Page 17 of Single Pucking Orc

“It’s at the end of my drive every other Wednesday. I’m not conducting surveillance, I’m being handed information.”

“What’s in it?”

“Protein shake bottles,” she said. “Approximately forty every two weeks. Two pizza boxes, three if you’ve won. Beer. And the little foil trays from the place on Route 9 that does the chicken.”

“That’s a good place.”

“It’s a fine place. It is not a food group.” She put her mug down. “She’ll be on solids properly in a month or two, and you can’t feed a baby out of a foil tray. You’re going to need a vegetable in that house.”

“I have a vegetable.”

“You do not have a vegetable.”

“I might have a vegetable,” he said. “I’d have to check.”

She had assembled a version of this male over the past year. She had built him out of loud driveways and morning-after teammates and a smile that had never once been aimed at her seriously. It had been an extremely tidy version. It was coming apart on her sofa at eleven o’clock at night, and she was not at all sure what she was supposed to put in its place.

His smile faded into something quieter.

“Thank you.”

The sincerity of it caught her off guard.

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean it.” He looked around her dim living room and then back at her. “You didn’t ask for any of this to move in next door.”

“No,” she agreed. “I really didn’t.”

His shoulders shook, soundlessly. Then he started the complicated process of standing without waking Charlie. It took nearly a minute. She watched despite herself as he shifted his weight forward, rose, and carefully adjusted his daughter against his chest without disturbing her.

When he finally reached the front door, she opened it for him. Then he turned around, and his face was tired and unguarded and about four inches closer than it needed to be, and she had a very clear and extremely unhelpful thought about his mouth.

“Nora.”

“Yes.”

“If she starts again at two in the morning, I’m not going to knock.”

She blinked.

“I want you to know I’ll think about it,” he continued solemnly. “But I’ve decided against it. I’ll figure it out.”

She should have let him leave. Instead she heard herself say, “Knock.”

He looked down at her, and she knew she could still take it back. She didn’t.

“If you really need help,” she said. “Knock.”

His smile appeared slowly. Not the grin he used across the fence. Not the deliberately charming one that made her want to throw gardening tools at him. This one was tired and warm and entirely real.

“Good night, Bennett.”

“Good night, Stonebreaker.”

He crossed the lawn in his bare feet, Charlie sleeping against his chest. She closed the door. Then she stood with her back against it for several seconds in the quiet hall, which still smelled faintly of cedar.

This is going to be a problem.