“It was an accident, really.” I organized my cards by suit. “I discovered I had a talent for seeing systems, understanding how all the pieces fit together to create an experience.”
“Even without riding horses while you were in Wyoming?”
“Especially without riding. I could observe objectively, see what worked and what didn’t without personal bias.” I drew a card. “I was so busy with the desk work that there really wasn’t time for pleasure rides. I’m good with logistics. Making sure everything runs smoothly behind the scenes.”
“That’s why you’re here. Your reputation.”
“Ten years of building it, yes.” I hesitated before deciding to be honest. “This contract is my chance to prove I can succeed independently. If I can establish a successful orc rodeo program…”
“You’ll be able to expand into other areas of management.”
“Exactly.” I met his eyes. “I want to set up my own consulting business. No more answering to bosses who think they know better than me. No more having my ideas dismissed because I’m female.”
“What happens if it doesn’t work out?”
The question I’d been avoiding since arriving. “I go back to working for other people’s companies. Accept that independent consulting is a dream.”
“And give up on Christmas enthusiasm?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said this is about proving yourself, but I’ve watched you. Your excitement about the town’s decorations, the way you light up talking about holiday traditions.” He played a set of queens. “That’s not professional. That’s personal.”
He was right, and the realization made my throat close off. “I guess…maybe I hoped if I could build something here, I’d finally have a place where Christmas felt real. Where I belonged during the holidays instead of just watching other people’s celebrations.”
“You want to stay.”
“Iwantto want to stay.” The distinction felt important. “I’ve never stayed anywhere long enough to know if it was a perfect fit.”
“What would it take to convince you of that?”
“I don’t know. Feeling needed, I suppose. Actually needed, not temporarily useful.” I drew another card. “Knowing someone would miss me if I left.”
Becken’s gaze intensified. “Someone would.”
The words hung between us, loaded with danger. My heart slammed up into my throat as I tried to read his expression.
“The sorhoxes?” I asked, only half-joking.
“Among others.”
Evening was settling around the cabin, gray light fading to deeper shadows. We’d moved through an entire day without awkwardness, sharing stories and comfortable silences with equal ease. The storm continued outside, but inside felt warm and safe.
“I’ve never told anyone about the snow globe,” I said, settling back against the pillows, the cards put away for now. “About watching Christmas from doorways.”
“Why not?”
“Because it sounds pathetic. Poor little rich girl complaining about expensive presents and country club brunches.”
“It doesn’t sound that way to me.” Becken’s voice came out with what I read as anger on my behalf. “It sounds like a child who deserved love and got nothing instead.”
The simple validation made me slump against the pillows. For years, I’d minimized my childhood disappointments, told myself I’d been lucky compared to kids who had nothing. But Becken saw what I’d actually lost. Not material comfort, but connection, belonging, and the simple joy of being wanted.
“Thank you for listening. For understanding.” I looked up at him, this grumpy orc who’d somehow become the first person to truly see me. “For making me feel like my feelings matter.”
“They do.Youmatter.”
The certainty in his voice wrapped around me like the toastiest of blankets. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, but inside our small cabin, I felt safer than I had in years. Not just physically safe but emotionally protected. Like someone finally understood the parts of myself I’d kept hidden.
