Page 8 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
No response.
I rock back on my heels, chewing my bottom lip. Maybe I should try the house? My fingers drum against my thigh as I debate turning back.
"Stop being ridiculous," I mutter to myself, catching my nervous reflection in the glass door. "You're offering this Gerralt a business proposal. The new Cassidy doesn't get nervous about business meetings."
I take a deep breath and step inside, trying to ignore the way my stomach clenches in a painful knot. The workshop feels like stepping into a master craftsman's reality TV show. Half-finished furniture pieces line the wall: a rocking chair with delicate spindles waiting to be assembled, what looks like a dining table with ornate claw feet, and several smaller projects I can't even name. Tools I vaguely recognize from home improvement shows hang in perfect rows on pegboards. Saws, chisels, and various other things that look both expensive and dangerous. The afternoon light streams through tall windows, catching swirling sawdust. The workbenches are worn smooth from years of use, but meticulously clean. Scraps of wood that most people would throw away are sorted by size and type in labeled bins, and even the sweep lines in the sawdust on the floor suggest regular, careful cleaning.
A tall figure works at the back of the room, broad shoulders moving rhythmically as he rotates what appears to be table legs on some contraption that shapes it into a pleasing curved line.
"Hello?" I call out, but my voice is lost under the whine of what sounds like a sander.
I take another step forward, and because the universe hates me, my elbow catches a display of wood samples perched on a nearbyworkbench. The pieces cascade down like wooden dominoes, clattering across the floor with impressive volume. One particularly enthusiastic piece rolls beneath a cabinet, while others scatter in every possible direction.
"No, no, no!" I dive to catch them, only managing to knock over a tin of wood stain in the process. Dark liquid spreads across the floor, turning my attempts to gather the samples into a frantic dance of trying not to step in it while also preventing it from reaching any of the fallen pieces.
"Oh shit, shit, shit," I mutter, dropping to my knees to gather the scattered pieces. I'm still scrambling to stack them when a shadow falls over me.
I look up.
And up.
And up some more.
Oh. My. God.
He's an orc. A massive, impossibly gorgeous orc with piercing amber eyes set in a rugged face that belongs on the cover ofBrooding Woodworker Monthly. I'm not certain if such a magazine exists, but if it doesn't, it should. His olive-green skin gleams with a light sheen of sweat, and his black hair is pulled back in a loose knot that somehow makes him look even more intimidating. Two impressive tusks jut from his lower jaw, framing lips that are currently pressed into a distinctly unamused line.
"I'm so sorry about the mess," I babble, still on my knees and now covered in a fine layer of sawdust. "I was just… I mean, I came to… Your work is absolutely incredible, by the way. These samples alone are amazing, the grain on this one is just…" I hold up a piece of wood, then realize I'm still sitting on his floor and scramble to my feet, nearly toppling over again in the process.
He watches this display with all the warmth of a granite statue. I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes, which doesn't help my composure one bit. Neither does the fact that he's at least six and a half feet of solid muscle, frowning at me and making me feel like a bug in comparison.
"Mr. Banesman?” I hear myself and I swear I try to stop, but the words still go out of my mouth. “Well, of course you're Mr. Banesman! This is your workshop and your name is on the sign right outside."
Stop rambling, I admonish myself, but the thought only serves to make me more flustered and I fight to keep my smile in place as I brush sawdust from my skirt. It doesn't work very well and soon my nice black skirt is all streaked with sawdust and wood stain and I just know it's ruined.It's okay. Keep it together. This is nothing you can't recover from.
Or is it?
The look on Gerralt Banesman's face says otherwise as he takes in the spreading puddle of wood stain on his floor.
"I'm Cassidy Perkins." I push on, extending a hand to him, then lowering it immediately as he glances down at the dirty palm with his ever-deepening frown. “I got your name from Mrs. Primrose, over at Primrose Pristine Home Decor. She couldn't have recommended you more warmly.”
Still, he just looks at me and I feel the loose threads in my brain muddle over as my anxiety cranks to an eleven.
“She said you might be interested in me. I mean, if you're available.” I feel the heat spread across my entire face as he lifts a brow at mywords. “Not that I'm assuming you're available-available, just professionally available.”
Stop talking, Cassidy. Stop talking right now.
He steps closer, and suddenly the workshop feels much smaller. I catch a whiff of pine and something spicy that makes my heart do a little skip. My gaze shifts to his broad chest, clad in a red and green checkered shirt, then travel to his face and set on his full, firm lips.
Stop looking at him like he’s a cake on display!I manage to pull my naughty eyes back to the glowering amber eyes. And I almost regret it.
"What do you want?" His voice is deep enough to make my bones vibrate. And somewhere lower, between my legs, too.
I swallow hard and square my shoulders, then will my smile to spread wider on my face, hoping that I don't look like a deranged clown.
"I'm the new owner of the Saltwater Lodge," I say with a measured, even tone. "Mrs. Primrose said you were the best, and I was hoping you might consider taking on the renovation project. It's such a beautiful old building. It’s got all these amazing architectural details that really deserve someone with your talent to restore them properly, and there's this incredible mantlepiece that I think you'd really appreciate, and the original woodwork is just stunning, even though it needs some love, and I have all these ideas for…"
He raises a hand, and I snap my mouth shut so fast my teeth click-clack in my mouth.
