Page 11 of One Night with Her Grumpy Orc

“And whose fault is that? They would have never known ifyouhadn’t told them.” I sigh and sip my water, wishing it were something stronger as my dad sends mashed potatoes flying through the kitchen. “Jake, you have to stop informing them about my life. I moved here to have some freedom from them. And I have plans that I would not like them involved in.”

“Grev?” he wags his eyebrows up and down at me, smirking. But it isn’t the playful smile I’m used to him wearing. There’s a glint of jealousy behind his eyes. It takes me by surprise, and I sit up straight, away from him as if I’ve been stung.

“What are you talking about?” I aim for nonchalance, but I know I’ve failed.

“Dinner’s ready!” Mom announces as she marches a tray of food to the table.

“I saw you two the morning after the storm. There’s no way your night together was catalogued under children’s stories.” I gasp, but quickly wipe the shock from my face as Mom sets the food down in front of us and smiles. She sits next to Jake as Dad walks over with half as many mashed potatoes as should be in the bowl.

Do not say anything,I mouth to Jake, my heel digging into his socked feet under the table to emphasize my point. He gives me a curt nod. We turn our attention to the parents and pretend that I do not have an apparently obvious-like-a-neon-sign crush on the orc who kept me warm the other night.

It isn’t until later, once the dishes have been washed and put away, Jake has left, and I’m scrubbing half-dried mashed potatoes off the cabinets and ceilings, that the doorbell rings. Mom, who is organizing the books on my shelf by color like a photo she saw in a magazine, gets the door. Not knowing who could be there, I stay put on my stepstool and try to ignore my mom’s fluttery fake laugh.

When I hear his grumbly voice, my heart stops, just as a smashed potato chunk falls on my face from the ceiling. Scrambling to get off of the stepstool with my sponge, I trip over my own feet and fall. Luckily for me, it’s all of two feet. I’m not hurt, but I am embarrassed as I sit up to see my mom and Grev in the doorway to the kitchen.

Mom’s face is flushed; I file that fact away for later. But before I can even attempt to say hello to Grev, he is next to me, holding my hand, asking if I’m okay.

“Just klutzy.” I shrug, trying to get up without giving away that my ass hurts from landing on it.

One heavy hand stays on me, my arm, my back, as I walk to the sink to wash the potato gunk off my hands and face. “You’ve got something—” Grev says as one finger swipes across my forehead. I have never hated mashed potatoes; they are one of my favorite staples from childhood. But right now, I hate them.

“There was a bit of an explosion while making dinner,” I smile and try to will the blood out of my face. “Can I do something for you?” I ask once I’ve dried my hands.

Mom is still standing, now in the middle of the kitchen, hands twisting together as she stares at us. Or at him. Grev looks at her with the same straight face he uses for everybody at the library. It’s a studious vibe—I’m never quite sure if he’s looking for the best way to kill someone or just figuring out why they are standing in the same vicinity as him. Either way, it’s really hard not to burst out laughing at Grev and my mom staring at each other.

“I wanted to let you know that we got a lot of work done today, and the library looks really good. Estimates are we can open back up before next weekend.”

I squeal and clap my hands. It’s childish, but I don’t care. The library is my home and my happy place. Arms out, I step toward him to hug him. There’s a light in his eyes. Yes, he wants this too. The giddiness inside me is effervescent.

Just as I get close enough to soak in the heat rippling off his swarthy body, Mom coughs loudly behind me. A hyperventilating, panicky kind of sound. She stands up, tapping her chest and fake hacking. Oh yes, I can tell she’s faking.

Grev is at her side, his hand on her back, his face close to hers to inspect her for...something, she turns beet red. It’s a shade I’ve never seen Mom wear. “All better, dears. I’d better go find your dad. It’s getting late.” At that last sentence, she gives me a pointed look. I nod in return.

“I’ll just finish up with Grev. Goodnight, Mom.” I kiss her still red cheek and she scurries away, no doubt to tell my father that an orc touched her. Sigh.

“So you want to get dinner tomorrow? We can go to my brother’s brewery, or we can go to the new Pixie place.”

“I—I would love to. I’ve heard good things about the Pixie Pi.” The effervescence is back, and I want to bounce up and down on my toes with excitement, but I don’t want to appear too eager.

There’s a noise from Mom. She’s back, rifling through a stack of papers on the side table next to my reading chair. I can’t tell if it’s a moan from indigestion, or disapproval at me going out to dinner with Grev. But I’m determined to ignore her. “How are the books you checked out last week? What were they on...poisonous mosses?”

Grev laughs and leans back against the kitchen counter, ankles crossed, the most natural action in the world. He looks perfect here. Right at home. He’d be able to reach my ceiling without a stepstool. And the top cabinet above the stove where I keep my holiday dishes. My heart tries to burst with happiness at the potential, but I try to keep it toned down.

“Just mosses. The poisonous plants were several weeks ago. Mosses are really fascinating. Did you know that they can reproduce asexually and sexually?” His eyes are dark and intense, the slight rise of his lip into a barely there smile tugs at something low in my belly. Grev, an orc of few words and fewer smiles, is seriously messing with all my feelings and emotions right now.

“Is that so?” The squeak that erupts out of me is a dead giveaway that he is having his desired effect on me.

“Would you like to sit and have a cup of tea?” I gesture, trying to smoothly ignore the squeak that came out of me.

“I’d love to,” he says, with a little too much emphasis onlove.

“Mom, you or Dad want some?” I ask as I fill my yellow tea kettle at the sink.

“Oh, no. I was just looking for something to read. The romance novel you left for me isnotworking. I’m looking for a mystery. Also, I still can’t find your father.” Mom wanders around the kitchen and living room, rambling, looking out the windows, then under the pillows on the sofa, as if Dad might have shrunk himself and be playing hide and seek under the cushions.

“I think he went to hide so he didn’t have to wash up.” I say pointedly as I set up our mugs. She wanders away down the hall, book in hand. Finally. “Mint okay with you? Or I have this orange spice?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Again, with that growly voice of his that makes me weak in the knees. And unfortunately, now, I don’t have a desk to hide my wobbly knees behind.

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