Page 22 of How To Woo A Warrior Orc

“But?” he asks, leaning further forward. There’s a hint of desperation and the predator lurking in his eyes still, but I don’t lean away.

I meet him where he is. “But,” I summon all my bravery and forge ahead. “I’ve heard that friends make the best lovers.”

A groan rumbles out of him, and I stare deep into his eyes, making up my mind once and for all. I want Ga’Rek. I want himas a friend, and I want him in my bed, and I want to know what it feels like to be touched by someone that looks at me like I’m precious.

“Piper, I’m not… I’m afraid I might hurt you.” His eyes shutter for a moment, vulnerability making him look younger, softer, even.

“Well, we can figure that out.” It comes out much more eager than I meant it too, but it makes him laugh.

“Soup and vegetables,” Malia sings out, holding a steaming platter that her daughter helps her unload onto our table.

We both sit back and I bite my lip, excited and nervous and suddenly not hungry at all.

That is, until I take a deep breath and inhale the incredible aroma of the soup.

Ga’Rek has a huge portion in front of him, absolutely massive next to mine, and he stares between our bowls and the platter of vegetables as Malia watches.

“I do not wish to put you out with this large of a serving,” he says quietly.

“That’s part of the restaurant. No one here will go hungry. We size our portions based on how hungry the eater is. You are an orc, and you will eat like one under our roof.” She glances up at the stars starting to wink in the gloaming night. “At least, under our lanterns.”

He blinks, absorbing this. “Thank you,” he finally says.

“Enjoy,” she tells him, then winks at me again, ushering her daughter over to the next table.

“Did you think I would take you somewhere you would leave with a huge appetite still? You know minotaurs eat quite a bit too, right?” I laugh, tilting my head at the minotaur eating sedately with his family, their table piled high.

“I assumed if I were still hungry I could make a sandwich or four in The Pixie’s Perch,” he says slowly.

He dips the carved wooden spoon into the thick broth, the cheese melting across the top, with the kind of care I’ve become used to seeing from him in the kitchen every morning.

Usually, utensils look so small in his hands, but here? They’re the right size.

“I could buy some tools that are larger for the café,” I muse. “Are you having trouble using them?”

He raises an eyebrow before popping the spoon, perfectly loaded with cheese and green onions and fried pork fat, into his mouth.

Ga’Rek’s eyes flutter shut, and I beam, because I know that look.

That’s the look of someone who has found complete bliss in their food, and Malia’s one-night-a-month restaurant is one of the few places I eat with pure enjoyment, her cooking so good that my analytical chef’s brain turns off the moment it hits my tongue.

“No,” he finally answers, his green throat bobbing as he swallows. “I will not allow you to spend money on things that you cannot use.”

“But you work with me. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable using my things?—”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “If I weren’t able to use your things, I would let you know.”

“Ga’Rek—” I start, but he shoots me a look so sincere that I simply close my mouth.

I’ll just have to watch him more closely. If there’s something he is struggling with, I’ll fix it. Easy as that.

Cheese melts around my spoon as I dip into the thick potato and carrot broth, the green onions wilting from the steam where they float on top. It’s so good—hearty and perfectly seasoned and everything autumn soup should be.

I love Malia’s cooking.

“How does it work?” he asks abruptly.

“The soup?” I blink up at him, confused.

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