Page 21 of How To Woo A Warrior Orc

“Do you want wine?” she asks.

“Tea for me, please. Early day tomorrow,” I tell her.

“Of course. And you?” she asks Ga’Rek, beaming at him with genuine kindness.

“I’ll have whatever you think will be best with the feast you just described.” His tusks glint in the lantern light.

“Oh, yes, I like a male that lets the chef decide,” she tells him, then winks at me.

I laugh, and she scurries off to help another customer, her black curls bouncing as she goes.

“She’s very kind,” Ga’Rek says amiably.

Malia’s daughter, no older than seven or eight, swings by, gingerly placing an earthenware pitcher of water on the table, along with several thick pillar candles.

She stares at Ga’Rek for a long moment, a serious crinkle in her forehead. “I’ve never seen an orc in real life,” she tells him soberly.

He grins at her, and she tilts her head, considering him.

“Well, what do you think? Am I as scary as all the stories?”

“No-ope.” She pops the last syllable. “You’re too pretty to be scary.”

With that, she skips off.

I bite my cheeks to keep from laughing, though I can hardly disagree with the child. A simple spell lights the candles, and I watch the flames flicker for a brief moment before looking back at Ga’Rek.

He looks slightly shell-shocked, and a moment later, another older child runs out to deliver the tray of fruit.

I bite my cheeks to keep from talking until she’s out of earshot.

“I take it no one has ever told you you’re too pretty to be scary?” I ask, doing my very best not to burst into a fresh round of laughter.

His huge green hand rubs his jawline, only succeeding in drawing attention to all that handsomeness.

“Most of the Unseelie treated me little better than their demon dog pets. Children didn’t look twice at me in the Underhill. Can’t say anyone there ever called me that.”

“Oh.” I wince. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He leans back in his chair, good humor still on his face. “Do you think I’m handsome?”

“Yes,” I tell him instantly, then I cough, nearly fumbling the pitcher as I fill a glass just to give my hands something to do.

“You do?” he asks, and when I glance back up at him, I nearly upend my glass and spill it everywhere.

There’s a predatory light in his eye, the kind that makes you want to freeze or run. The kind that promises if I tried to run, he’d catch me.

It doesn’t freeze me at all. There’s no ice in my veins.

The look in his eyes turns me molten all over, instead.

“I do,” I finally manage to force out, and then, boldly, I slowly smile at him.

“Piper,” he says, and there’s a hint of pleading in the way he says my name. “I thought you said we were only friends. That’s what you told Wren.”

Oh. My nose wrinkles, and he breathes out heavily, leaning his arms on the top of the table, which groans under his bulk.

“We… are friends,” I say hesitantly.

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