The Orc's Gift

She carved flowers from his homeworld into wood. In his culture, that’s practically a marriage proposal.
Honey
I build instruments for retirees, hobbyists, and local musicians.

Not devastatingly attractive seven-foot orcs with broad shoulders, careful hands, and a deep voice that slides straight under my skin.

Kragen comes to my workshop looking for a custom dulcimer and somehow becomes part of my days instead. Coffee on the porch. Long conversations about music. Excuses to keep coming back long after I’ve delivered his instrument.

I tell myself he’s just a client, even when the best part of my day starts sounding a lot like his car coming up the drive.

So when I customize his instrument using sketches he once drew on the back of a napkin, I think I’m just being thoughtful.
I don’t know I’m accidentally courting an orc.

Kragen
I knew I was in trouble when Honey started seeing me clearly.

Not the performance. Not the musician everyone thinks they know. Me.

She listens when I speak. She notices things no one else does. And then she hands me an instrument etched with flowers from my homeworld because she remembered they mattered.

And now I have a problem.

Because humans treat gifts like objects. Orcs treat them like intentions.

In my culture, a gift made with this much care is a declaration. It demands an answer in kind. Equal intention. Equal devotion.

Now I’m caught between restraint and desire, trying not to overwhelm the woman who’s already become the center of every song in my head.

Some gifts carry obligations. Some come with an orc who’s been writing songs about you for weeks and is running out of reasons not to back you against the nearest wall.

Protective hero • Orc musician • Handmade gifts • Slow burn to scorching • Size difference • Mutual yearning • Explicit heat • Guaranteed HEA