He’s big. He’s broody. He thinks smiling is a crime…and he might just be the hottest orc contractor Saltford Bay has ever seen.
Falling for the Grumpy Orc is a sunshine x grumpy monster romance that’s cozy and steamy.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice barely carrying over the mechanical whirring. I call again, this time as loud as I can.
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.
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 nearby workbench. 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 of Brooding 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 my words. “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.
“I’m not interested.”
Then he turns his back to me and begins methodically picking up the scattered wood samples, arranging them with precise, careful movements as if I’m not even there. I could pretend I don’t see how hard and round his ass looks in his cargo pants, but I’d be lying.
Still, he’s ignoring me as easily as swatting a fly away. The rejection stings, but something else, pride, maybe, or sheer stubbornness, makes me step forward. The new Cassidy doesn’t quit that easily.
“If you could just take a look at the place,” I press, moving closer despite my better judgment. “I know it’s a big project, but I’m sure I could convince you…”
He doesn’t even look up from his task as he spreads what looks like sawdust from a bin over the spilled wood stain.
“Look, Princess, I don’t work for city folk who have no idea what kind of work an old place like that actually needs. Do yourself a favor and pack up, then go back to where you belong.”
The words hit like a slap. For a brief eerie moment, I’m reminded of all these times Jason used to dismiss me. That same condescending tone, that same way of looking right through me instead of at me, like my dreams were somehow beneath his notice. Heat rises in my cheeks, but this time it’s from anger, not embarrassment. Five years of shrinking myself for my ex-husband’s ego flash through my mind, and something inside me snaps.
No more. I’m done being small for the sake of others.
I draw myself up to my full height. Which, okay, still barely reaches his shoulder, and let my voice crack like a whip.
“You don’t know the first thing about me or where I belong.” My voice is clear and proud and it makes me proud just to hear it.
The orc turns toward me, lording over me with his orcish good looks and impressive size. It should intimidate me, but it only makes me bolder. The old me would have left without a sound, her tail tucked between her legs. But the new Cassidy? She doesn’t let people walk all over her, not even men like Gerralt Banesman.
“Evelyn was right about your craftsmanship, but wrong about one thing.” I flip my hair, ignoring the fact that a stray strand is plastered to my cheek with wet stain. “She said you were a gentleman. She was obviously wrong on that point. Also, don’t call me Princess.”
For a moment, we’re standing close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his amber eyes, feel the heat radiating from his body. Something electric crackles in the air between us.
Then I spin on my heel and march toward the door, trying to salvage what’s left of my dignity. Naturally, my heel slips on one of the fallen wood pieces, sending me into an ungraceful stumble, but I manage to right myself without falling face-first into the sawdust.
Again. Thank God for small mercies.
The crisp autumn air hits my face as I step outside, my heels crunching angrily against the gravel path to my car.
“Real professional,” I mutter as I fumble for my car keys. My hands are shaking, and I have to fight back the burning sensation of tears in my eyes.
How dare he be so gorgeous and so incredibly rude at the same time? It’s just not fair.
The afternoon sun slants through the trees as I slide behind the wheel, casting long shadows across the workshop. Even angry, I can’t help admiring the beautiful craftsmanship one last time. What a waste of talent, wrapped in such an infuriating package.
“Well, that’s just great,” I say to my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes are glossy with unshed tears, but I’m still proud that I stood up for myself. Well, kind of.
“Back to square one. And I’ve just ruined my favorite skirt.”
As I drive away, watching the workshop disappear behind me, determination hardens in my chest. I’ll find someone else, someone who will take me seriously. The new Cassidy doesn’t need validation from anyone. Not even impossibly hot, grumpy orcs with hands that could probably span my entire waist and eyes that make my knees weak and… nope. Not going there.
What a jerk.
A devastatingly handsome jerk, but still a jerk.
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