Page 23 of His Orc Warrior

“Our artist friend, who happens to be my cousin, is also a botanist, and everything you are seeing there is from his mother—my aunt’s—garden.”

“In super close-up. Like through a microscope?”

“You’d have to ask him for specifics, but you’re definitely on track.”

“Vito, right? Just one name?” His eyes were like saucers. “He’s an orc.”

“We can talk while we walk if it’s all right with you? Our reservations are in five minutes, and Le Café is very busy at dinnertime.”

“Absolutely.” He let me guide him toward the outdoor patio of my favorite restaurant, musing, “I saw him on a late-night talk show last year. He was definitely not in orc mode.”

“Mode?” I shook my head. “I’ve never heard it said that way, but yeah, Vito is not advertising his orc mode. His agent didn’t want him to, but it’s only a matter of time before he caves. He’s proud of his origins.”

“Do you ever get people from out of town shopping here?”

“Mostly shifters.”

The hostess came up just then, seated us at a table for two near the sidewalk, and left us with menus.

“You were saying?” he asked after we’d been approached by the server, who took our drink orders. “About shifters?”

“Right.” I stopped again as our drinks came, a couple of specials called Orcan Madness that had about six kinds of rum in them. “I was saying we do get visitors, but they aren’t usually human unless they are mated to one of us. Otherwise, we’re far enough off the main road that few outsiders show up. And as you can see, if a random human did arrive, they’d think we were, like you said, cosplaying.”

“There were more orcs there than anyone else. I mean out on the street. So, all the human-looking types were orc shifters?”

“Orcs for the most part, but yes.”

The server once again returned, this time for our dinner orders, and I asked for rib eye and mashed potatoes. Lucas went with the smashburger. The Le Café name sounded fancy, but they had a whole selection of food that was casual as well. And the smashburger was a favorite of many.

We ate and talked, more getting to know each other, and when it came time to order dessert, it was the moment of truth. The server, a friend of my mother’s who never seemed to remember me, asked, “You look like pie fans to me.”

We eyed one another. “This is very important information,” I deadpanned. “Do you like pie?”

He chewed his lower lip, eyes flicking left and right. “Depends.” He lifted his gaze toward the server. “What kind do you have?”

Amusement threaded through my veins as our server listed at least a dozen and a half varieties. Fresh fruit, cream, cheesecake pie types… Apple and chocolate and peach and berry and so many others, Lucas appeared utterly lost. But I’d been here before. “Get the apple cinnamon. Warmed. With ice cream.”

“Any particular flavor?” His broad smile made my heart beat faster. “I mean…if you were getting it.”

“I am,” I said, reaching for his hand. “But don’t laugh.”

He tilted his head. “Why would I laugh?”

“Because it’s licorice.” A flavor I hadn’t seen many humans or even orcs order. “You don’t have to get it.”

I watched the conflict in his eyes. Finally he shook his head. “I can’t do it.”

“It’s okay, mate. I appreciate your honesty.”

He got vanilla bean, which he loved, and I loved watching him eat it.

Chapter Seventeen

Lucas

Thrain and I had been together for a few weeks. I’d met his parents. We were practically living together. We’d mated, and everything was going great.

But there was one milestone we hadn’t crossed yet. Neither of us had confessed our love. It was there and palpable, but formally we hadn’t crossed that line.

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