Page 26 of Forged Flight

Micah’s arm brushes mine. “That sounds like a really heavy thing for a kid to deal with.”

I shrug. “The hardest part was trying to transition out of the orphanage when I aged out of the system. Technical jobs were never lining up to hire giants. We’re too clumsy. Too bulky. Too strong.” I glance down at my hands. “Apparently, those are useful traits when manual labor is required, but not when they need someone sitting behind a desk or working with delicate machinery.”

Micah doesn’t interrupt. He simply hums softly, letting me know he’s listening.

I clear my throat. “Physical labor was the only thing anyone expected us to be good at. Blacksmithing was one of the few trades where being absurdly large was considered an advantage instead of a flaw.”

Micah leans forward, his teacup forgotten in his lap. “But… do you actually enjoy it?”

The question catches me off guard. I hesitate, tracing the rim of my saucer, feeling the coarse calluses of my thumb against the ceramic.

“There are parts of it I enjoy. The creative parts.” I flex my fingers against my thigh, the heavy muscles of my forearm shifting beneath my tunic. “But I hate making weapons. There’s something about spending your days crafting tools meant for violence…” I shake my head. “It never sat right with me.”

Micah’s brow furrows, his gaze fixed on mine. “Then why keep doing it?”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Because nobody else is hiring half-giants. I’m too big for the human world and too small for the giants.” I glance down at my hands. “Being a blacksmith is what I’m good at. And it keeps a roof over my head.”

Micah’s expression falls, his gaze softening into something that feels dangerously like pity. “I’m sorry.”

I shift in the seat as the cushions creak, suddenly uncomfortable with the sympathy radiating from him. “Don’t be.”

He doesn’t let it go, though. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a gentle, steady hum. “I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t fit in, Lucan. Being different… it’s hard.”

I nod slowly, a heavy, quiet acknowledgement settling between us. “Aye,” I murmur, the word rough and low. “It is.”

Micah observes me for a beat, his slender fingers tracing the rim of his teacup. “I think we have a lot more in common than I thought.”

A slow smile curls on my lips. “It certainly seems that way.” I turn toward the window, watching the final golden sliver of dusk retreat behind the pines. “Makes me wonder why it took us so long to actually speak.”

His lips twitch. “You’re…” He draws a steadying breath, searching for the right word. “Intimidating,” he finally settles on.

I furrow my brow. “So I’ve been told.”

His hand reaches across the space between us, fingers brushing against my forearm. The gentle squeeze sends an electric jolt through my bones. I find myself staring at where our bodies join, seeing the way his fingers press firmly against my skin.

“You don’t frighten me, though. Actually…” He pauses, a sudden sheepishness clouding his expression. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage to speak to you for a long time.”

I blink. “You have?”

“Aye.” A mahogany blush tints his cheeks. “I’ve spent a lot of time admiring you from across the street.”

A low laugh rumbles in my chest. “I’ve noticed.”

His eyes go wide, and he immediately pulls his hand away. I feel the loss of contact instantly.

“You have?” he asks, sounding utterly mortified.

I give a small nod. “You aren’t exactly subtle, Doc.”

His blush creeps toward the tips of his ears. “You can hardly hold it against me,” he murmurs, looking up at me through his lashes. “You are an incredibly distracting man, Lucan.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“Watching you at the forge,” he continues, his voice dropping an octave. “All covered in soot and sweat, driving that massive hammer against the anvil…”

He lets the thought hang between us, unspoken.

The air in the quiet cottage suddenly turns thick, heavy with a heat that has nothing to do with the fireplace. I can feel the warmth radiating from him, his breath hitching in shallow, uneven intervals. My gaze drifts back to his slender fingers, and I wonder if they would feel just as gentle tracing the scars across my chest, or how his knuckles might feel pressed against my lips in the softest kiss.