Page 10 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
I scan the dining room out of habit, telling myself I'm just checking who's around, but very aware that a small part of me is looking for a brunette with sparkling hazel eyes, a wide smile, and a deliciously rounded rump.
Shit. I really need to get a grip on myself.
As hard as I tried, I didn't quite manage to put Cassidy Perkins out of my mind since she popped into my workshop the other day. She'd been all soft curves and determination in that black skirt, her auburn hair escaping its bun to frame her heart-shaped face as she looked at me. Even covered in sawdust and wood stain, she held the kind of beauty that made my stomach squeeze. I still remember the way my fingers twitched, eager to reach for that velvet cheek to see if it was as soft as it looked.
Or the way my cock stirred at the sight of that perky, round mouth, wondering how it would look wrapped around my shaft.
I'd spent all night haunted by that face until I furiously jerked off, twice. Even then, sleep eluded me for most of the night. It was the way her eyes had flashed when she stood up to me toe to toe, despite our difference. Like she had no fear of me at all. As my eyes stubbornly scan the small dining room, a vision of how her chest had heaved with indignation springs to my mind, drawing my attention to places it has no business going.
Damn it. Here I am, searching for her like some lovesick teenager.
A second later, I realize she's not there. Not that I'd expected her to be here, perched on one of the worn leather stools at the counter, maybe warming her hands around a mug of coffee while chattering away with Mathilda about her plans for the lodge.
I shouldn't feel this hollow twinge in my chest. Shouldn't notice her absence like a missing piece in an otherwise familiar puzzle. But I do, and that's exactly why I need to keep my distance. I squeeze into the booth where Bernice is already seated. She looks up from her cup of what smells like lavender-chamomile tea and squints at me through her half-moon glasses. Her amber eyes, the same shade as mine, set on me with the kind of stern affection only a grandmother can give.
“You’re late,” she comments as I squirm in place. “I’ve been waiting here for at least fifteen minutes.”
“I told you, Gran,” I say, adjusting my shoulders to avoid hitting the antique lamp above the table. “I’ve got work piling up back at the shop.”
She gestures to the plate in the middle of the table. A generously sized portion of blueberry muffins dusted with powdered sugar waits for me. My favorite. Ugh. She knows me too well.
“They're still hot from the oven.” Bernice lifts a brow and the corner of her lips quirks up. “Mathilda made sure to bring me a fresh batch as soon as I got in and I already ordered your usual. Extra bacon, just how you like it.”
I grunt, breaking off a piece of muffin and popping it into my mouth. Just like everything else in The Wandering Gnome, it's sweet and perfect. Too perfect. But I don’t complain. The last time I did, Bernice sent me home with four dozen chocolate cookies as some kind of lesson in gratitude. Not that I didn't eat them, but still.
“And I toldyou,” she says, voice as steady and commanding as ever, “that a young man like you cannot live off sawdust and solitude. I swear, if it wasn't for me, I'd think you'd be a real hermit by now. Having brunch with your grandmother once a month isn’t anything to complain to the authorities about.”
I sigh, giving up on arguing with her. Never get in an argument with an orc woman. This is perhaps the best life lesson I learned from my dad.
The diner hums around us as Bernice fills the void with chatter and gossip about all the townspeople I used to know. I nod my head at the right time and grunt at the right time, but I’m not really listening. There’s a part of me that’s watching the door, hoping to see a short brunette walk in. Then there’s another part of me that’s replaying the same movie in my head of that brunette, kneeling on the floor of my workshop, looking up at me and smiling.
I have to force myself to stop by pinching the inside of my wrist.
“What’s the matter with you, Gerralt?” Bernice asks, her shrewd eyes going to my still only partially eaten muffin. “You’re not paying any attention to what I have to say, are you?”
There’s a table of pixies chattering by the window, their plates of cranberry-orange scones emitting faint whiffs of citrus scent as they nibble away. An elf man near the counter chats animatedly with Mrs. Callahan, the school nurse. They all turn curious gazes my way when they think I won't notice. They're all dying to know what I'm up to. All eager to get into my business. Everyone knows everyone here. That’s the problem with a town as small as Saltford Bay.
Or its charm, if your main pastime is gossiping.
“I’m doing fine, Gran,” I mutter, picking apart the muffin. "I get up, I work, I eat, I go to bed. I live my life just the way I want to."
“That so?” Bernice says, her tone light but her gaze on me as heavy as the weight of her seventy-odd years.
Before I can answer, the door opens again, and a swirl of brisk coastal air rolls through the room. I turn to see who’s coming, failing to stifle the spark of hope in my chest. The hope is short-lived as I instantly recognize the new arrival. In walks Evelyn Primrose, dressed like she’s ready to attend High Tea with the Fairy Queen. This time it’s a tailored violet peacoat, complete with a brooch that sparkles like frost against her lapel.
“Oh, lovely,” I mutter through a mouthful of muffin.
Bernice catches it and smirks. “Play nice, Gerralt.”
Evelyn zeros in on our table like a hawk spotting a rabbit. She’s barely four feet tall, but you’d never know it by the way she flutters over, all confidence and sparkle.
“Good morning!” she chirps, her voice annoyingly chipper. “Bernice, you glorious creature, you look absolutely radiant.”
Bernice chuckles, her weathered forest-green cheeks flushing faintly. “Oh, hush now. You know I don't like it when youfuss like that.”
“Gerralt.” Evelyn Primrose doesn’t so much as glance at me, but there’s a bite to the way she says my name. Like she’s already decided she’s got an opinion about me, and no amount of sugar in the world could coat it.
"Good morning, Evelyn." I nod stiffly, shoving another sweet bite into my mouth as she slides into the booth beside Bernice.
