Page 41 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf

For the first time, I see my home through someone else's eyes.

Clean. Orderly. Empty.

It's as if no one lives here at all. My home is just a space where someone exists. The contrast between this space and the vibrant chaos of Maeve's cottage hits me with unexpected force.

I brace myself for a comment, a joke at my expense. Instead, Maeve simply removes her coat, hanging it on the empty coatrack by the door. The sight of her bright-green jacket against the white wall is jarring. She just stepped into my home, and she’s already the only splash of life in my colorless world.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she says simply, turning to me with those clear green eyes like jewels.

"I have clean clothes in my bedroom," I say, then immediately feel heat rise to my face at the potential implication. "For me to change into. After we remove the glitter."

"Do you have a clean towel and some dish soap?" she asks, mercifully ignoring my awkwardness.

"In the kitchen. Through there." I point to the archway leading to my equally pristine kitchen.

I watch with fascination as Maeve moves through my space, bringing life to it simply with her presence. Her curls bounce with each step, catching the light from the fixtures. She opens cabinets with confident curiosity, finding what she needs without hesitation.

"Your kitchen looks like it's never been used," she comments, wetting a clean white towel under the tap.

"I don't cook much," I admit.

"What do you eat?"

"Food."

She glances over her shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Was that a joke, Dr. Reizenhart?"

"An attempt at one," I concede.

Her laugh fills the space, warming it in a way the heating system never could. She returns to where I stand awkwardly in the living room, still shedding glitter with every movement.

"Hold still," she instructs, stepping close to me.

Without further comment, she begins gently washing glitter from my face. Her touch is light but confident, as if she's done this a hundred times before. Probably has, given her profession. I wonder how many children she's cleaned up after craft disasters, how many skinned knees she's tended to with those gentle hands.

The quiet between us stretches as I watch her beautiful, soft face. My vision blurs around the edges and her skin glows as I look at my True Mate. I know it’s not real. I know it’s just in my head, but it doesn’t matter. My True Mate, caring for me, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. My skin tingles everywhere she touches, and I fight to keep my breathing even. She smells of soap and lavender, of soft and clean things. Her scent fills my senses, making me lightheaded.

"Close your eyes," she murmurs, and I comply without question.

Her fingertips brush my eyelids, removing glitter from my lashes with careful precision. I'm hyper-aware of her proximity, of the soft sound of her breathing, of the warmth emanating from her body so close to mine.

"You have really nice eyelashes," she comments. "It's not fair."

I open my eyes to find her face inches from mine, those green eyes large and impossibly beautiful. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.

"Do you always care for your patients like this?" I manage to say.

"I'm making an exception for you." She steps back slightly, surveying her work. "That's most of it from your face, but your hair is still full of the stuff."

I reach up automatically to touch my hair, dislodging more glitter that floats down between us.

"You’ll need to shampoo like five times," she suggests. "Maybe more."

I nod, suddenly fumbling for something to say. I don’t want this moment to end, but I also don’t know how to tell her what I need her to know.

“Lorian?” The corners of her mouth lift in a soft half smile. “Can I ask you something?”

“Maeve.” Saying her name tastes sweet on my tongue. “You can ask me anything.”