Page 83 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“I guess I should have said, ‘Why is he withyou?’ What’s prime rib doing with a day-old burger?” Uncle Luke laughs, wrings King’s hand, and then hugs me.

I swallow several times.

Does he not realize how that sounded?

Does King?

I think we both have our flaws, both have things that make us a catch—and we’re best when we’re together, building each other up.

King’s smile is cold. Vicious. I’ve seen some footage of his previous games in the past couple of weeks, sometimes stopping by practice when he’s there and they’re reviewing games and plays. That’s the same look King has before he bulldozes someone.

I hear the bones in Uncle Luke’s hand make a crunchy, popping sound, and he lets out a bark like a startled hyena.

“Oops. Sorry, Luke. I don’t know my own strength sometimes. And to answer your question, I don’t know what a gorgeous goddess like Ingrid wants with a ‘day-old burger’ like me. All I know is that I’m grateful she’s willing to let me love her.” King drops my uncle’s hand and squeezes his arm around my shoulders.

My mother smirks, and I feel a little spark of happiness shining through all the crappy family drama. I kiss Aunt Lillian on the cheek. “Want some apple cider?”

Ilove Ingrid’s mother. She’s no-nonsense, like Ingrid. She seems warm and interested in getting to know me, keeps trying to talk to me and get me involved in things—but she’s also in the throes of hostessing. I’m happy that Ingrid asked her to come up for a visit next weekend. I’m already envisioning the two of them having fun asthe town gears up for the winter holidays. Twinkly trees in the Night Market. Choral concerts. Hot cocoa at The Pine Loft Coffee Shop. Ingrid’s mother, giving me her blessing...

I don’t mind Jonathan, who just seems tired and content to let anything short of a house fire happen around him. Dillon is an ass. Janice is a micromanager. They both have very nice spouses who look like they desperately want to leave, and five kids between them who seem to be mesmerized by the idea of getting on each other’s nerves.

“How about a drink?” Dillon asks as the food is being brought to the table. Half the bottle goes into his glass, and he chugs it noisily. Jonathan sighs. “Dad, King. Wine?”

“Thanks.” I raise my glass so he can fill it, clutching Ingrid’s hand under the table as we wait.

“Is he old enough to drink?” Uncle Luke asks, already knee-deep in a very large flask.

“Cougar alert!” Dillon says, raising a glass in Ingrid’s general direction.

Don’t snap the stemware, don’t snap the stemware.

Ingrid’s mother bustles around, carrying casserole dishes with oven mitts. “Dillon, that’s plenty. You pour the rest of that—fine, open the other one on the sideboard. Lillian and I will finish getting the bird and stuffing on the table.”

“Why don’t we all say what we’re most thankful for?” Janice claps her hands and shines aBrady Bunchsmile on all of us. “Daddy, you start.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for everyone to sit?” Ingrid says, her tone pointed and just a little bit frosty. I massage her leg under the table.

My mate. So powerful. Calm. Queenly. A diplomat. I lean over and rest my cheek to her shining brown waves, inhaling her scent.

“I thought you two couldn’t wait to get off for a little ‘physical therapy.’” Dillon gives a tipsy laugh.

“I just thought we could start now. I still have to get to my mother’s house for another dinner, and you know I like to keep the kids on a schedule.” Janice covers her glass with her hand and puts one over her husband’s as well. “We have to drive two hours after this,” she explains and glares at Dillon.

“Hey, don’t look at me. Mom and Dad have been alternating holidays for twenty-five years, sis. I’m not the one with a bug up my—”

“Wow, what a beautiful turkey!” I shout, and the table falls silent.

Ingrid’s mother looks startled. “Oh. Thank you, King.” She puts the bird on the table and smiles proudly. “Twenty-two pounds and perfect, in my opinion. All right, shall we say grace?”

Dillon groans.

The seven-year-old screen addicts look confused. “We don’t say it at our house. Daddy says praying is for emergencies and speeding tickets only.”

Jonathan sighs. Uncle Luke laughs. Ingrid leans against me.

“I know what Ingrid’s thankful for. Finally getting some,” Dillon drains the rest of a second glass.

“Dillon!” his wife, Sarah, looks mortified.