Page 23 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“Aye, and the bigger they are, the harder they fall, remember that wee bit of wisdom?” she snaps, her melodious voice sharpening. With a deep sigh, she relents. “You could always talk to Ian about working with him to maintain the hunts and grounds?”

“No. I mean, no, thank you.” Traditional Orc work. Nothing wrong with it—unless taking a job like that would make your father gloat and rub your face in it for years. Privately, of course, while bragging about you to everyone else. “Why couldn’t they have just named me John?” I whisper, eyeing up the apple crumble and the jug of thick yellow custard beside it.

“Funny how a little time away from the hustle and bustle makes you rethink everything, isn’t it?”

“No fair using witchy mind-reading,” I grumble, reaching for some of the buttery, sugary brown streusel-like topping on the apple crumble.

Farrah smacks my hand away. “Nothing of the kind. It’s when you see your life change that you really think about what kind of life you want. Why do you think Ian and I stayed here instead of going back and forth to Scotland, like so many of our clan?”

“Uhhh...”

“This is a town where a human and an Orc could thrive together, where children, one who looks like me, one who looks like Ian, could succeed. Find families of their own.” Farrah smiles. “The hockey is much better over here, isn’t it?”

“I’ll give you that. Fifty-one teams to nine...”

“Who is joining you for supper, love?”

“Kev and Marina, and Ingrid. She’s a receptionist at the physical therapy center.”

“Just met her, then?”

“Yesterday.” Seems like longer. Feels like longer. I mean, I guess it would, since she’s been in my thoughts all day.

“You like her?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

“You’ve been reading your Ultarn the Prolific?”

No, she’s not suddenly talking gibberish. Ultarn the Prolific is an old-timey Orc who wrote the literal manual on wooing and winning your bride, and then keeping your wife and the mother of your children satisfied and in love with you once you’ve gotten her.

I’ve never done more than glance at the copy my dad gave me when I turned seventeen. I have killer cheekbones and a hockey jersey to my name. Plus a huge... Well, I don’t need a book.

“Sure. Yep.”

“Liar.”

“They’re going to be here soon,” I hedge. “Thank you so much for bringing this. I owe you.”

“Hm. No owing, young man.” Farrah collects her bags and kisses my cheek.

It takes me by surprise. We aren’t “close.” The Fenclans and Silverbows are very different clans. For a second, it makes me wish my mother were here.

“Thanks for dinner.” I don’t know what else to say.

“Come over sometime. Bring your young lady.”

If I ever get one.

Turned down one today...

“If I ever get the right one,” I reply, mostly to myself.

Farrah looks at me. “Put the lemon balm ointment on your knee. It’s got healing in it, and the exchange is all mine and nature’s, so it’ll do no harm, only good. And if you really want that young lady to be the right one, find out what matters to her, and make it your goal to bring it to her. The best treasure is your whole heart—so find out what matters to you, too.”

“Hockey.” Instant answer.

I expect a retort, but Farrah nods vigorously. “Good! Hockey. And since you can’t play it right now, you’d best figure out how you can honor that part of your heart even while you’re off your skates.”