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Zola grabs the sandwich and scampers off to the edge of our blanket, plopping down cross-legged. She takes a big bite, her eyes never leaving the other kids.
I watch as Zola takes two more quick bites of her sandwich, her eyes scanning the playground as if she's a girl on a mission. Before I can even blink, she's dropped the food back onto theblanket and is bouncing towards me, pigtails swinging with each step.
"Can I go play, Daddy?" she asks, her blue eyes wide and hopeful. Her tiny hands clasp together in front of her, practically vibrating with excitement.
I laugh dryly at the sight. She's got a way of melting my heart that no one else could ever hope to do. "Of course, sweetheart. Just stay where I can see you," I reply, reaching out to pat her cheek gently.
Zola lets out a delighted giggle and takes off like a shot, her little legs pumping as fast as they can carry her. In seconds, she's disappeared into the throng of kids on the playground.
Leaning back against the rough bark of the oak tree, I let out a contented sigh. The park is alive, rife with young life. I finally have the chance to sit back and take in the sights. My eyes scan the area, making sure I can still spot Zola's curls among the crowd.
As I'm looking around, I notice another orc dad near the sandbox. He's built like a tank, probably works construction or something similar. But what catches my eye isn't his size—it's the frilly pink tutu he's wearing over his jeans.
His daughter, a tiny orc girl with green skin and pigtails, is twirling around him in a matching outfit. The big guy looks uncomfortable as hell, but he's got a smile plastered on his face for his little girl.
Thank fuck Zola hasn't hit that stage. I'd do anything for my kid, but I'm not sure I'm ready to parade around in a tutu. Not that I'd ever say no if she asked. That's just part of being a dad, I guess.
Still, I'm grateful Zola's current obsessions don't involve dressing me up. Yet. I know it's probably coming, but for now, I'll enjoy my tutu-free existence.
As I'm lost in thought, a familiar voice cuts through the air.
"Heads up, you green bastard!"
I look up just in time to catch a flying juice box. Grak, my best friend and fellow orc dad, is striding towards me with a shit-eating grin on his face.
"You trying to take my head off?" I growl, but there's no real heat behind it.
Grak plops down next to me, his massive frame making the ground shake slightly. "Nah, just keeping you on your toes. Wouldn't want those dad reflexes getting rusty."
I snort, punching his shoulder. "Please. I could catch this shit in my sleep."
We both jam the straws into our juice boxes, eyes scanning the playground for our respective kids. I spot Zola on the monkey bars, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she swings from bar to bar.
"Look at that," Grak quips, nodding towards Zola. "She's got more upper body strength than you do."
"Fuck off." I laugh, taking a swig of apple juice. "At least my kid can reach the monkey bars without a stepladder."
Grak's daughter, Mira, is barely taller than Zola's knees. She's currently trying to climb up the slide, much to the annoyance of the kids waiting their turn at the top.
"Hey, good things come in small packages," Grak defends, puffing out his chest. "Besides, she's scrappy. Bet she could take Zola in a fight."
I raise an eyebrow. "You willing to put money on that?"
"Hell yeah. Twenty bucks says Mira pins Zola in under a minute."
We both burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. Two grown-ass orcs, sitting in a park, betting on something so ridiculous.
"Man, is this what we've come to?" I ask, shaking my head. "Used to be we'd be betting on bar fights, not playground scuffles."
Grak sighs dramatically. "The glamorous life of fatherhood. Trading in beer for juice boxes and UFC for PTA meetings."
"Wouldn't trade it for the world, though," I admit, watching as Zola helps a smaller kid reach the next monkey bar.
"Amen to that," Grak agrees, his eyes softening as he watches Mira. "Even if it means I gotta wear a tiara to tea parties every Sunday."
I nearly spit out my juice. "No shit? Mira's got you playing dress-up now?"
Grak groans, covering his face with one massive hand. "Don't even get me started. Last week, she insisted I wear fairy wings to the grocery store. Said her 'fairy godfather' needed to protect her from the evil broccoli monster."
