Page 62 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
My mother.
Patricia Perkins, who I've never seen without perfectly styled hair and designer clothes, is dressed like a common laborer, carrying a paint roller in one hand.
I stand frozen, unable to process the sight before me.
"I called her," Gerralt says quietly, nodding toward my mother. "After the sabotage. Thought she should know what happened."
Patricia spots me and hesitates, uncertainty flashing across her features, an expression I've never seen on her confident face. Then she sets down her roller and walks toward me with purposeful strides.
"Cassidy," she says, her voice softer than I've ever heard it. She reaches for my hands, and I'm so shocked I let her take them. Her manicure is chipped, her fingers rough with dried paint.
"Mom? I don't understand. What are you—"
"I'm sorry," she interrupts, squeezing my hands. "I'm so sorry for everything I said, for how I treated you, for doubting you." Her eyesare bright with unshed tears. "When Gerralt called and told me what happened, how someone tried to destroy what you've built…"
She shakes her head. "I realized I've been no better than them."
My throat tightens. "Mom."
"No, please let me finish." Her voice wavers. "I was wrong, Cassidy. I was afraid for you, yes, but I was also afraid of you succeeding on your own, without needing me or my way of doing things. I was afraid you'd prove me wrong." She smiles. "And I'm glad you did."
She glances around at the lodge, at the people working.
"What you've created here isn't just a business. It's a home. A community. And I nearly missed being part of it because of my pride."
Tears spill down my cheeks. "I never wanted to shut you out. I just needed to do this my way."
"I know that now." She reaches up to brush a tear from my face. "Your orc friend made that abundantly clear." A small, genuine smile curves her lips. "He's quite persuasive when it comes to defending you."
I glance at Gerralt, who stands a respectful distance away, his expression carefully neutral though his ears have turned a slightly darker shade of green.
"You hate getting your hands dirty," I whisper, still stunned.
"Maybe it was time I learned how." She squeezes my hands again. "I want to be part of your life, Cassidy. The life you choose, not the one I tried to choose for you. If you'll let me."
I pull her into a tight hug, breathing in the unfamiliar scent of paint and sweat that mingles with her familiar perfume. "Of course I will."
When we finally pull apart, both wiping tears, I grab Gerralt's hand and tug him toward the lodge entrance, suddenly eager to see the workthat's been done, to join in, to be part of this community that has embraced me so completely.
As we step through the doorway together, I gasp. The interior of the lodge is buzzing with as much activity as the exterior. What I expected to be a disaster zone has been transformed into a bustling workspace. New drywall has replaced the water-damaged sections. Fresh paint covers most of the walls, the same sage green I originally chose. Portions of the hardwood floor have been torn up, with new boards being carefully fitted into place.
Bernice spots us from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel.
"About time you got her back here," she says, wrapping me in a quick, fierce hug that smells of sawdust and herbal tea. "The kitchen needs your eye. I wasn't sure where you wanted the new cabinets."
I squeeze her back, then pull away to look around, still stunned by the transformation. "I can't believe what you've all done."
"We're not done yet," Bernice says firmly. "And neither are you."
She presses a paintbrush into my hand. "Now get to work. These walls won't paint themselves."
For the first time in days, laughter bubbles up from my chest, genuine and free. I turn to Gerralt, who watches me with a tenderness that makes my heart flutter.
"I guess I better earn my keep," I say, rolling up my sleeves.
Gerralt nods, his lips curving into that rare, beautiful smile that transforms his entire face. "That's my girl."
The remaining hours of the day pass in a blur of activity. I move from room to room, directing, painting, measuring, planning. Witheach task, each conversation, each friendly nod from a neighbor, the despair that's gripped me for days recedes further.
