Page 61 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
"Wallowing won't fix anything," he says, bringing my attention back to him.
"You're coming with me. There's something you need to see."
His amber eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes me squirm. Shame washes over me at the depth of my surrender, but I'm not ready to face reality just yet.
"I can't," I whisper, turning away. "Not yet."
Without warning, Gerralt bends down and scoops me up, tossing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
"What are you doing?" I yelp, smacking ineffectually at his broad back.
He carries me to the bathroom, sets me down with surprising gentleness, and presses a stack of clean clothes into my arms.
"Fifteen minutes, then we're leaving," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. He lifts a brow and his gaze runs down my bare legs under the t-shirt I've been wearing as pajamas. "Whether you're dressed or not."
The bathroom door closes behind him before I can argue. I stand frozen, caught between outrage and shock. Part of me wants to sink to the floor and stay there or crawl back to bed. But something inGerralt's expression stops me. And the fact that I don't doubt for a second that he's going to drag me out of the house with only a t-shirt over my naked body if I defy him.
With slow, reluctant movements, I turn on the shower.
Exactly twenty minutes later, just for good measure, I step out of the house dressed in clean jeans and one of Gerralt's flannel shirts that hangs like a dress on my frame. Then I find myself being gently but firmly guided to his truck.
"Where are we going?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer.
"Home," he says simply, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
The drive to the Saltwater Lodge passes in silence. I stare out the window, mentally preparing myself for what awaits. The devastation, the ruin of all my dreams. My stomach churns with dread, and I consider begging Gerralt to turn around.
As we round the final bend in the road, my breath catches in my throat. The front lawn of the lodge is filled with vehicles—pickup trucks, compact cars, even Sheriff Wolfsbane's cruiser parked at an angle near the porch.
But it's not the vehicles that steal my breath, it's the people. Dozens of them, moving in and out of the lodge carrying tools, materials, equipment. The sound of hammering, sawing, and conversation fills the air.
Gerralt parks the truck and turns to face me, watching my reaction carefully. "You ready?"
I exit the truck in a daze, my legs moving automatically toward the lodge. Familiar faces swim into focus everywhere I look. Mathilda from The Wandering Gnome stands on a stepladder, carefully painting a section of exterior trim. Sheriff Wolfsbane and two of hisdeputies carry sheets of drywall through the front door. Mr. Pierce, the elderly goblin from the parks department, kneels on the porch, carefully measuring and cutting new floorboards.
Just as I reach the front steps, Mrs. Primrose emerges through the door. The elegant pixie woman looks nothing like her usual self. She's dressed in paint-splattered overalls with her silver hair tucked under a bandana. Blue paint smudges her cheek and forehead.
"Cassidy, dear!" she exclaims, wings fluttering slightly as she spots me. "We've been wondering when you'd finally show up. Bernice has been dying to ask you about the paint for the kitchen. Witch's Heart, is it?"
I turn to Gerralt, utterly bewildered. "What… what is happening?"
Gerralt's expression softens as he looks at the bustling activity around us.
"After that night, I made some calls," he explains, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Word spread. I didn't even have to ask twice. People just started showing up with tools and supplies. They've been working in shifts for seven days straight on the repairs."
"But why?" I ask, stunned by the scale of the effort. "Why would they do this for me?"
"Because that's what we do in Saltford Bay," a gruff voice answers. Sheriff Wolfsbane approaches, wiping sweat from his fur with a bandana. His wolfish, piercing blue eyes catch the light. "We take care of our own."
Our own.The words echo in my head, warming something that's been cold for days.
I turn to Gerralt, my brow furrowed with sudden confusion. "But wait… how did you pay for all of this? I won't see the insurance money for months, and even with my savings…"
Gerralt shifts his weight, looking almost sheepish. "I made some calls."
"Some calls? Gerralt, there must be thousands of dollars’ worth of materials here, not to mention all this labor."
Before he can answer, my attention catches on a figure emerging from inside the lodge. She's wearing faded blue jeans and a simple white t-shirt, both splattered with primer. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and there's a smudge of paint across one cheek.
