Rok’nhar

"Geraldo's makes…"I sigh, draining my lemonade noisily before setting my empty cup down on the counter and mumbling the rest, "the best damn pie in Galtree."

"And?" Orlagh arches a brow at me, a long string of cheese stretching between her and her slice. She twirls it around her pointed tongue, reeling it back in, and then I gotta shift around on top of this squeaky damn stool, remembering how that tongue of hers gave me the same treatment earlier, pulling away from the tip of my prick with a long string of something else entirely.

"Oh, come on, now. That ain't fair. How am I supposed to remember to pretend this ain't a double date when Brix Haf get here with you distracting me like that? Not to mention making all these demands…"

"Demands?! You promised!"

"I already said this was the best damn pizza in the city! Ain't that enough?!"

"Nope," she says, taking another big bite of her slice and looking entirely too pleased with herself. Mischief dances like a devil in her eyes as she swivels around to face me, knee grazing my thigh as she crosses those silky golden legs of hers. "Not nearly enough, Rok. That wasn't the deal, and I want to hear you say it. Loudly."

"Are you—really? Really? What next? You gonna ask me to get down on one knee while I'm doing it?"

"You know what? That's a great idea," she laughs, setting down her slice and taking a drink of her lemonade. "Might be the best idea you've ever had. Even better than starting on this pizza while we wait for our atrociously late friends to arrive."

Tonight's the first proper night out we've had since starting to mesh our lives together in earnest, sorting through everything that went down last week. It's our first real chance to just be… normal; get out on the town, go on a double date. Well, a double date that we can't call a double date, seeing as Brix Haf are dead set on playing a game of everybody-pretend-we-ain't-fucking and Orlagh says we gotta play along. I let my little sunbeam pick the spot, though I already knew where she'd be having us all meet before she even said a damn word—and now she won't let me hear the end of it.

Orlagh's indigo nails tap out her impatience on the well-worn countertop, grumbling under her breath about stalling as I get up and stretch, twisting side to side. Should have kept my damn mouth shut, but the longer I stretch—because gods help me but I sure as fuck am stalling—the more emphatically she waves me on, violet eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

I oblige with a sigh, making a show of wiping my mouth with one of the tacky white and red checkered napkins with Geraldo's Pizzeria printed across it in bold black letters before clearing my throat.

"Attention, fellow, uh, pizza patrons," I say, loudly, before dropping down on one knee right in the middle of the damn restaurant, just like she wanted. Several folk turn and look at us with delighted gasps, and even though my eyes are still locked with hers, I can feel my face start to heat. "This how you pictured it, sunshine?"

"It's better than in my wildest pizza dreams, Rok. Now let's hear it, nice and loud. Geraldo's makes the best pizza in Galtree, and…?"

"Geraldo's makes the best pizza in Galtree and Orlagh was ri—oh, hells," I bump into the stool behind me, wincing as the metal hits the black and white checkered tiles with a loud clang, drawing even more attention to us. Orlagh is clutching that itty bitty waist of hers because she's laughing so damn hard, happier than a clam as I turn and fumble with the stool, but when I turn back to face her, the laughter stops.

Might have something to do with the tiny velvet box I've got in my hand, the one I've had within arms reach since that stuck-up sister of hers pressed it into my hand last week, not knowing when it was gonna be right but knowing it was gonna be soon.

"Rok," she breathes, uncrossing her legs and scooting to the edge of her oversized stool. There are about thirty or so other folk packed into Geraldo's right now, because she was right—they've got the best damn pizza in the city. Better than my treasured Pie Cart, that's for sure, and it's a Friday night, after all. She's going red as a summer strawberry as she takes in the full effect of all these eyes on us in this space, then settles her gaze back on me. "Are you really about to pr?—"

"You were right. Geraldo's makes a damn good pie, the best," I say softly, a smile curling around my tusks, "and once you've had the best, nothing else will do. You may already be my mate, sunshine, but… I want you as my bride."

My hands shake as I open up the red velvet box, seeing as I'm nervous as all hells, but the way her eyes light up when she sees what's inside makes all those worries melt away.

"Orlagh Skylark, will you marry me?"

