Chapter 23
Carla
Glitter coated the function hall tables, the floor, and most definitely my hands. Children crowded around craft stations, their faces scrunched in concentration as they assembled ornaments from popsicle sticks, pine cones, and enough sparkly material to decorate ten Christmas trees.
“Carla, is this right?” A little girl with tightly braided hair and a bright red dress held up her creation, a lopsided star dripping with glue and silver glitter.
“It’s perfect, Latisha.” I knelt beside her, admiring the ornament. “Where will you hang it at home?”
“Right in the middle of our tree where everyone can see it.” She beamed, adding another generous sprinkle of glitter. “Mommy says homemade ornaments are the best kind.”
“Your mommy is very wise.”
The Christmas craft workshop had been Rosey’s idea, something to keep the children occupied while parents finished their holiday shopping.
I’d been recruited to help, despite having zero experience with children’s activities.
Yet here I was, surrounded by tiny humans wielding glue sticks and scissors, teaching them to make decorations I’d never made myself.
“Having fun?” Rosey appeared beside me, her apron covered in multi-colored splatters.
“I am.” I helped Latisha secure a ribbon to her star. “Though I’m fairly certain I’ll be finding glitter in my hair until Valentine’s Day.”
“It’s the worst part of craft supplies,” she said with a laugh. “Gets everywhere and never goes away.”
“Worth it though. I never did anything like this growing up.”
Rosey’s expression softened. “No Christmas crafts with your aunt and uncle?”
“They weren’t the type.” The understatement made me smile despite the memory. “Their idea of Christmas preparation was hiring a decorator to handle everything while they attended holiday parties.”
“That’s sad.” She handed me a stack of red construction paper. “Every child should have memories of making something special for Christmas.”
“I’m making them now. Better late than never, right?”
“Exactly right.”
Across the room, Max supervised a group of boys creating miniature sorhoxes from pine cones and pipe cleaners. His instructional style mirrored Rosey’s, patient but firm, encouraging creativity while maintaining order. He’d make an excellent teacher someday.
“These turned out adorable.” Allie came over to stand beside me, her hands stained with paint rather than glitter. “The pottery ornaments are drying nicely too.”
“Your husband’s quite the artist.” I nodded toward where Hail helped a young girl paint delicate patterns on a clay disk.
“I’m not sure who’s having more fun, the children or him.”
Allie had a quiet confidence I’d admired since meeting her.
She’d created a new life here after time on the run from dangerous people, finding safety and love with Hail.
Her art sold in Aunt Inla’s store, and they were talking about opening a gallery to feature not only her paintings but other items from orc crafters who’d recently come to the surface.
“How did you know that this was where you belonged, that Hail was your future?” I asked.
“Ah. You’re trying to decide.”
“The job offer is everything I’ve worked for. It’s a prestigious ranch, a wonderful position, and the salary’s excellent.”
“But?”
“It’s in California, not here.”
Allie studied me, her gaze thoughtful. “When I arrived in Lonesome Creek, I was terrified. I’d spent too long running, never staying anywhere long enough to make connections. Safety meant isolation. Then I met Hail. The mating mark appeared not long after that. I thought I was hallucinating.”
I touched my wrist.
“I had a choice. I could run again or risk everything for a chance at something I’d never allowed myself to imagine.” She gestured around the hall. “A home. A family. Belonging.”
“Were you afraid you’d regret giving up your independence?”
“Very much. I’d defined myself by my ability to survive alone. The idea of basing decisions on a relationship seemed foolish, even dangerous.”
“But you stayed.”
“I realized I had to choose love. I was expanding my life to include more possibilities, not fewer. The question isn’t whether you’re sacrificing your career for Becken. It’s whether what you’ve found here matters more than what you’ll be leaving behind.”
Her words settled into my chest, rearranging something fundamental. This wasn’t about choosing between career and love. It was about recognizing what truly mattered most.
“We all had to make that choice. Every human mate in this town.” Her smile turned wry. “You’re getting the accelerated version of the experience.”
Becken ducked through the front door, carrying a box of additional craft supplies, which he set down near Rosey before scanning the room. When his eyes found mine, everything else faded to background noise.
Even across the crowded hall, the connection between us hummed like a plucked string.
He looked different from earlier, still serious and focused, but with a softness around his eyes I hadn’t noticed before.
