The Orc Who Melted Me (Orcs of Cedar Lake #2)

Chapter One

The mint chocolate chip goes in first today.

I slide the heavy metal tub into its slot in the display counter, and the cold bites my fingers before I’ve even let go.

I wipe my hands on my apron and reach back into the storage freezer for the next one.

Dark chocolate. Then strawberry. Then vanilla.

Then the lavender and honey ice cream, which I make myself every summer and which is currently, without question, my favorite thing about July.

One by one, I fill the counter of my ice cream shop until there are twelve tubs. It’s so satisfying. Twelve colors lined up under the glass like a little edible rainbow.

I love this part of the morning. The half hour before we open, when it’s just me and the cold cases of ice cream, means a lot to me. I built this place and I’m really proud of it. Well, I didn’t actually lay any bricks, but I did decorate and paint everything.

Every pastel wall, every string of fairy lights above the counter, the hand-lettered menu board I repainted last spring, the little glass jars of sprinkles arranged by color on the shelf behind the register…

I did that, all by myself. Sometimes I just stand in my shop for a minute and grin because Daisy’s Scoop Shack brings me so much joy.

I wipe a smear of pink strawberry from the counter rim with a damp cloth and step back to look at the full display right before the clock on the wall clicks to eleven.

Everything looks great.

I grab the chalkboard sign from inside the door. It says ‘Daisy’s Scoop Shack, For All Your Ice Cream Needs!’ and has a hand-drawn ice cream cone next to it.

I drag it out onto the pavement. The wooden frame scrapes against the concrete as I angle it toward the main walkway.

Then, I straighten up and take a proper look at the beach by the lake.

Even though it’s barely eleven, families are already spreading out across the strip of sand at the water’s edge.

Parents are busy inflating bright plastic rings while their kids lose their minds with excitement at the water.

A group of teenagers have taken over the far end of the grass part of the beach.

The first sunbathers are already on their towels, slathered in sunscreen and doing their best to let every inch of skin catch some rays.

The air carries the smell of fresh lake water, pine trees, sunscreen, and the fried lake food from the stand two doors down, which I will never admit smells incredible at eleven in the morning.

It is going to be a very good Thursday.

I head back inside, tie my apron strings a little tighter, and start setting up with cups, lids, the little wooden spoons I order from a place online that stamps them with the shop logo, and napkin dispensers. I also top off the sprinkle jars until they almost overflow.

I’m reaching for the stack of waffle cone sleeves when the door opens. Fangor walks in and has to duck to get through it, as usual.

He’s one of the lifeguards here at Cedar Lake for the three summers I’ve been open.

Even though he looks fairly alarming on first impression, what with the tusks and the sheer amount of green muscle he’s carrying around, he is genuinely one of the nicest people I know. A big softy is what I call him.

Not that he’d ever describe himself that way. He has a certain image to maintain after all.

Once he’s through the door, he straightens up to his full height, which is considerable.

His green arms are crossed over his chest and his red lifeguard tee is doing a lot of work across his shoulders.

He looks up at the menu board the way he always does, like he’s really weighing his options, even though during all three summers I’ve been here, he has ordered the same thing time and time again.

“Morning, Fangor,” I say.

“Morning, Daisy.” He settles onto the stool at the end of the counter. It creaks in protest. “I really need ice cream before my shift.”

“Sounds serious.”

“It’s going to be ninety degrees by noon.” He spreads his enormous hands flat on the counter. “I’m going to spend the next six hours watching people nearly drown and getting sunburned in places I didn’t know anyone could get sunburned. I need sustenance.”

I’m already reaching for the scoop. “The usual?”

He glances at the menu board again and strokes his jaw like he’s genuinely considering getting something else. Then he says: “Yep. Rocky road. Two scoops.”

“Groundbreaking choice.”

He grins at me. “I’m a creature of habit.”

I build his cone with two generous scoops, because one, it’s Fangor, and two, he’s about to spend his day being a public servant.

He watches me work with his elbows on the counter.

“You’re going to be slammed today,” he says.

“I know. I’ve already made an extra batch of the mango sorbet the tourists love so much.”

“Smart.” He motions outside with his head. “You still getting noise from the builders? They were going at it early this morning. Heard them from three blocks away.”

I sigh. “All week. It echoes off the water terribly too.”

“Why are they even doing major work in the middle of summer? Who approved that?”

