“Five more minutes,” he said, bending to nuzzle my neck. “I’m still not used to having you all to myself in our new office.”
“Our perfectly symmetrical, expertly designed office,” I teased, running my fingers through his dark hair. “With matching file cabinets and complementary desk accessories.”
“You’re mocking me.” But his smile against my skin told me he took no offense.
“Never.” I drew back, meeting his eyes. “I adore how thoroughly you’ve made space for me in your life.”
His expression softened. “Youaremy life, Riley.”
Months into our marriage, and he still had the power to make my heart stumble with just a few words.
“Come on,” I said, reluctantly pulling away. “We have a celebration to attend.”
The function hallglowed with golden light as we approached, the setting sun casting long shadows across Main Street. Inside, the space had been transformed. Paper lanterns strung from the rafters. Ribbons in spring greens and yellows adorned the walls, andwildflowers gathered from the surrounding meadows spilled from vases on every table.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, taking in the scene. Record tourism had brought prosperity to Lonesome Creek, and tonight’s dance celebrated our success.
Dungar’s hand rested at the small of my back as we moved toward the buffet table lining one wall. The scents of traditional orc foods mingled with familiar human dishes created a mouth-watering combination. Cragroot fritters, still sizzling from the fryer, sat beside platters of fried chicken. Bowls of dartling berry compote waited to be spooned over vanilla ice cream, and Sel’s famous cinnamon rolls formed perfect spirals on tiered platters.
“Riley, Dungar!” Aunt Inla bustled over, looking fantastic in a prairie dress of spring green with a matching bonnet. “So glad you’ve both arrived.”
“The hall looks amazing,” I said, giving her a hug. “You’ve done an amazing job.”
She’d organized most of the event—with Lavon’s help.
“Lavon did most of the decorating.” Her cheeks darkened as she glanced toward the buffet table where Lavon stood, directing his staff. “He understands colors so well.”
“And you also,” Dungar said with a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Hush, you.” But Aunt Inla’s tusk-filled smile showed her pleasure. “Go visit. The music starts soon.”
At the far end of the hall, a group of orcs I didn’trecognize were setting up instruments on a small stage. They wore traditional clothing, embroidered with luminescent thread that caught the light, and were new arrivals from the orc kingdom.
“The Stone Echoes,” Dungar said. “They’re the first orc band to tour the surface world. The king arranged for them to perform tonight as part of their cultural exchange program.”
I watched as they tuned their instruments, some familiar, others unlike anything I’d seen before. One female orc adjusted what looked like a cross between a violin and a harp, while another tested the resonance of a hollow wooden drum.
“It’s hard to believe how much has changed,” I said, accepting a glass of dartling berry punch from a passing server. “Not long ago, I was still looking over my shoulder, expecting danger around every corner.”
“And now?” Dungar’s arm slipped around my waist, drawing me against his side.
I surveyed the room, taking in the faces of people I now called family and friends. “Now I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
Tark stepped onto the stage in front of the band, his voice ringing over the crowd as he recited a poem he’d written specifically for the occasion, something describing spring renewal and community bonds that managed to be both earnest and surprisingly moving.
When he finished, the band started playing.
“Shall we?” Dungar held out his hand, his dark eyes warm.
I placed my hand in his much larger one. “Lead the way, Sheriff.”
We joined the other couples forming squares on the dance floor. Gracie stood across from us, laughing as Tark whispered something in her ear. She caught my eye and winked.
“His poetry book is selling like crazy,” she said as we linked arms for the first move. “I’m not surprised that orcs with feelings would be such a hit with the human literary world.”
“Everyone loves a sensitive warrior,” I said, spinning under Dungar’s arm as the caller directed.
“Promenade your partner,” they sang out, and we moved in a circle, arms linked with the other couples in our square.