Children gravitated toward him, tugging at his sleeves to show him their creations.
He bent to examine each one with the same consideration he gave to sorhox training schedules or rodeo safety protocols.
“Carla?” Latisha pulled me back to the present. “Can you help me with this ribbon?”
“Of course.”
For the next hour, I moved between tables, assisting children, admiring creations, and occasionally catching Becken’s eye across the room. Each shared glance felt like a private conversation, heavy with everything we hadn’t said aloud.
“You’re good with them.” Grannie Lil appeared at my elbow, her cane tapping on the wooden floor. “You’ve got a natural way with younglings.”
“I’ve never really been around children before, but they’re fun.”
“You’d make a good mother, which is something to consider when you’re making your decisions.”
I stared at her. “How did you—”
“I may be old, but I’m not blind. I saw you take that phone call this morning. Saw your face afterward. And I’ve seen the way you look at Becken.” Her sharp eyes missed nothing. “You’re at a crossroads, girl.”
“I am.”
“Well, just remember, careers are important, but they don’t keep you warm at night or bring you soup when you’re sick.” With that bit of wisdom delivered, she moved on to speak with someone else.
The afternoon progressed in a blur of activity.
Parents arrived to collect children and admire their handiwork.
The craft stations were gradually packed away, and we started to prepare for the evening’s starlight ride and hot cocoa making contest. Everyone treated me like I’d always been here, and I wasn’t sure what to think of that.
“Carla, do you think we should hang the lanterns along the entire trail or just at the gathering point?” Tark asked, a clipboard in hand.
“The gathering point for sure, but maybe every fifty yards along the start of the trail too?” I suggested. “Enough to keep the sleighs together without spoiling the starlight effect.”
“Perfect.” He made a note. “That was what I was thinking. I’ll get my brothers to help set them up.”
“Let me know if you need more hands.”
“You’re already handling the sorhox decorations with Becken.”
The casual assumption that Becken and I were a unit, a team, made warmth bloom in my chest.
By late afternoon, the function hall had been transformed again, this time into the gathering point for the starlight ride.
We’d lit the fireplace on one end, and flames crackled behind the safety screen.
Tables held thermoses of hot chocolate and cider, along with bags of cookies and pastries people could take for the ride.
I found Becken at the sorhox pens, supervising the final preparations.
Dester and Thrakul stood patiently as children helped attach bells and ribbons to their harnesses.
Eight other sorhoxes waited nearby, already adorned with Christmas finery and hitched to sleighs, their dark green hides gleaming in the fading sunlight.
“Need any help?” I asked.
“Always.”
I walked over to a boy trying to secure a silver bell to Thrakul’s harness. The sorhox rumbled, clearly enjoying the attention. As the boy twisted the thin wire, I scratched behind the sorhox’s ear the way Becken had taught me, distracting the beast.
“They’re all so beautiful dressed up like this,” I told Becken, who’d followed me.
“Reminds me of celebrations in the orc kingdom. During the Deep Season, we’d decorate the sorhoxes with carved clay beads and leather strips painted with protection symbols. Sometimes, they’d carry messages.”
A small crowd of tourists gathered, listening to him speak.
“What kind of messages?” a woman asked, her phone raised to take pictures.
“Invitations to gatherings. News of births or matings. Trading opportunities or requests for skilled workers.”
“Do the decorations have special meanings?” Another tourist stepped closer.
Becken nodded. “Different patterns signify different clans. The placement of beads can indicate the urgency of the message. And certain symbols are for protection during winter journeys.”
“Like Christmas cards,” a child said.
“More or less.” Becken’s mouth quirked up on one corner. “Though our messages don’t have Santa or elves on them.”
Watching him interact with the tourists made my heart swell with pride. This grumpy orc who’d barely tolerated humans a few weeks ago was now an ambassador for his people, building bridges between our worlds.
As the sun sank toward the horizon, people began gathering for the starlight ride.
Beth and Ruugar arrived, Beth moving carefully, one hand supporting her lower back.
Hail and Allie joined them, followed by Tark and Gracie, Ostor and Rosey.
The entire community had turned out, along with dozens of visitors eager to experience this new Christmas Eve tradition.
“Ready?” Becken appeared at my side. “You’ll ride with me.”
Peeka stood nearby, hitched to a sleigh.
“I can’t wait.”