Merry Pucking Orc

I came to Bramblewood to evaluate a hockey team, not to fall in love with Christmas.

I like schedules, spreadsheets, and plans that stay exactly where I put them. Torrk likes snowball fights, spontaneous sing-alongs, and apparently making it his personal mission to drag me into every ridiculous holiday tradition this small town has invented.

He’s an eight-foot orc goalie with the energy of an overexcited golden retriever puppy in an ugly holiday sweater. And I am not a Christmas person.

...At least, I wasn’t.

Because somewhere between hot cocoa, tree lightings, cookie disasters, and Torrk grinning every time I accidentally have fun, Bramblewood starts feeling less like an assignment and more like somewhere I could belong.

Which is inconvenient.

I’m supposed to decide whether this town has a future—not start imagining mine here.