Page 16 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“Maybe once or twice,” she admits.

“Well, that’s how I feel about you.”

The smile wavers. “Really?”

I nod. Slick, suave, champagne-fueled King would have something clever to say, but I just keep nodding and finally gasp, “Uh-huh.”

“Come on. I want a cannoli.”

“Oooh, cannoli.” I limp along with her. She tosses her hair over her shoulder when she looks back at me, a crooked half-smile on her face, cheeks suddenly as pink as her lips. For a second, I don’t even need the crutches, because I feel like I’m floating on air.

Chapter Seven: Ingrid

That presumptuous jerk kissed me.

I should be furious. Should have slapped his face.

But you know what? If I’m being stupid, it’s another lesson I get to learn.

For an hour, I can pretend that this hot young hockey player is into me, and that he’s worth a date or two. In reality, I know that he’s not what I’m looking for. He’s got family issues, baggage. He’s not a stable, steady career guy, and that’s what I want at this point in my life, right?

Someone who doesn’t mess with the peace and stability I’ve finally achieved after years of being uprooted all the time, of failing to fit in the molds I wanted to belong in.

But a little kiss and a little snack won’t change anything.

“My treat,” King says as soon as we sit at one of the tables in Tiramisu.

It’s an Italian-American cliche, and the owners, Ronnie and Joanne Argento, are proud of it. They come out and greet us like their long-lost cousins, tell us about their specials, and hurry over with bread right out of the oven (or straight from heaven, I can’t tell after the first whiff of it).

“You kids are here on a good day! It’s the second month-aversary of our grand opening!” Joanne beams and hands us menus. “No one thought this would fly, two retirees with no restaurant experience—well, I was a waitress, and Ronnie loves to cook—would make it past a month, but here we are! Our little hobby is thriving. Did you know there was no real Italian place around here for miles? And I’m not talking about the pizza place.”

“I noticed that,” I said politely, scanning the menu for cannoli.

“And you! Oh, my goodness, my daughter and Graham—that’s my son-in-law—they were at the game last night. You poor thing. Manicotti, on the house.”

King protests, “Oh, no, that’s—”

“No, no. He’s one of the Kanes,” Joanne drops her voice and leans over to lock eyes with King. “He’s one of your kind—well, you know. In the ‘community.’ We do for family.”

“Jo! Table seven!”

Joanne bustles off and leaves me staring at King with prickles running up and down my spine. “Kane? Graham Kane? He and his brother run the garden center, right?”

“Yep.” King stares at the menu much harder than he needs to.

“What’d she mean, one of your kind? Is there something I don't know about in this town?”

“Wh-what wouldn’t you know?” King snags a piece of bread and shoves it in his mouth.

“I don’t know.” I close my menu and look at him with my arms crossed over my chest. “You’ve lived here all of your life—off and on. I’ve been here just a few years. Maybe I’ve missed something?”

“Uh. Well. She means he’s Scottish. There’s a huge Scottish-American community in Pine Ridge. The Fenclans, the Kanes, Douglas Wickstaff, the Davidsons, Nigel Salvin—oh, I guess technically he’s a Geordie, but—”

I scoot my chair back. “I might be able to put up with arrogance—for a little bit. I might even forgive the fact that you snuck a kiss. I won’t put up with lying. Lying men are going to interrupt my peace.” I swallow hard and don’t let myself spiral, my inner thoughts always trying to ask the questions I don’t want answers to. Was Dad lying? Had he known Stacey before the divorce? Was Mom lying? “I don’t like liars, and believe me, themilitary and healthcare work make you super efficient at spotting bullshit.”

King grabs my hand.

“Stop.” There is flint in my voice.