Page 32 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

I’m already doing that to myself. Everyone in my life is allowed in on my terms. Family gets a three-day-pass, a couple of times a year.

Is he just some young, dumb guy who doesn’t know how to take things slow?

Am I just being stupid because I’d like to find out what it feels like to get swept off my feet? Well, figuratively, at least?

“You have man trouble?”

Mrs. Yerchenko is rubbing both dogs, who are panting in delight, their tails wagging lazily across the floor as they sit.

“Hm? No! I’m not seeing anyone.” The words feel heavy on my lips, a lie.

Instant mistake.

Mrs. Yerchenko hasn’t made it this far in life without knowing bullshit when she hears it. She glares now and folds her hands in her lap. Chip and Daisy look at me as if to say, “Well, you ruined that, Mom.”

“Uh-huh. Not seeing him. But wishing you were?”

“No. No, no. I’m happily single. I have my own house, a good job, no college loans, my parents and I are on speaking terms... My siblings, step-siblings, and I are on speaking terms when we feel like it. I don’t need a man.”

She leans forward, curly gray hair belying the bright, youthful mischief in her eyes. “Oh, honey. Life is too damn short to think like that.”

I laugh, but there’s a defensive edge to it. “I think I—”

“Climb off the high horse a little. No one said you shouldn’t have all that and more. You don’tneedanything else; anyone can see that within five minutes of meeting you.” She leans forward even farther, her flowered purple dress dipping dangerously low under her sagging neck to reveal wrinkled skin and glossy old scars. Even though I know she’s been widowed for many years, her wedding ring is still on her left hand, a tiny circle under an arthritic knuckle.

“Listen to people who’ve lived longer than you” was my mother’s version of “Because I said so, so there,” but there’s a lot of truth in it. I bite my lip and listen as Mrs. Yerchenko continues.

“But you canwantmore. You’re one of those young, brave types.”

“Don’t know about ‘brave.’”

“I do. You’re one of those young, brave types, and you made yourself a life just so. Got all you needed. Got everything just where you like it. And now...” she winks, “it’s time to get what youwant. You want a fella? Go get one.”

“I think it might be more a matter of him wantingme,” I say, and I can’t believe it. Those words have never been said, at least not by me, referring to myself.

Mrs. Yerchenko cackles and starts rubbing the dogs again, scratching the scruffs of their necks in unison. “All the better! Who is he? What’s he like?”

“Oh, you’ve met him. That big hockey player who was in here the last time you came? He’ll be here every other day for the foreseeable future.” My voice grumbles, but my insides stir.

Mrs. Yerchenko’s jaw drops. “That beautiful side of beef!?” she crows.

“Shhhh!” I clap my hands over my own mouth because I can’t reach hers.

“Oh, honey, I’m old, not dead! I’ve got eyes! Needs nursing, does he? Likes older women, does he?”

“Mrs. Yerchenko!” I manage to croak. I’m not sure whether I want to laugh or scream as she takes out a compact and dabs a little red lipstick on her lower lip and both cheeks.

“If you don’t want him, Ingrid, I’ll apply for the position.”

“Thanks, but I’m picky. Not justanyolder woman will do.”

I whirl around, and there’s King.

If he makes fun of Mrs. Yerchenko, I swear I’ll deck him, busted knee and seven-foot-tall or not.

“I left my phone in my raincoat,” he says. “I need to sign up for the PT app.”

“Couldn’t help but overhear?” Mrs. Yerchenko flutters her lashes without shame.