Page 20 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
It'sbeenaweeksince work started at the Saltwater Lodge, and right now, the biggest decision of my life is staring me right in the face.
Well, I'm being a bit of a drama queen right now.
At least, it's the biggest decision I'll be making today. Hopefully.
Who knew working on renovations with a grumpy orc would lead to a terminal case of decision fatigue? At least, said grumpy orc is not shy about making said decisions for me. He already convinced me—eh, no, not convinced, but strong-armed me—into salvaging the old cabinets. And I'm forced to admit that he was rightabout the oak being timeless. Gerralt spent the last two days refinishing them and sanding them to a baby-butt smooth finish, and I can't believe my eyes every time I look at them.
The man is not only my fairy-orc-mother, but he's a magician as well. One that speaks in grunts and hammers at stuff while wearing a perpetual frown, but a magician nonetheless.
But right now, I don't need a magician. I need to decide on the color of the walls in my new kitchen.
Come on, Cass. You've been staring at that wall so long your coffee is cold.
Four squares of sage green, each slightly different, are painted on the wall above the kitchen sink. The names alone are enough to make me second-guess myself: Seafoam Whisper, Mossy Haven, Enchanted Eucalyptus, and Witch's Hearth.
I cross my arms, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I tilt my head. I already picked two gallons of the Witch's Hearth yesterday evening, but right now, with the early morning light filtering in, I'm not so sure. It's like the subtle differences between them are mocking me.
Choose wrong, and you'll regret it forever,I think. Although, to be fair, I'm just being a drama queen again. I could always repaint it if I don’t like it, but it’s extra work and extra money.
Money that is running out faster than I can screambankruptcy!
Gerralt's truck rumbles as it pulls into the driveway, and I straighten, wiping my hands on my jeans. My stomach does its little flutter in the same annoying way it always does whenever Gerralt is in proximity, but I resolutely stay where I am, resisting the urge to bolt to the window like an overexcited puppy. Instead, I pick up a paintbrush and pretend to be thoughtfully considering my choices.
It's going to be Witch's Hearth, by the way.
The heavy thud of his boots echoes in the hallway, and then he appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he owns the place. His arms are crossed over his chest, his usual scowl firmly in place. He’s all broad shoulders and broody male energy, the worn t-shirt he wears stretched across his chest doing dangerous things to my imagination. And my belly. And my panties.
Jeez, I need a cold shower.
“What’s this?” he grunts, nodding toward the wall.
“I’m trying to decide which shade of sage green to use for the walls." I wave the paintbrush in the direction of the samples. “Thoughts?”
His brows knit together like I just asked him to recite poetry. “They’re all green.”
“Well, yes,” I say, biting back a smile. “But they’re different greens. See?” I point to each square in turn, reciting the color name. His scowl only deepens as I continue, like the silly paint color names are a personal insult to his intelligence.
“This one’s lighter; this one’s got blue undertones; this one’s warmer, and this one…”
“Still green,” he interrupts, his tone flat.
"Come on, Grumpy!" I tease, planting my hands on my hips. “Don't be such a cliché. Seafoam Whisper isnothinglike Enchanted Eucalyptus. Help a girl out. Give me your opinion.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment, I think he’s going to walk away. But then he sighs, stepping closer to the wall. Closer to me. I can't help the way my heart beats just a tiny bit faster as his large form looms right behind me. He's so tall, he can look right above my head.
He glances at each square, his expression unreadable, before finally pointing to one. I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure it’s at random.
“That one.”
I follow his finger. Seafoam Whisper. Ugh.
“Interesting choice,” I say, tapping my chin with the paintbrush. “But don’t you think it’s a bit, I don’t know, too coastal? This is supposed to be a cozy lodge, not a beach house.”
He grunts, which could mean anything fromYou’re righttoI don’t care.
“What about this one?” I ask, pointing to Witch’s Hearth. “It’s got a kind of moody, mysterious vibe. Like something you’d see in a cottage owned by a wise old witch who brews potions and talks to crows.”
He gives me a look that says he thinks I need to get my head checked by a professional, one eyebrow lifting.