"That's… that's my great grandmother's sunstone," she breathes, nimble fingers plucking the ring from its box as she stares down at it in wonder. "How…?"

"You gonna ask me questions," I laugh, closing the box and moving a little closer, taking up her hands, "or answer mine?"

"Yes," she breathes, hand shaking as I carefully—so, so fucking carefully—take that teeny tiny little ring and slide it onto her finger, heart hammering in my chest. "Yes, Rok. I'll marry you."

Customers get on their feet and cheer as Orlagh throws herself against me, pressing her lips to mine in a slow, sweet kiss. When she pulls back, beaming up at me, I realize… she ain't glowing no more, not exactly.

That ring around her finger sure is, though.

"Sun above," she whispers, looking down at the ring and then back up at me. "It's just like the stones in those old stories…"

We share a look, because now that's one more thing to add to our ever-growing to-do list. This past week has been a whirlwind of particulars and logistics, not to mention train rides all over town and stacks upon stacks of fucking paperwork as we got shit done. Registering ourselves as mates with the city, hiring a reputable personal cyber security manager to lock down all the shit Orlagh and I got going on, vetting lawyers, licensing Gandalf, buying all kinds of treats and towers and fluffy little kitty beds after making her adoption official.

"What a night!" Geraldo says, waddling over to us with a big smile on his ancient face. He's an ornery old dwarf with a beard so damn long it's been braided and wrapped around his head three times, but he's got a soft spot for Orlagh. Greeted her like family when we first showed up, shooing away a group of werebears crowded around her favorite spot at the counter. And he's congratulating her like family now, tugging on the hem of her skirt till she bends to his level, giving her a kiss on each cheek with tears shining in his milky eyes.

"You next, Romeo," he sniffles as he kicks my shin, motioning me down so he can give me the same treatment.

"Sorry I'm late," Brix says, throwing casual glances about the place as she saunters slowly on over to us, not looking anywhere near as nonchalant as she's trying to. She's clearly got her eye out for Haf, and why the fuck those two can't just figure their shit out is beyond me, but I smile at Brix in greeting all the same. "This place is off the rails tonight. Someone havin' a party?"

Orlagh buries her face in my chest and then sticks out her hand toward her friend. Brix squeals, pulling Orlagh out of my arms and into a big old hug right as Haf walks through the door, clearly trying to make some kind of grand entrance, looking a little disappointed that Brix was too occupied to care. I get to my feet, giving him a nod as he walks over.

"Well, when is it?" Geraldo demands, his gnarled little hands on his aproned hips.

Orlagh looks at me in question, sunbeams in the smile she's biting back. "Summer?"

"Solstice." I say, because when else could it possibly be? I gotta see the elf of my dreams standing at that stone as the sun sets behind us, flowers in her hair and grass beneath her tiny little feet, gotta convince her to have it?—

"In Brok'hal," she breathes, reading my damn mind. No room for compromise in her soft, sure tone, neither. "We'll stand at the stone. Right? I actually have no idea what the ceremony entails."

"Fairly simple, really," I say. "An old stone, some old words, and… a couple of old friends to bind us."

Haf plops down heavily atop my vacated stool, grabbing up two slices of pie and pressing them together like a sandwich. "Solstice, huh? I can swing it."

"Damn right you can," I lean across the counter, smiling at Orlagh and Brix with their heads together, whispering animatedly. Taking up my sixth slice of this heavenly fucking pizza, I eyeball Haf pointedly, voice low. "But you think you two can figure out whatever fucking game y'all are playing before then?"

"Oh, I know the game, and it's one I ain't gonna lose," Haf snorts, dark eyes on Brix. "She just keeps changing the damn rules, is all."

"Confused again, Muscles?" Brix's voice is sharp and sweet, slicing right through our conversation. "Poor thing, think you'd be used to it by now."

Orlagh shoots me a knowing look and we both take a step back, sitting ourselves down at an unoccupied table to wait out the storm brewing at the counter.

Those two'll figure out they're crazy about each other sooner or later, and as long as it ain't on our damn wedding day then that's quite alright with me. And until that day, until the sun's setting on us and that mossy old stone?

Well, I'm just gonna sit back, relax, and soak up a little sunshine of my own.