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“The hell with it,” he muttered to himself, pausing to remove the cursed thing and shove it in his pocket. He was already carrying his socks and shoes in his hand, so why stand on ceremony with the neckwear?
And after all, he was paying for all this. Surely, the intended match could handle it if he toned down the formality slightly. It occurred to Tiago that he might even be overdressed. He had no idea what kind of outfit she might show up in.
He found himself wondering once again what she looked like.
He had only been told his match was Terran, the idea of which excited him.
Terrans were exceedingly receptive to Maltaffian matings. With any luck, he would soon have a baby in his arms, one with his massive horns and her slightly softer facial features.
Though he had started off wanting a baby for business reasons, the year he had spent waiting for a match forced him to face the truth - that hedidwant a family. And he didn’t want to have to answer to a mate to get it.
Life as a professional fighter had its perks, the first of which was money, and the second was not having to work in a tiny cubicle with a hologram stream half-hypnotizing you all your life.
But he didn’t have a normal schedule that could be easily coordinated with another adult’s to form a life together.
And of course, there were the inevitable injuries. Even if he experienced a true mate bond with a woman, which he hadn’t so far, he was fairly certain she wouldn’t understand why he had to have his face punched in a couple of times each standard year.
No. It was better to do this on his own. He could afford a great nanny, any exotic pets the child might want, and if he paid for private instructors, their family of two could live on the road quite happily for the next ten years or so.
When he reached his destination at last, he let out a chuckle.
He had trained with the best, gotten to the top of his game, and traveled half a world away, only to end up standing in front of another little diner.
He had practically grown up in one just like it. Tiago’s adoptive parents worked hard night and day to tend to their clients and maintain the machinery of the place.
As soon as he was old enough to hold a broom, Tiago had done the same. Not because his parents asked, but because it was how they spent their waking hours, so if he wanted to spend time with them, he had to be part of the hustle bustle.
He liked the regular customers, and the delicious smells that came from the grill. But the relentlessness of the long days and nights, especially weekends and holidays, didn’t appeal at all.
Tiago had gotten his fill ofan honest day’s workby the time he was fifteen. As an adult, he learned that he would much rather exercise at the gym all day and get hit in the face once in a while than bus tables and get yelled at by transport agents when the coffee wasn’t hot enough.
Besides, on Maltaffia, inheritance was strictly by genetics. Adopting a child was a true charity, as it did nothing to ease financial planning. If his parents wanted Tiago to own that diner one day, they would have to sell it to him at market value if they didn’t want to bury him in gift taxes that would meet or exceed the property’s worth.
The day his father explained they were going to stop maintaining the place to drive down the market value so he could afford to buy it, Tiago knew it was time to tell them the truth.
“I love you guys,” he had told his dad. “And I love this place because you’re in it. But it’s not what I want for myself when you retire. Keep it up, and when you want to sell, get as much money as you can so you can retire in style.”
“Your mother will cry to think you’re going to keep getting beat up for money,” his father sighed.
“Remind her that I’m the one doing the beating most of the time,” Tiago said.
“I don’t know if she’d like that any better,” his dad admitted with a wry smile.
It was true, and Tiago could only laugh.
His dad liked to say his mom had a heart as big as the diner’s biggest ten-top table. She gave out more free meals and dishwashing jobs than anyone would ever know. She knew the names of the kids and grandkids of every single regular customer. The woman was pure love, in the shape of a Maltaffian mom.
But his father had continued to keep the place up and Tiago had finally made the big leagues. It had been more than a year since he’d been home, he realized with a twinge of guilt as he pushed open the door to the diner on the beach.
Bells overhead jingled as it opened, and the savory scent of bacon and eggs instantly transported him home. This diner was neat and tidy like his parents’ place. But the booths and tabletops looked brand new.
He couldn’t see the fry cook in the back, but by the counter, a pretty glass case of gleaming desserts spun majestically. His mother would love to have one just like it. He made a mental note to look into surprising her.
The bells over the door jingled again, and he turned to see who it was.
The woman was clearly Terran. Her features were soft and appealing, and her head was hornless and covered in a curtain of long, dark hair that looked like it would be silky to the touch.
But she moved more like a Vystian, with an effortless grace that made her look almost as if she were floating. And her slender frame had a strength to it that he recognized as a fellow athlete.
