Page 4 of Single Pucking Orc

Charlie let out a high, ecstatic shriek at a passing display of stuffed dragons, the sound bouncing off the linoleum and turning three shoppers’ heads. She twisted around in the seat to keep eye contact with the dragons, one fist stretched out, and her whole face bright with wanting. He grabbed the dragon off the shelf. Charlie clutched it to her chest and buried her face in it with a sigh so contented it nearly took him out at the knees.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “The dragon stays.”

He couldn’t decode the nipple wall but he had a list. He could buy. He knew how to buy. He bought a crib and a mattress, because apparently those were separate things. Sheets with pink elephants on them. A monitor. A high chair. A whale-shaped bathtub. Diapers in two sizes. Wipes. Formula. Tiny spoons. Tiny socks that barely fit over one of his fingers and made something uncomfortable happen to his throat.

He had made a professional career out of figuring things out at speed. He’d learned new systems, new coaches, new linemates, and new opponents. He knew how to watch and adjust and try again. Being terrible at something the first time didn’t mean you stayed terrible at it.

He was going to figure this out too.

He was almost certain of it.

It was nearly five when he pulled into his driveway, and he had never been so grateful to see his own garage door. The truck was absurdly full. The crib and the mattress and the other furniture filled most of the bed. Bags occupied the passenger seat and footwells. Charlie was asleep in the new car seat, her cheek resting against the side, and one tiny fist curled beneath her chin.

His house looked exactly the way it had when he left that morning. It was a comfortable house in a quiet neighborhood built in the fifties, when houses were small and lots were big. The previous owner had opened up the walls to create one long living area across the back of the house that opened onto a patio and the big backyard. Hockey equipment usually took up most of the garage, and there were more sneakers by the back door than any one person reasonably needed, but the place was a home.

A home that had absolutely no idea a baby was about to move into it.

He sat for a moment with the engine off and glanced towards the neighboring yard. Nora Bennett was standing beside the low fence with a watering can in one hand because five o’clock was when Nora watered things.

His neighbor was small and dark-haired and permanently unimpressed. In the twelve months since he’d bought the house on Alder Street, she had perfected an expression just for him. Level, over-the-glasses skepticism—a woman doing sums in her head and not liking the total. He’d thought about that expression considerably more often than was reasonable.

He knew exactly what Nora thought of him. He’d seen it every time teammates crowded his driveway, and every time laughter from a team dinner carried across the fence. Nora Bennett had taken one look at the cheerful, flirtatious hockey player next door and apparently decided she knew everything worth knowing about him.

He probably should have been offended. Mostly, he found it entertaining. There were few things he enjoyed more than aiming his best smile at Nora and watching her become visibly more suspicious. Today, however, he was in no shape for the game.

He got out of the truck carefully, easing the door shut. Nora’s gaze moved over him, then to the boxes filling the back of the truck. Her eyebrows drew together. He considered, for one heroic moment, playing it cool. He could wave, carry everything inside, and pretend this was a perfectly ordinary Monday.

Then Charlie stirred in the back seat and made a small, sleepy, unmistakable sound.

Nora froze, and her gaze snapped towards the truck. He gave her his smile. The good one. The one that had gotten him out of speeding tickets, into dinner invitations, and onto the good side of bartenders across half the league. It came out at maybe forty percent.

“Afternoon, neighbor.”

Nora didn’t answer. She stared at the back seat while he opened the door and lifted out the carrier. Charlie blinked awake, and Nora took one step towards the fence. Her eyes went from the infant carrier to him, then back to the small green baby inside it.

“What,” she said slowly, “is that?”

He looked down at Charlie. Charlie chose that exact moment to catch sight of Nora. Her eyes widened. Her tiny tusks appeared as her entire face broke into a delighted gummy smile.

He sighed and looked back at his neighbor.

“Apparently,” he said, “my daughter.”

CHAPTER 2

Nora dropped the watering can. It hit the flagstone with a hollow clang and rolled into her hostas, and she didn’t go after it because she was staring at the baby.

The baby stared back.

She was a soft light green several shades paler than Rognar, with a shock of dark hair sticking almost straight up, and she was, without any possible argument, the most adorable thing Nora had ever seen in her life. Nora resented her for it immediately.

“You have a baby,” she said, still stunned.

“So it turns out.”

“Since when?”

“About four hours ago.”