8. Hail
Hail
A fter Dungar left with his kind offer hanging in the air, I found myself alone with Allie again. She stood by the door, looking like she might cry, and I had the strongest urge to wrap my arms around her and tell her everything would be alright.
Instead, I busied myself arranging clay tools and cutting mounds for the demonstration, giving her a moment to compose herself. Each time I saw the golden mark on my wrist, it reminded me that my mate was hurting, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Not yet.
“You know,” I finally said, not looking her way. “I find your honesty about being dishonest kind of charming.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “That’s probably the weirdest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”
“I’m g-g-good at weird compliments. It’s a gift.” I set down a pottery knife and turned to face her fully. “Most people would have kept lying, dug-dug…themselves deeper. You stopped and told the truth.”
“Even though it made me look awful?”
“Especially because it made you look awful.” When she raised an eyebrow, I tried to explain. “Perfect people are…intimidating. Hard to trust. But someone who admits they m-m-messed up? That’s someone I can work with.”
That got a real smile out of her. The sight of her relaxing made the tightness in my chest ease as well.
“So about the rodeo thing…”
“My cousin, Becken, has taken over all-all-all the rodeo planning,” I said, not wanting her to feel guilty about the lie.
“This frees me up to focus on pottery full-time, which is honestly a…relief. Organizational stuff isn’t my strength.
But if you really want to help with the rodeo, I could intro-intro-introduce you two. ”
She was already shaking her head before I finished talking. “No, I’d rather stay here and work in the pottery barn if you still want me.”
The relief that shot through me was probably embarrassing in its intensity. The mate bond hummed with satisfaction, recognizing that she wanted to stay close. “I do want you here.” My voice dropped off. “Very much.”
“Even though I lied about having rodeo experience?”
“Especially because you lied about having rodeo experience.” When she looked confused, I searched for the right words. “You’re not perfect, Allie. That somehow makes you more…more perfect.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense. It’s just true.
” I picked up a piece of clay and began kneading it, the familiar texture helping me think.
“Perfect people don’t need anyone. They’re complete on their own.
But people with flaws, people who make mistakes, need com-com-community.
They need someone to help them, to forgive them, to see past the imperfections to what’s under… neath.”
She studied my face like she was trying to figure out if I was serious. “You’re a strange man, Hail.”
“Orc,” I corrected automatically.
“Strange orc, then.”
We stood there smiling at each other, and I felt something shift between us. Some invisible barrier had come down when she’d admitted to lying, when I’d told her it didn’t matter. The air between us felt different now. One might even say it was charged with possibility.
“Can I ask you something?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Why did you feel you needed to impress us? My fam-family, I mean.”
She was quiet for so long I thought she might not answer. She walked over to one of the pottery wheels and traced the rim with her finger, not meeting my eyes.
When she finally spoke, her voice came out soft.
“Because you’re all so together. You’ve built this amazing thing here, and everyone has their place in it.
Your brothers have their businesses, their mates, their roles in the community.
Even Becken, who just arrived, already has something important to do.
” She looked up at me then. “I guess I wanted to have a place too.”
“You do have a place.”
“Do I? I’ve been here three days, Hail. I’m nobody special.”
If only she knew how special she was, how the universe itself had marked her as mine.
But I couldn’t tell her that. I might never be able to tell her that.
And while that gave me a bleak feeling, I accepted it.
I’d never believed I’d find love or a mate or have a family beyond my brothers.
I’d resigned myself to being an amazing uncle. I’d thought that would be enough.
But now that I’d met Allie, I found myself dreaming of someone to share my life with, someone to love.
I wasn’t sure I dared try to cling to that dream. I should push it aside, let it go, and focus on making a friend. If the fates had anything else in store for me, it would happen, right?
“You’re wrong about that,” I finally said.
“Am I? I have no family, no real skills, no permanent address. I’m basically a professional drifter.”
“That’s not how I see you.”
“How do you see me?”
