Page 11 of A Bridge to a Troll's Heart
“Yes. I think I would like that very much.”
Arlo put his arm around Toby’s shoulders and listened as the stories flowed like the rippling waters of the river before them. Arlo had never met his own grandfather. The man had his own bridge to guard and couldn’t leave his post.
Toby’s stories made Arlo wonder why guarding a bridge was more important than watching your family grow, but who was Arlo to question such things?
Sometime later—Arlo didn’t know how long, and he didn’t much care—Toby fell asleep with his head in Arlo’s lap. Arlo stroked his satin black hair and gazed at the stars, but they couldn’t answer his questions either.
CHAPTER4
June
Toby
Running aheadas fast as two legs would carry him, Toby raced to the Red Elk River Bridge. More than ever, he wished he could gallop on all fours, but he had to settle for just the two.
“Arlo!” he called gleefully. “Wake up, sleepyhead. My family is coming.”
Toby jumped from the bridge, grabbing the familiar rail to swing himself beneath the platform. He’d tug Arlo out of bed if he had to.
The troll grumbled something about a tribute as he emerged from his den. His copper hair flung every which way, his eyes were half-lidded, and his torso was bare from the waist up. “Wha?”
Toby’s mouth hung open.
Arlo straight from bed was a sight he’d commit to memory so he could have the pleasure of recalling the vision anytime he wanted. Broad shoulders thick with muscle stretched over meaty biceps and powerful forearms. Toby remembered how lovely those arms felt around him, but all the smooth, granite skin on display—that was new.
Rounded pectorals flexed under a dusting of reddish-brown hair. Purple nipples pebbled to erect nubs begging to be touched. And Toby knew—in the same way he knew the sky was blue or wolves howled at the full moon—Arlo’s pooch of a belly would be perfect for cuddling.
Toby forced his mouth closed and his gaze up. “Hello, Arlo,” he squeaked, his voice an octave higher than usual, which he fixed with a cough. “Have I woken you?”
“G’morning,” grumbled Arlo, wiping sleep from his eyes with his fingers.
A chuckle escaped Toby’s lips. “You aren’t a morning person, huh?”
Arlo’s furry, orange brows rose. “That obvious?”
“Maybe a little.” Toby wanted to reach up and smooth Arlo’s hair into place for him—it had gotten longer since they’d met, hanging nearly to his chin now—but he chickened out. He rocked back on his heels, enjoying the sight of Arlo’s naked chest. His family, however, would probably prefer to meet the troll fully clothed.
Arlo yawned and stretched his back, unconcerned.
“Did you hear me before? My family is on their way. They’re right behind me, all of them and the rest of the pack too, headed to Fern Village for the summer solstice festival.”
That got Arlo’s attention. He stood straighter and widened his eyes. “Oh! That’s today? Right, that’s today. Oh, dear. Let me just—”
“Yes, do get dressed. They’ll be here soon, but don’t be nervous. Everyone is eager to meet you.”
“Eager? Oh, moonbugs!” Arlo stumbled back into his den. Toby meant to wait outside, but the troll called for him. “Quick, help me choose what to wear.”
Following along, Toby hid another chuckle. “But, Arlo, you have only gray shirts. I’d say, wear one of them.”
Arlo held up two identical-looking garments. “But which?”
Toby pointed to the one on the right. “That one.” He took a deep breath, loving the fresh pine smell of Arlo’s den.
The troll shuffled into the shirt, arms flailing. Only his head poked out. “What if they don’t like me?”
“They will.” Toby grabbed the edge of the shirt and pulled it down, skimming Arlo’s tummy with the backs of his fingers.
Arlo blinked.
