Page 1 of Protective Pucking Orc

Chapter One

Sofia

Tuesdays were the easiest days of my week.

Sunrise Café wasn’t the first place like this I’d worked over the years; I was good with people, and that translated into tips. I mean, sure, I could go work in a bank or something, but I couldn’t afford to be tied down, and Maggie, my boss, was flexible here.

Anyhow, I knew from experience that any place that was open only for breakfast and lunch would be loco on the weekend, and there’d be one day of the week where the morning shift would be a little bit lighter. Here in Bramblewood Bluff, Colorado, that day was Tuesday.

Which is why Rosa came to work with me on Tuesdays.

Luckily, she was a good kid, and as long as I remembered to pop over to the counter and give her attention as I whisked by with another order of French toast or scrambled eggs, she was happy. The other servers all doted on her, too, so that was hugely helpful.

Tuesdays—and Thursdays, the other day of the week she came into work with me in the morning—were totally doable. So much easier than the weekend shifts I had to work and bring her in.

“Here you go, Mija,” I said to her with a smile as I swung past her, plopping a half-glass of severely watered-down orange juice in front of her. “Thank you for being so good.”

Her round cheeks dimpled when she flashed me that innocent little smile, making my heart squeeze yet again. “I’m good, Mama.” Now that she was almost six, she’d outgrown the adorable childish lisp she’d once had, but now I had to admit she was more a girl than a baby. “Can I have some more pancakes?”

I dropped a kiss on top of her head. “Baby, this is why I feed you breakfast before we leave for work.” Even though we both knew well and good that the cooks would spoil her rotten once we arrived. “But I’ll see if George has a few extra sausage links I can slip you.”

“Okay, Mama.”

It was a little disappointing how easily she dismissed me and turned back to my phone, which she’d propped up in front of her on the counter. I frowned slightly, seeing her eyes glaze over just a bit.

Electronic babysitting; super common in her generation, but no less alarming.

I hid my sigh as I turned back to my remaining table, Mr. and Mrs. Degas. They needed some ketchup, and I was hurrying back with it when the door opened again—the tinkle of the Christmas bells Maggie hadn’t taken down yet made the announcement, even if the winter air whooshing inside hadn’t—and I felt myself relax.

He was here.

I didn’t even have to turn around to know it.

Sure enough, Dakvaar was making his way to his usual table. He’d been coming in here Monday through Friday for weeks at the same time, and I knew his orders by heart.

And since Tuesdays were my light days, I could chat with him a little more today.

Was that why I’d taken extra time with my makeup this morning? Why I’d worn my hair in a ponytail instead of a bun, because I liked the way he watched it sway?

It’s not like I was interested in him, but Dakvaar was my best customer, and it paid to make your best customers feel welcome, didn’t it? He never said much, but always sat in my section, always tipped thirty percent, and was as regular as the tides.

For a server, it didn’t get much better than that.

I grabbed down one of the huge mugs we normally used for hot chocolate, and poured it full of coffee. I grabbed a cream pitcher—he preferred it to the packaged stuff—and called out his order to George on the way past.

When I breezed up to Dakvaar’s table, he was watching me. “Good morning.” I smiled as I plopped his coffee and cream down in front of him.

He never smiled in return, but nodded in acknowledgement. “Good morning. Thank you.”

I tried not to watch his huge hands as they stirred the cream into the coffee, but failed. How could fingers that large, fingers that sometimes bore fierce claws, move so delicately? There were plenty of orcs in Bramblewood—this place was home to a franchise of the Orc Hockey League, which employed Dakvaar—and while some had come into the Sunrise Café in the months since Rosa and I had moved here, he was the only one I’d spent any time with.

And serving him his protein-filled breakfasts didn’t really count as spending time with him, did it?

Right, speaking of which… “George is already working on your breakfast skillet.”

Dakvaar blinked, and I thought maybe I read surprise in his dark eyes, each one bearing a tiny spark of green in the center. “You guessed my order?”

“Please.” I folded my arms and pretended to smirk. “You’re predictable, at least for breakfast. Mondays and Wednesdays you order a twelve-egg omelette, chef’s choice of fillings, and a pound of bacon on the side. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, when we’re less busy, you order the breakfast skillet—pulled pork on Tuesdays, brisket on Thursdays—and a double side of hashbrowns.”