to Jocelyn. I’m not sure where she’d disappeared to during the wedding—although I did notice her blush whenever Brakkor’s name came up, and I promised myself I’d ask about that just as soon as I got over my own drama—but that weekend she showed up to help us settle in.

Korrad and Jay took all of us on a tour of the island, and it was easier with her there…like I could pretend we were just all friends visiting together and not my new husband trying to make me comfortable in my new home.

Saturday night I made pizza for dinner, and seeing Jay’s eyes light up at my homemade crust made me smile. Milo came into the kitchen, pulling Korrad by the hand. “Come on, Mr. Korrad! You gotta try my mom’s pizza, it’s the best!”

To hide my embarrassment, I scolded, “Have to, Milo, not gotta.”

Korrad was grinning when he met my eyes, and I had the thought he was laughing at my peculiarities. Still, seeing him helping himself to his eighth slice of pizza—thank goodness I’d remembered to take into account orcish metabolism when I made a double batch of dough!—made me feel warm all over.

He’d said we weren’t keeping score, but…I still needed to feel like I was contributing.

Which is why I sat down Monday evening and made a shopping list, and when he came home, went over it with him. Honestly, he looked a little shocked.

“Kesha, you don’t have to do all this. I know you have your own work⁠—”

“I thought maybe we could split cooking responsibilities?”

His slow grin made me feel warm inside.

That weekend bled into the next, and the next, and suddenly, weeks had evaporated in a haze of unpacking, grocery lists, and the familiar, frantic rhythm of my freelance work.