“The mayor.” I hand him his cone across the counter. “Trust me, I tried. I went to the town meeting in May to make the case for waiting until September. He was not interested in my feedback.”

Fangor takes a large bite of his ice cream. “The mayor has never had a business on the main walkway.”

“Exactly what I said. More or less.”

He pays, tucks the change back into his pocket, and gets up. At the door, he turns back.

“Make sure your ice cream doesn’t melt in these tropical temperatures today,” he says with a grin.

He ducks back through the door. I watch him walk down the path toward the lake’s lifeguard tower with his red tee bright in the sun until he turns the corner and disappears.

The first tourists arrive ten minutes later. Two families with small children who cannot decide what they want, which is standard. Then a couple of teenagers who photograph their cones before eating them. By the time they’ve posted them online, the first scoop has already melted.

A steady stream of customers keeps me busy until there’s a lull around twelve o’clock, and I remember I haven’t checked the mail yet.

I grab the small brass key from the hook behind the register. The mailbox is bolted to the exterior brick just beside the front window, small and slightly dented, and painted the same pastel pink as the shop front. I unlock the flap and reach inside.

A flyer for a hardware sale. A utilities bill I will deal with later. A postcard from a friend and a coupon for the local bakery.

And then, at the bottom of the stack, I spot an envelope that makes me stop in my tracks.

The paper is thick and it’s the kind of cream that means someone spent lots of money on stationery. My name is handwritten in the center in silver cursive, looping and careful, with each letter pressed deep into the surface. I swear it looks like a wedding invitation.

Huh.

I don’t recognize the handwriting and I don’t know anyone getting married.

Except…

My thumb is already under the seal before I’ve consciously decided to open it. I already know. I don’t know how I know, but there’s only one person who I know is engaged.

I pull the card out and hope that maybe I’m wrong.

Damn. I’m not wrong.

Greg’s name is printed in the center of the card next to a woman’s name. They’re getting married in a venue on the east side of the lake that I know is beautiful and expensive and the kind of place he always said he’d have his wedding someday, back when that sentence was supposed to involve me.

I hold my ex-boyfriend’s wedding invitation and I try to figure out why he would invite me. I mean… I ended things because I saw zero future for us. We’re complete opposites. I honestly don’t know what I even saw in him.

He was incredibly hurt and angry when I dumped him, so why would he want me at his wedding?

I head back inside, set the envelope on the counter, and pick up my phone.

Willa answers on the second ring.

“He invited me to his wedding,” I say, before she can get a word in.

“What? Whose wedding?”

“Greg.” I lean against the counter. “Greg is getting married. At the end of July! To a woman named Charlotte, who I’m sure is perfectly lovely, and he has sent me a formal invitation on what feels like extremely expensive paper.”

“Why would he —”

“Because he told everyone he was the one who ended things. Half the people at that wedding have heard his version of events for two years. And if I don’t show up, that’s the story that sticks forever.”

“So you really want to go.”

“I want to show up.” There’s a difference, and she knows it. “I’m not going for Greg. I couldn’t care less about him. But I’m not letting him have the last word by default just because I stayed home.”

“That’s actually fair.”

“I know. The problem is, I can’t show up alone. That would confirm everything he’s been saying. How miserable I’ve been without him and how I desperately want him back. I need someone there with me. I need to walk in looking like my life is going extremely well.”

“You’re right. You can’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you’re single.”

The door opens behind me, but I don’t turn around.

“But I am single. What am I going to do? It’s not like I can magically pluck a boyfriend out of thin air in the next couple of weeks and…”

I trail off. Something makes me forget what I was about to say, but I’m not sure what.

A shift in the air maybe? A scent? I don’t know. Whatever it is, it turns me around.

I look up. And then I keep looking up, because up is a long way.

The orc fills the doorway completely. His wide shoulders clear the frame on either side by almost nothing. He’s standing very still and is watching me with an expression I don’t even have a word for.

I give him a quick once-over. Green skin, dark hair, blue eyes, tusks that catch the light from the window. Work boots and worn jeans and a gray t-shirt that strains over his muscles and scarred arms.

He’s enormous and incongruous in my pastel ice cream shop and he is looking at me like he has been looking for something for a very long time and has just found it.

I didn’t know my ice cream could have this effect on someone.

My phone is still pressed to my ear. Willa is still talking, but I have no idea what she’s saying.