I set down the clay and met her gaze. “I see s-s-someone who stepped into chaos yesterday and brought order. Someone who sees what people need and…provides it without being asked. A person who makes me feel less alone in a roo-roo-room full of people.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Hail?—”
“Trust takes time.”
“For you to trust me?”
“For you to trust me . Among orcs, trust-trust is built through shared hunts, battles fought side by side, nights sp-spent guarding each other’s sleep in the dangerous depths of our kingdom.
Here on the surface, it’s different. Slower, more c-c-complex.
” From what I’d seen, humans built trust through words and small gestures accumulated over time.
I was learning to navigate that difference, to be patient in a way my ancestors never had to be.
I moved close enough to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “You’re scared of something. Or someone. And until you feel s-s-safe enough to tell me what that is, we’re going to keep having conversations where one of us is-is holding back.”
She stared at me, and I could see the war playing out on her face. The desire to confide in someone battling with whatever fear kept her secrets locked away.
“You want me to trust you,” she said.
“I want you to feel s-safe enough to trust me. There’s a difference.”
“And if I never get there?”
The question carried so much pain that it was all I could do to breathe. “Then I’ll wait until you do.”
“What if it takes a long time?”
“I’m not go-go-going anywhere, Allie. This is my home, my life. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”
My simple honesty seemed to surprise her. She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then closed it again.
Before either of us could figure out what might come next, voices outside announced the arrival of our afternoon pottery group. Through the open barn doors, I could see tourists gathering, chatting about what they wanted to create.
“Showtime,” Allie said, and I was grateful for the interruption. Heavy conversations were never easy for me.
“Ready to help me not-not-not embarrass myself in front of strangers?” I asked.
“Always.”
We shifted into preparation mode, arranging the rest of our supplies while tourists filed into the barn. Fifteen people, a good-sized group, but manageable with both of us working together.
“Welcome to the pottery barn,” I said when the ones in the front paused, glancing around.
Having Allie beside me would make everything easier.
I was sure of it. “Please, ta-ta-take a place at a workstation. There…will be enough.” Once they’d settled, I continued.
“Today we’re going to work on basic bowl shapes, and my-my-my assistant Allie will help anyone who gets stuck. ”
The word assistant felt inadequate. Partner, maybe, or teammate. But assistant would do for now.
The next two hours flew by in a blur of clay and laughter.
I demonstrated the basic techniques in the front of the room while Allie moved through the crowd like she’d been teaching pottery for years.
She helped a little boy with his lopsided bowl, showing him how to reshape the side without taking over the project.
When an elderly woman couldn’t get her clay to work as it should, Allie patiently guided her through the process three times until it was smoothing nicely and taking shape under the woman’s touch.
I watched her all the time, admiring the way she interacted with people. She had a gift for making everyone feel capable, like their struggles were normal and easy to overcome. She even did that with me.
“You’re a natural teacher,” I told her during a break while tourists went to the bathroom in the back or ran to the bakery for a snack.
“I like helping people figure things out.” She finished drying her hands at the sink and turned. “There’s something satisfying about seeing people succeed at something they thought was impossible.”
“Is that what drew you to pottery, the satisfaction of s-success?”
She considered the question, watching a teenage girl adding a design to the outside of her small bowl.
This one had opted to stay and work rather than take a break.
“I think it’s more about creating something beautiful from an ordinary item.
Taking a lump of clay and turning it into something that matters. ”
The way she said it made me think she wasn’t just talking about pottery. Like maybe she was hoping to transform herself in the same way.
“What about you?” she asked. “Why pottery?”
“It’s the only thing I’ve ever been goo-good at. My brothers are confident and strong. They-they don’t have a problem speaking. Dungar can organize anything, Greel can manage people, Sel can charm anyone who walks into his bakery. I’m the quiet one who hi-hi-hides in the barn making pots.”
“Beautiful pots. Don’t talk down about your art. You’re not hiding, you’re creating. There’s a difference.”
The certainty in her voice caught me off guard. “Is there?”