Page 129 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
"Wouldn't dream of it, darling." She kneels with impressive grace, boa pooling around her like plumage. "Now then, handsome. What'll it be?"
"Hewmet!" Orry bounces.
"A helmet. Fierce choice. I like it. Very warrior-prince."
She paints with quick, confident strokes while Orry sits still, barely, vibrating with the effort of staying in place. When she's done, he's got an intricate silver helmet design across his forehead, complete with tiny details that suggest rivets and scrollwork.
"Warrior!" Orry shouts, examining himself in the hand mirror she offers.
"The fiercest," she agrees solemnly. "You go conquer that playground, sweetheart."
Gunther pays, tips extra, probably too much extra, knowing him, and we wander deeper into the market.
We stop at the food trucks. Gunther gets fish tacos from the new fusion place, studying the menu like it's a financial report. I get fresh-squeezed lemonade that's perfectly tart and cold. Orry gets a chocolate chip cookie the size of his entire face, which heattacks with both hands and zero regard for his freshly painted helmet.
Mara wakes up right as we're settling onto a bench. Fusses. Does that particular newborn cry that means she's hungry and she's hungrynow.
I nurse her under a lightweight cover while Gunther entertains Orry with an elaborate game involving collecting interesting leaves and sorting them by size. Numbers, always numbers with him. Orry's learning to count because of course he is.
People continue to stop. Say hi. Congratulate us with that particular brightness that suggests they've seen the photos, read the articles, formed opinions about our life. Most of them are genuinely kind, which still surprises me every single time.
A few just stare. Whisper to their companions behind raised hands.
I ignore them. I'm getting good at that.
One woman approaches while I'm burping Mara. Middle-aged, nervous smile, clutching a shopping bag from one of the craft vendors.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt," she starts. "I just. I wanted to say. You're doing a beautiful thing."
"Thank you," I say, meaning it.
"My daughter's dating an orc," she continues in a rush, words tumbling out like she's been holding them in. "And I was. Worried. You know. About how people would react, what it would mean for her future, for any children." She glances at the stroller, at Mara in my arms. "But seeing you two. Your family. It helps. It really helps me understand."
Gunther's listening now, very quiet, that particular stillness that means he's feeling something big.
"It's not always easy," I say honestly, shifting Mara to my shoulder. "People have opinions. They're not always kind aboutsharing them. But it's worth it. Every single hard moment is worth it."
"I can see that." She smiles, and it's watery but genuine. "Your children are very lucky to have you both."
She leaves, melting back into the crowd.
Gunther's blinking fast behind his glasses.
"You okay?" I ask quietly.
"Yeah. Just. That was really nice."
"People can surprise you."
"They really can." He reaches over, adjusts Mara's tiny sock. "Makes me think maybe. Maybe this won't be so bad. Being visible."
"Don't get too comfortable. Someone's probably live-tweeting this entire conversation."
"Definitely. I saw at least three phones pointed at us."
"New normal?"
"Apparently."
