Page 32 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
Gunther extends a hand. "Nice to meet you."
His voice is calm. Measured. The kind of voice that probably explains tax law at parties.
I shake his hand. His grip is warm, careful, like he's worried about crushing my fingers.
"You too."
Orry squirms in the carrier, makes a tiny grunt.
Gunther glances down. His expression softens, and for a second, I seetenderness.
"This is Orry," I say.
"He's—" Gunther stops. Clears his throat. "He's very small."
I laugh. "Yeah. That's kind of their whole deal."
Colum claps Gunther on the shoulder. "Cecie owns Sparkle Beauty. The newly renovated shop next door."
"I saw the sign." Gunther looks at me, and his eyes, pale green, warm behind the glasses and lingers for half a second too long.
Something flickers behind my ribs.
Nope.
I shift Orry, adjust the carrier strap. "I should get back. Still unpacking."
"Of course." Colum grins. "But seriously. Thank you for the muffins. You're already the plaza favorite."
"I'll try not to let it go to my head."
I turn to leave.
Orry twists in the carrier, cranes his neck to look back at Gunther.
And grins.
It's his weapon, that grin. Pure sunshine concentrated into one chubby baby face. His crystal green eyes, bright, impossibly bright, catch the overhead lights and practicallyglow.
I feel Gunther go still behind me.
"He's—" Gunther's voice sounds strange. Tight. "His eyes."
"Yeah." I glance back. "Pretty striking, right?"
Gunther's staring. Not in a creepy way. More like someone just showed him an equation that doesn't balance.
Colum laughs. "Kid's got stage presence already. You should put him in commercials, Sis."
"He can barely sit up."
"Perfect. Authenticity sells."
Orry keeps grinning at Gunther. One dimple, right cheek, pronounced, deep enough to hide a penny, carves into his baby-fat face.
Gunther's mouth opens slightly.
Then closes.
