Page 6 of Single Pucking Orc

She had a rule about not looking at him for longer than four seconds. She was at twelve and counting.

“Nora.”

“What?”

“You’ve gone a funny color.”

“It’s the light.”

“Sure.”

She bent to retrieve the watering can, mostly so she would have an excuse to stop looking at him. When she straightened, Charlie was watching her solemnly. Then she smiled, tusks and all, and waved one fist in Nora’s direction.

Oh, that was dirty.

“That is not going to work on me,” she informed her, and Charlie kicked both legs merrily.

Rognar laughed, and the sound was tired but real. “She’s had a big day. Don’t crush her confidence.”

She looked at him again. He was gazing down at his daughter with an expression she had never seen on his face. It wasn’t the flirtatious grin or the teasing smirk or any of the other expressions he used when turning everything into a joke. He was just a large, exhausted male staring at a tiny baby as if she were a puzzle he desperately wanted to solve.

She tightened her grip on the watering can and made herself take a step back.

“Well,” she said. “Congratulations. I’ll let you get her inside.”

“Thanks, Bennett.”

She made it halfway to her door before she stopped.

“Rognar.”

“Neighbor.”

“The baby goes in first. Before all that.” She gestured at the truck. “Everything else can wait.”

His expression changed again, just slightly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

She felt faintly foolish for saying it, but she gave him a clipped nod and went inside.

Her house was quiet. It was always quiet, which was one of the reasons she had bought it. The small two-bedroom had needed a lot of work when she moved in. She had painted every room herself and refinished the floors over two summers. She had put up shelves, and they were level, because she had measured twice before drilling a single hole.

Her office occupied the front bedroom. Two monitors sat on a desk she had assembled herself, correctly, on the first attempt. Neatly labeled files lined the shelves. Her clients included local shops, restaurants, contractors, and several seasonal businesses whose finances rose and fell with the tourist calendar. She liked bookkeeping. Numbers were dependable. If a column didn’t balance, there was a reason, and if she worked long enough she would find it. She had never once in her life been let down by a spreadsheet. She loved them the way other people loved dogs.

She sat down, put on her glasses, and pulled up the Hendricks account.

Rognar Stonebreaker has a baby.

She stared at the same number for thirty seconds before her phone buzzed beside her elbow. Her mother’s face appeared on the screen, a selfie taken at a farmers market four years ago and slightly out of focus because Summer Bennett had never held a camera still in her life. She had Nora’s dark hair, Nora’s eyes, and a scarf the color of a traffic cone that Nora would not have worn in a million years.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Sweetheart, quick question. Do you still have the blue casserole dish?”

“I have never had the blue casserole dish.”

“I feel very strongly that you have the blue casserole dish.”