Page 2 of Protective Pucking Orc

One of his dark brows had raised, and now he peered at me over the lip of his coffee mug, which seemed tiny cradled in his hand. “What does being less busy have to do with it?”

I shrugged. “Maybe you know the skillet takes longer to make when we’re slammed with people, so you only order it on days you know you can get it and get out the door by”—I glanced at the clock—”twenty to nine.” His usual time to leave.

This time I swear there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he inclined his head in agreement. “Right again, Sofia.”

Ignoring the gentle glow that filled my chest at the sound of my name from him, I told myself I was just preening because he’d told me I was right. “Fridays are your cheat day; you order a triple stack of French toast with your bacon.”

Even sitting in the booth, Dakvaar’s head was level with my shoulders, and now he watched me as he carefully placed the coffee beside his setting, aligning it with the spoon without looking. “Coach doesn’t push us as hard on Fridays, so I can carb up a little. I, uh…” Finally, he glanced down. “I have a sweet tooth.”

The way he confessed it, like it was a failing, made my smile bloom. He was adorable, wasn’t he? I knew he was a hockey player; the few games I’d seen on the local broadcast since the season started had confirmed he was in a defensive position, standing like a wall between the goalkeeper and the little black thingy the other males chased around the ice. I hadn’t been able to see his eyes on the broadcasts, but I imagined they were sharp enough to see everything, like they were in the mornings at the café.

Seeing a big hockey-playing orc practically blush as he admitted his sweet tooth made me lean down to tease, “Ah, so you save your real cheating for the weekends?”

His tongue brushed against one of his tusks in a move I couldn’t tell was a nervous habit or meant something. “Weekends are rest days,” he said.

I noticed he hadn’t denied he ate unhealthily on the weekends, which made me like him even more.

Hold on, chica. You’re not supposed to like him.

Well, of course I didn’t like like him. I wasn’t stupid—I couldn’t afford to like anyone in this little town, not if Rosa and I were going to have to run again soon. But Dakvaar was my best customer, and it made sense to make him feel welcome.

I told myself that’s why I was smiling as I bustled about, refilling coffee and making small talk with the table that settled in across from him. I almost believed it.

The breakfast skillet came up in the window, and I grabbed it, along with the bottle of barbecue sauce Dakvaar liked—hot sauce on omelettes, barbecue on the skillets—and hurried back to his table to drop it off. I noticed his gaze was directed down the end of the counter, but switched back to me as I approached.

“Thank you,” he murmured again, reaching for the skillet, not minding the heat of the plate. Our fingers brushed during the transfer, but since he didn’t seem to notice, I told myself I wasn’t noticing either.

Right.

At eight-twenty, knowing he had twenty minutes left before he’d be leaving and that he was more than halfway through his meal, I headed back over with the coffeepot. Dakvaar ate breakfast methodically, lifting his fork to his mouth and chewing with his gaze locked on the middle distance. I liked that he focused on just eating, unlike so many other solitary diners who stared at their phones.

Today, though, he was staring at the counter as he ate.

At Rosa.

A sliver of dread uncoiled in my stomach. “Ready for a refill?” I asked too brightly.

Dakvaar nodded, nudging his mug toward me with the back of his hand, his gaze not leaving my daughter. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Dios. My fingers tightened on the handle as I poured him more coffee. I hadn’t expected an orc to get personal—I’d had more than enough of personal, thank you very much. I couldn’t afford to get personal with⁠—

“It’s not like that.”

When I looked up, Dakvaar was watching me, with something like…pity? Understanding? Maybe he had guessed the direction of my thoughts, and was now concerned enough to try to assure me?

I exhaled and nodded just slightly.

He opened his mouth, then hesitated, his gaze darting to Rosa and back again, before saying, “The little girl who sits at the counter on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She’s yours, isn’t she?

And just like that, my panic was back. I pulled the coffee pitcher in front of me, my free hand rising to clutch it before remembering coffee hot, duh and pulling my fingers away with a hiss. Still, the shock didn’t detract from the way my stomach had knotted at any interest a stranger showed in my daughter.

“Why?” I managed to ask, my voice probably shaking as much as my hands. “Is she causing trouble?” I twisted to stare at Rosa’s back. “She sits out of the way—she didn’t say anything, did she?” My words had sped up in alarm. “The manager says she can come in with me if she doesn’t take up a booth, and since it’s usually quiet on Tuesdays, I didn’t think⁠—”

“Sofia.” Two of Dakvaar’s fingertips rested against my wrist, and the feel of him touching me shocked me into silence as much as his interruption. “She is causing no trouble.” Without moving his hand, he swung his gaze back to my daughter. “She just looks lonely.”

“Oh.” Breathe. Breathe, you idiot. Don’t pull away, you can’t afford to alienate your best customer. Right. That’s why I didn’t step away from his touch. “Um… Maybe?”

To my surprise, his lips twitched on one side, and he removed his touch from my wrist to tap one finger against his nose. “She is your kitling.”