Page 25 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
Heavy footsteps echo from the hallway, and I straighten up, turning to find Gerralt filling the doorway. His t-shirt molds to his muscular chest in a way that makes my mouth go dry. And somewhere else, not so dry.
Focus, Cassidy.
"I finished the measurements for the mantelpiece. I'll have to make a supply run to Weyland’s Lumber for the material. They have the best lumber over there, but the drive will cost me a day's work. It’ll be worth it in the end. I’m thinking either oak or hickory, but I’ll take a look at their walnut as well."
I smile, trying to ignore how the sight of him makes my belly quiver. I thought seeing him every day would make me less flustered with time, but the reverse is true. The man has me feeling all kinds of silly and my late-night fantasy sessions can attest to it.
Now my cheeks are burning and he frowns, because of course, he doesn't know I’m a total creep who keeps picturing him in my dreams. Keeps picturing those tusks rubbing inside my thighs.
Jeez, down girl.
Then Gerralt mercifully ends the awkward staring contest and looks around the finished kitchen with what I can only assume is his approving scowl. He has many of types of scowls.
He crosses his arms, amber eyes scanning the room.
"Looks decent enough."
"Decent enough? Are you kidding?" I gesture at our handiwork, pretending to be scandalized. "This is gorgeous. This is artwork."
He grunts, but I catch the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. From him, that's practically a standing ovation.
His hand goes to the back of his neck, and he shifts his weight.
"I have something for you."
"Oh? For me?" My heart does a little flip-flop in my chest and I resist the urge to giggle while wrapping my hair around my fingers. Every time this man talks to me, I feel like a teenager getting asked to prom.
He disappears for a moment, returning with what looks like a small wooden house cradled in his massive arms. The natural grain gleams under a light finish, and I spot a carefully crafted, hinged roof.
"What is that?" My voice trails off as he sets it on the back porch.
“That’s for your stray problem,” he answers and I have the distinct feeling he’s avoiding my gaze as he opens up the roof. “So you can get her to come inside.”
For a good, long moment, I’m utterly speechless.
“You built a cat house for Marigold?”
"Gran said strays do better with a spot of their own."
He brings out a collection of supplies from the wooden box and gestures to them. There’s at least half a dozen different types of canned cat food, a can of sardines, and one of tuna. I blink, baffled.
Then I’m ready to melt on the spot as I understand what he's saying.
"Put one of your old blankets or t-shirts inside so it'll smell like you." Gerralt continues like I'm not just standing there, mute and dumbstruck. "The cat will take to you faster if she's accustomed to your smell."
When he finally straightens, he gives me a little shrug. And does he look shy? Does that huge, grumpy, grumbly orc and official mascotof the NOT-SO-SOFT man club look shy while giving me instructions on how to save a stray cat? My insides dissolve into some gooey, swoony mess.
"Gran is something of a legend in town for rescuing strays," he says in a matter-of-fact tone. "She says you'll get her to trust you in no time if you do this."
My heart does a funny little flutter and I realize he's staring at me while I keep silent.
"You told your grandmother about me?"
“It’s almost November.” He shrugs once more and do I see the tip of his ears turn a darker shade of green? "Can't have the damned thing freezing to death out here. Or get eaten by a coyote."
“That is quite literally the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” I tell him, my voice squeaky from the emotions that threaten to spill out into my eyes.
"It's just a cat house," he grumbles, but his voice has gone soft.
