Page 52 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
The girl’s eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Really.”
A tentative little hand meets hers with a sharpclap, and Cassidy laughs like it’s the best trade she’s ever made. The mother starts to protest, but Bernice waves her off with a wink. “Consider it a loyalty discount.”
The mother flushes with gratitude, tucking the lavender into her basket. The little girl clutches Cassidy’s hand in thanks before skipping off.
And me?
I just stand there, watching.
Watching the way Cassidy’s presence shifts the rhythm of the market stall, the way her laughter weaves into the late-morning bustle like spun gold. Watching the way people soften around her, like they’ve known her forever.
It’s disarming.
And something else entirely. Something dangerous, something I don’t want to name.
By evening, lanterns glow along the streets, casting everything in warm light. The festival has only grown louder, the energy more chaotic, the scent of sugar and roasting meat twining through the crisp night air.
Bernice shoos us away from the stall with a playful wave of her hand. “Go enjoy yourselves. I can handle the rest.”
Cassidy doesn’t hesitate. She laces her fingers around my wrist, her touch light but insistent. “Come on, let’s explore before everything shuts down.”
I could argue. I should, seeing how she's already so tired her eyelids are almost closing whenever she stands still for more than a minute. But I don’t. Because I want to see Cassidy laugh and smile some more, like a moth wants to get close to a flame.
Her happiness is like the sun, burning and illuminating my life in equal amounts. It's so bright, it hurts to look at it directly.
Because the part of me that knows she's my mate also knows that deep down, I don't deserve her. I don't deserve to have the sun hanging at my arm and laughing at my stupid jokes or pressing kisses to my cheeks every few feet.
And yet I do.
She tugs me through the crowd, her auburn hair catching the glow of festival lights between the stalls and game stands. I find myself following without resistance, drawn in by her excitement. We weave past booths selling candied apples and caramel-drizzled popcorn, the scents tugging at something nostalgic in my chest.
As a boy, I used to love going to the Harvest Festival with my parents and grandparents. It's been years since I stepped foot in the town's celebration, but as I step in to pay for our special treat, all thosememories come back rushing at me. For once, I don't feel like running back to my workshop.
It's like being with Cassidy is breathing life back into me.
Before I can think too hard about it, Cassidy presses a fried dough pastry into my free hand, grinning up at me.
“Eat,” she instructs, taking a huge bite of her own. “It’s not a festival until you’ve had at least one of these.”
I take a cautious bite, sugar dusting my lips. The crisp outer layer cracks beneath my teeth, giving way to warm, doughy sweetness, a reminder of childhood, of simpler times. Cassidy watches me expectantly, eyes twinkling.
“Good, right?”
I grunt, too distracted by the taste to form words. She laughs and loops her arm through mine, steering me toward a row of carnival games.
We stop in front of a booth lined with colorful stuffed animals, a ring toss game run by an elderly gnome with spectacles perched at the very tip of his nose. A small child, a goblin girl with wide, watery eyes, clutches her father’s hand nearby, her lower lip wobbling as the booth operator sweeps away her last ring.
“Almost had it, sprout,” her father assures her, ruffling her tangled black hair. “Maybe next time.”
Cassidy nudges me. “Think you can win?”
I roll my shoulders, eyeing the stacked bottles. “Easy.”
Cassidy snorts. “Bold words. Let’s see what you can do.”
I hand over a few coins and take my place at the line. The rings are light in my hand, too flimsy for a proper throw, but I adjust my gripand let my instincts guide me. One throw. Two. The third ring lands squarely around the bottle’s neck.
