Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Jordan
Thanksgiving morning, I wake to the scent of coffee and find Forge already in the kitchen, wearing an apron over his jeans (no shirt, because apparently he’s trying to kill me) and humming something that sounds like an orcish folk song.
“Morning,” he rumbles, not looking up from the dough he’s kneading. “Thought I’d make bread for the feast. Old family recipe.”
I pad over in his t-shirt and watch him work the dough with those massive hands, the same hands that adored every inch of my body last night. “You never mentioned that you bake.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet. We’ve got a lifetime for discoveries.” He glances up, and the casual certainty in his voice makes my breath catch. “But today? Today you meet my family.”
“Guess we’re skipping the easy levels and going straight to expert mode.”
“They’re going to love you.”
I lean against the counter, watching him shape the dough into a round loaf. The morning sun streams through his apartment window, catching in his dark hair and making his green skin seem to glow. This is my life now. Thanksgiving mornings with an orc who bakes bread and makes me feel like I belong.
“I’m thankful for you,” I tell him quietly.
He stills, that amber gaze finding mine with an intensity that steals my breath. “Say that again.”
“I’m thankful for my orc.”
His purr starts low in his chest, and he crosses to me in two strides, flour-dusted hands cupping my face. “Best Thanksgiving gift I’ve ever received.”
Hours later, I’m more nervous walking into Station 32 than I was for my bar exam.
At least then I knew what to expect. This feels like walking into a family reunion where I don’t know the family, carrying two store-bought pumpkin pies that I desperately hope don’t scream, “I’m a fraud who can’t cook.
” Although who am I kidding? Anyone who was at the speed-dating event already knows the truth.
I’m sure Forge’s contribution will be well received.
Somehow, he found the time to buy a lovely cornucopia at the Saturday market.
It’s filled with hallmarks of the season, including colorful ears of corn and a half dozen perfectly round loaves of golden brown bread filled with walnuts, raisens, and a blend of spices that make my mouth water.
He looks like a cross between a pagan god and a huggable cinnamon roll in his cozy sweater.
Before we enter the firehouse, I pull Forge close and rise on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I just want to tell you before the deluge of people and questions…” I pause as a wave of emotion washes over me, “I’m so glad I’m yours and you’re mine.”
He swallows hard, almost as though he caught the depth of my emotion and now feels it too.
The purr that rumbles through his chest is immediate and possessive.
He cups my face and kisses me deeply, right there in the parking lot.
When we break apart, his eyes are molten copper.
“Yep. Best Thanksgiving ever. The Goddess blessed me the day she brought you into my life.”
The apparatus bay has been transformed into something magical—and unmistakably Thanksgiving. Long tables covered in autumn-colored tablecloths fill the space between the fire engines, strings of warm lights casting everything in a golden glow.
Corn husks and miniature pumpkins serve as centerpieces, and someone has strung garlands of fall leaves along the ceiling beams. A hand-painted banner reading “GRATEFUL FOR FAMILY” hangs above the serving area.
The scent of dozens of different dishes mingles in the air—traditional turkey and stuffing mixing with what I can only assume are dishes from An’Wa, creating something entirely new and wonderful.
But it’s the sound that gets to me most. Laughter, conversation in multiple languages, and children shrieking with delight as they chase each other around the trucks. It sounds like belonging.
“You okay?” Forge asks softly, his hand warm and steady on the small of my back.
I look up at him, taking in the way his eyes shine with pride and happiness, and my anxiety settles slightly. “Just taking it all in. It’s beautiful.”
“Wait until you meet everyone. They’re going to love you.”
Before I can respond, a familiar voice booms across the space.
“Well, well! Forge finally brought his speed date back to the firehouse!” Kam appears at our side with a grin that suggests trouble, and I immediately remember him from the night of speed dating and the disastrous cooking contest. There’s something infectious about his energy, though, and I find myself smiling despite my apprehension.
“Good to see you again, Kam,” I say, extending my hand. “Thanks for having me.”
“We’re glad you’re here.”
There’s something about his expression that tells me I’m missing an inside joke, but Forge pointedly changes the subject. “The food smells incredible.”
“Wait until you try my grandmother’s recipe,” Kam says. “I’ve been perfecting it for years.”
