Chapter Two
Willa is saying something about her cousin’s boyfriend who did a favor for someone once, which I think is meant to be helpful, but I’ve completely lost the thread.
All I can do is stare at the orc standing in the doorway of my pastel ice cream shop. He looks at me like I’m the most interesting thing he’s seen all his life while I’m holding my phone to my ear like a prop.
Damn, I look like a bad actor in a B-movie. I have to say something before he thinks there’s something seriously wrong with me and tells other people.
I clear my throat. “Willa, I’ll call you back.”
“What? Why? I was just saying that Marcus could probably help —”
“Sorry, I have a customer. I’ll call you back.”
I hang up before she can protest and slide my phone into my apron pocket. Then I do what I always do, which is smile at my customers. Smiling is what I’m good at and it also gives me a second to get myself together.
Which is failing.
“Hi there. Welcome to Daisy’s Scoop Shack.” I gesture at the display case. “Take your time to pick a flavor.”
But he doesn’t look at the display case.
He looks at me.
I swallow. I’m used to people looking at the ice cream display and the jars of sprinkles, because that’s why they come in here. I’m definitely not used to anyone staring at me. It’s not like I’m more interesting than ice cream, even though this orc seems to believe I am.
He steps inside properly, ducking on his way in, and lets the door swing shut behind him.
Daisy’s Scoop Shack suddenly feels tiny.
The orc is even bigger up close. The work boots, the worn jeans, and the gray t-shirt with what looks like plaster dust on one shoulder, all ring a bell. He must be one of the builders from the construction site that’s been causing noise all week.
“What can I get you?” I ask.
He glances at the display case for a split second before staring back at me. “What’s good?”
“Honestly? Everything. But if you want my personal recommendation, I’d go for the lavender and honey. I make it myself, and everyone says it’s the best thing on the menu.”
He nods. “I’ll take two scoops of that.”
“Good choice.” I reach for my scoop. “Cone or cup?”
“Cup.”
I build him a generous scoop. I’m aware the whole time that he’s watching me work with the same determined stare he’s been giving me since he walked in.
Most customers look at their phones while I scoop their ice cream.
This orc just stands there like he has nowhere else to be or nothing else to do except look at me.
I set the cup on the counter and smile at him. “All done.”
He doesn’t pick it up immediately. He looks at me for another moment and then he says, “You need a date for a wedding.”
My jaw drops.
“I couldn’t help but overhear everything,” he adds, looking only slightly apologetic.
“That was a private conversation,” I say.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He picks up his cup and tries the ice cream. “This is very good.”
“Thanks, but let’s not change the subject. You heard everything I was telling my friend?”
“Most of it.”
I consider being annoyed about this, but this man doesn’t look like someone who eavesdrops for fun.
“So, your ex. He told people he ended it, but you ended things with him? And it’s truly over?”
“Has been for two years. And yes, I was the one who ended it.”
He nods once, like my answer tells him everything he needs to know about Greg, which, honestly, it probably does. There’s not a lot of substance to Greg, which makes it all the more embarrassing that I ever fell for him in the first place.
“It’s settled then. I’ll go with you,” he says.
I blink. “Sorry?”
“To the wedding. You need someone there.”
My jaw drops, but I don’t know what to say to that.
“You don’t know me,” I finally say.
“No.”
“You walked in here two minutes ago.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re offering to come to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding?”
“Yes.” He tries another spoonful of ice cream. “It’s a real problem, and I can help with it. Why is that weird?”
I open my mouth and then close it again.
The rational part of my brain, the part that runs a business and does its own accounts and has never once accepted help from a stranger, is lining up several very sensible objections.
But the other part of my brain is looking at the size and greenness of him and thinking about Greg’s face when I show up with this orc.
“It’s a whole weekend. Rehearsal dinner on Friday and the wedding on Saturday.”
He shrugs. “Okay.”
“You’d have to pretend to be my boyfriend. Convincingly.”
Something flickers in his expression that I can’t quite place. “I can do that.”
This is unbelievable. He doesn’t even have to think this through?
“We’d need a story. How we met, how long we’ve been together. Nothing too complicated. Simple is harder to poke holes in.”
“Simple is good.”
“And I’d need to know your name.”
“Broven.”
He holds out his enormous hand across the counter.
I look at his hand, then reach across and shake it. His fingers wrap around mine, and I… well.
I’m suddenly heating up, and it’s not because of today’s tropical temperatures. No, this heat has a completely different cause.
“Daisy. I own this shop,” I say.
“I know.” He nods at the sign above the door. Daisy’s Scoop Shack.
Right. Smart.
“Are you one of the builders from the construction site down the street?”
“I’m a roofer. Yes.”
A giant orc working on roofs? How would that even work logistically?
“You’ve been making a lot of noise,” I tell him.
“Yes. Sorry about that. Building is a noisy job.”
He doesn’t look particularly sorry, though.
“Okay. We should meet properly. Talk through the details. Are you free tomorrow evening?” I ask, apparently agreeing to his insane proposition.
This is either the best idea I’ve ever had or the worst.
“Yes.”
“There’s a restaurant called The Anchor, about ten minutes from here. They have outdoor seating by the water.” I pull a notepad from under the counter and write down the address. I slide it across to him. “Seven o’clock?”
He picks it up and tucks it into his back pocket without looking at it. His face is still trained on mine like he’s going to miss something crucial if he dares to look away for a split second.
“I’ll be there,” he says.
He finishes his ice cream and sets the cup on the counter. At the door, he stops, the way Fangor did this morning, except the effect is entirely different because Broven fills the frame even more than Fangor did.
He looks back at me.
“Good ice cream,” he says.
Then he ducks out the door, and I’m left staring at the door.
Down the street, the drilling has finally stopped, but probably not for long.
I pick up my phone and call Willa back. She answers on the first ring.
“What happened? Why did you hang up?”
“I think I just got a date to Greg’s wedding,” I say.
“From where? And who?”
I look at the door. “The building crew down the street employs a hot roofer orc who just offered to be my fake date.”