He cooked for her. In his culture, that's not just kindness. It's a claim.
Julia
I wait all day for my green, square-jawed, absurdly handsome neighbor to fill my doorway.
He's been feeding me through my recovery—healing broths, elaborate dishes, everything so delicious I've started begging him to teach me. I tell myself a woman can appreciate tusks and slabs of muscle without it meaning anything.
I have no idea every meal is a proposal—and I've been saying yes with every bite.
Rhazgar
I am the last keeper of my clan's culinary traditions—every recipe a thread to a world that exists only in my hands.
I never used my clan's traditions to pursue someone. Until the brilliant, book-loving woman next door started asking questions no one had ever bothered to ask.
I stand in her kitchen, too large for her space, too far gone for my own good, watching her go still with pleasure over a meal I made to claim her.
Eight years of cooking for everyone and belonging to no one. Turns out the only person worth cooking for was next door the whole time.
Some gifts can't be taken back. Some come with a seven-foot green orc who spent years carrying his grief... and has very specific plans for what comes after dinner.
Caretaking hero • Food as devotion • Cultural miscommunication • Forced proximity • Size difference • Slow burn to scorching • Explicit heat • Guaranteed HEA