Then he pauses, his nostrils flaring as he catches something only an orc could detect. His eyes widen with delight, and he takes a dramatic sniff of the air. “Oh, Ironwood,” he says, his voice carrying across the bay. “You didn’t mention you’d sealed the deal.”
My face flames as several nearby orcs turn to look, their expressions shifting from curious to knowing.
“Sealed what deal?” I ask, though I know exactly what he means.
“Your scents are completely mingled—you two reek of each other.” Kam’s grin is unrepentant. “And unless my nose is completely off, that’s soulbond I’m detecting. Congratulations, by the way. Welcome to the permanently claimed club.”
Forge’s hand tightens possessively on my waist, and I can feel the rumble of satisfaction in his chest. “Kam—”
“What? I’m being nice! Welcoming.” Kam’s eyes sparkle with mischief, but there’s genuine warmth underneath. “Besides, I'm sure half the orcs here already picked up on it the second you walked in. Might as well acknowledge the elephant—or should I say, the very happy orc—in the room.”
I catch Forge’s eye and see the question there: Are you okay with this? Instead of embarrassment, I feel a surge of pride. After everything we went through to get here, I’m not ashamed that everyone can tell we belong to each other.
For so long, I’d been the woman who kept her heart hidden behind professionalism and self-protection. But standing here, with his people looking on and Forge’s pride shining through me like sunlight, I feel something I never expected—peace.
“Thank you, Kam,” I say, lifting my chin slightly. “I’m pretty happy about it myself.”
The approval in Kam’s expression is immediate and genuine. “That’s the spirit. Come on, let me introduce you properly to everyone as Forge’s mate.”
Introductions follow in a whirlwind of names and faces. A few I met the night of speed dating, most are new to me. Thrall, quiet and thoughtful, with his mate Amelia, who advocates for Others’ rights.
Ryder is another firefighter who nods politely but seems more interested in observing than talking. I notice him helping set the tables with quiet efficiency, and when a small child drops her toy and starts to cry, he crouches to her level and whispers something that makes her giggle.
There’s something almost magnetic about his gentleness—the way he moves through the room like he’s trying not to take up too much space, despite being easily as tall as Forge.
“Ryder’s got that magic touch with anything that’s scared or hurt,” Kam mentions, following my gaze. “Kids, animals, it doesn’t matter. He volunteers at an animal sanctuary every weekend.”
“Animal sanctuary?” My interest is immediately piqued.
“Yeah, some place that takes in animals people have given up on. Ryder’s been going there for months, says it helps him think.” Kam grins. “Course, we all suspect he just likes having somewhere peaceful to hide from my terrible jokes.”
I file that information away, something about Ryder’s quiet competence and obvious kindness making me think he’s someone special waiting to be discovered.
Other firefighters and their partners, whose names I try desperately to remember, welcome me with varying degrees of enthusiasm but universal acceptance.
It strikes me again as we’re finding seats that this isn’t just Forge’s workplace—it’s his chosen family. The easy way they tease each other, look after each other’s children, and include partners and spouses in everything. It’s the kind of community I’ve been searching for without realizing it.
Chief Brokka stands at the head of the gathering, his commanding presence somehow softened by the domestic setting. He raises his hand to get attention, and the room gradually quiets.
“Before we eat,” he begins, his deep voice carrying easily across the space, “we honor an old tradition. One that connects us to An’Wa, to the families we lost, and to the family we’ve built here.”
He gestures to a small table near the serving area where a simple arrangement sits—a piece of rough-hewn wood, a bowl of water, and several small candles. Earth, water, and fire. The elements of home.
“We call this the Gratitude Naming,” Forge whispers to me. “Everyone names something they’re grateful for this year. It’s… intense sometimes.”
Brokka begins. “I’m grateful for new beginnings.” His hand finds Marissa’s, and the look they exchange speaks volumes. “For a mate who sees past differences to the person underneath. For a child on the way who will grow up knowing both worlds.”
Marissa goes next, her voice surprisingly steady. “I’m grateful for courage. For the strength to choose love over fear, and for a community that welcomed me even when it had every reason not to.”
One by one, voices rise around the room. Some speak in English, others in orcish or naga or languages I don’t recognize. But the emotion transcends the words.
Thrall’s voice is quiet but firm: “For second chances and females brave enough to demand I take them.”