Protective Pucking Orc (The Orc Hockey League #4)

Chapter 1

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. ”

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—”