Page 2 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc (Monsters of Saltford Bay #1)

The floor feels thankfully solid under my feet as I step carefully inside.

I trail my fingers over the banister of the staircase as I walk farther in and toward the back of the building, where the open door to a kitchen sheds light on the hallway.

It’s a little sticky, and the dust clings to my palm.

“Charming,” I mutter, and my voice echoes faintly off the high ceiling.

Then my enthusiasm is dampened. By like a thousand degrees.

The kitchen is worse than the entrance. Much worse. The stove is a graveyard of rust; the countertops are beyond saving, and the refrigerator looks like a science experiment gone wrong. The sink drips constantly, the faucet sputters, and the cabinets smell like something crawled in there and died.

And then I spot movement to my left. A streak of flame-orange fur sits up on the counter, just to my right.

A cat, lean, with bright-green eyes, stares at me like I'm the intruder here.

Which I kind of am, from its point of view.

The cat's tail flicks once like a lazy pendulum as it gets to its feet.

“Well, hello there,” I say softly, inching closer. But the moment I take a second step, the feline darts toward a broken pane in the kitchen window and disappears outside .

“Fantastic.” I shake my head, then call after it, “Don’t forget to leave a review!”

The sound of my phone buzzing in my pocket startles me as I leave the kitchen. I fumble it free and glance at the screen. It’s Silvia.

“Don’t say it,” I answer, smoothing back a flyaway strand of hair as though she can see me through the phone.

“Say what?” she chirps, her voice bright and teasing in my ear. “That you’ve lost your marbles? That this lodge is probably the nesting ground for a colony of vampire bats? I wasn’t gonna say a word.”

I snort, leaning against the parlor doorway. “You’re hilarious.”

“I know.” There’s the sound of a coffee machine grinding beans in the background. Silvia is always either caffeinating or planning her next caffeination. “So… are you standing in the ruins?”

I glance at the hanging chandelier, one of its crystal pieces dangling precariously like a single earring after a wild night. “It’s got potential.”

“Oh, honey, that’s you trying to be diplomatic,” Silvia says, ever helpful. Not. “What’s the damage? Tell me everything.”

“Well…” I glance around, trying to be kind. Mostly, not wanting to make myself more overwhelmed than I already am. “There’s carpet here that’s probably seen the Civil War, so taking this out is my first priority. Some of the windows are broken. And the kitchen is, like, genuinely haunted.”

Silvia snickers in the phone and I can clearly picture her, standing in her bright-yellow kitchen next to her Italian espresso machine.

“Haunted?”

I can hear her brows furrowing. If it's a thing.

“That’s the only explanation for how bad it looks.”

Silvia cackles. “Good thing you don’t cook. ”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sil.”

There's a pause and I feel a shift in her attitude. We've been friends for so long, it's like we can feel each other's mood through the phone. Or something like that.

“Hey, I’m proud of you for this.” Her voice is steady and quiet.

The voice of the friend who talked me over the ledge time and time again since that night I came home to find Jason in bed with a woman who was everything I never would be.

“Really. You bought a whole freaking business to build a brand-new life.

Most people just get bangs after a divorce or a boob job if they're really going for it. Not my girl!”

I laugh despite myself. “I thought about a boob job but figured this was cheaper.”

“You don't need to change a thing about yourself,” she says in a fierce tone that makes my throat clamp shut. “Cassie, listen. Don’t panic, okay? You’re the best interior designer I've ever seen. You turned other people’s houses into something that could be in magazines time and time again. You got this.”

If I didn't already adore her, I would now. She's not only my best friend, but she always knows what to say.

“Those didn’t have bats.”

She pauses and I hear the faint sound of liquid pouring into a cup.

“Do you actually have bats?”

I rub the back of my neck. “Not confirmed. Very possible.”

“Add it to the list,” Silvia says lightly. There’s a pause, then her voice softens. “For real, though. You’re scared, huh?”

She always knows. I swallow hard, trying to push the lump in my throat all the way down. “Yeah. A little. ”

“Well, tough. You’re not allowed to quit.” Her words are sharp, but they make me feel all warm where it was starting to feel cold. “You’re gonna make this place amazing, and I can’t wait to drink free wine in your perfect garden this spring.”

Her faith in me feels like a life raft. I hold on to it like my life depends on it. “Thanks, Sil.”

“Always.”

When I finally hang up, the silence envelops me again.

But this time, it’s a little lighter. I take one last look around the parlor, my gaze landing on the antique mirror leaning against the far wall.

My reflection stares back, blurry and smeared by years of dust and spiderwebs, but there’s something in the tilt of my chin, something in my stance, that I can almost believe in.

“Alright,” I whisper to the lodge. And to myself.

I walk back out to my car and grab a broom and a large box of contractor-grade garbage bags.

In less than five minutes, I’m working full steam ahead, letting the soft rhythm of it chase away the rest of my nerves.

Each puff of dust feels like a small victory.

One step at a time. One sweep at a time.

This place will shine again. So will I.