Page 5 of Never Been Gargoyled (Harmony Glen #4)

Dazy

I slept fantastic, just what I needed before I tackled my new home. Everything felt better when the sun was shining, and it was looking like it would be a perfect day.

My biggest issue was food. I drove here expecting to arrive in daylight, unpack my car, and do a little shopping, but a road had washed out.

By the time I backtracked and found a new route to take, it was dark when I arrived.

My belly rumbled, telling me that a glass of wine and a book would not sustain her.

Sitting up, I stretched and glanced around the room with a happy smile. The few cobwebs draping here and there would need to be removed, and I’d rehome any spiders I found outside, but I’d picked the perfect bedroom. Big, wide open, and a relatively comfortable bed.

I scooted out from beneath the warm covers and walked into the bathroom, where I washed and brushed my teeth, combed my rat’s nest hair, and bound it in a braid.

Thick and curly and much too red, it could be a problem child, but my mom had the same hair.

I only vaguely remember her from when I was little since she died in a car accident, and I’d gone to live with my dad who I wasn’t very close to.

They’d split before I was born and while he’d raised me, he hadn’t been the loving type.

Whenever I looked in the mirror and saw this hair, however, I thought of Mom and smiled.

Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, I took the stairs to the first floor and walked around to get an idea of what I was dealing with here.

The original floors looked decent. They’d only need a solid buffing and a good coat of poly.

Same with the original trim that had been nicely maintained.

The kitchen looked like it had stepped out of the 1960s, but retro was in, right?

I could strip and paint the cabinets and replace the appliances.

The money Helga left me along with the estate should be enough to do the most-needed things inside the house.

Hard physical work on my part would restore the gardens.

Once I’d opened my botanical gardens to the public and started seeing some income, I could carefully pick away at other needs inside and outside the manor house.

I lugged everything in from my car and stared forlornly at my too-few possessions. I’d packed the few things I couldn’t bear to give away in Dad’s garage, but that was a six-hour drive from here. I’d only brought what was vital and would slowly move the rest when I had space and time.

Inside my car, I started it up and drove to the center of Harmony Glen, looking for a supermarket.

While I didn’t find one, and might need to travel to a nearby town to do major shopping, someone in the hardware store directed me to a troll farmer’s market and a bakery run by an orc, called Dorvak’s Breads.

I loved seeing monsters around town. My great-aunt had adored it too, so that made me smile as well. I was a smiley person; no harm in that.

The bakery was next to the library, a place I needed to visit soon.

I adored books of all genres, and while I’d seen some in my great-aunt’s library, most looked quite old.

Not that I wouldn’t find treasures among them, but from a quick glance, it appeared my aunt had been into birding and architecture, not topics I was highly interested in.

I was a fiction girly through and through.

I parked in front and took a moment to breathe in the sweet, yeasty scent that wafted through the open bakery door. My stomach growled.

Inside, it felt like I was standing near a hearth. I took in the scuffed wooden floors and old brick walls. Loaves of bread sat cooling on wire racks on a back counter, steam curling up from their crusts. More bread had been sliced and packaged and laid in a rack.

I adored sweets. Some would say they were my downfall, but I saw them as fairy food. The more I ate, the more fae I’d become. It made sense in theory.

A very large orc stood behind the counter, dressed in a white apron dusted with flour and brown flecks that could be cinnamon.

His green skin had a dusky tone to it, and his arms were thick enough to make kneading dough look like child’s play.

He was handsome in a glowering sort of way, with a sharp jaw, tusks, and brows drawn down like I’d personally offended him by walking inside the shop.

“Morning,” I chirped, entirely undeterred by the growl of a man behind the counter.

I was one of those people who would get louder and perkier when I encountered gloomy people.

Like it was my duty to provide much-needed balance.

“This place smells amazing,” I added when he didn’t return my greeting.

He grunted. No follow-up. Just that.

My grin widened anyway. “I’m new in town. I moved into the old manor house on Winterbourne Avenue. You may have known my great-aunt, Helga. She was in a nursing home the past few years and when she sadly passed, she left the estate to me.”

“Feydin hasn’t driven you away?”

I lifted my brows. “Feydin?”

His glower only deepened. “You haven’t met him yet.”

“I haven’t met anyone yet. Just you.” I gave him a toothy smile.

He grunted again.

“Yes, well… I thought I’d stop in and introduce myself to my new carb source.”

Another grunt, one that might mean go on.

“Do you bake all this bread yourself?” I asked.

A third grunt.

“I was…hoping to find something sweet here. Pastries? Eclairs?” Even a do nut hole would do.

He hesitated before going to the kitchen and bringing out a cardboard to-go container he handed over the counter. “I don’t usually sell them, but you can have these.”

I flipped open the lid and took a sniff of the sugary goodness. “These look amazing. You don’t sell them regularly?”

He shook his head.

“You really should. I bet people would love them.”

I also selected a few loaves of bread because they smelled awesome. I added a long, crusty baguette that looked like it could double as a weapon and, after a moment’s hesitation, a gorgeous loaf of rustic bread dusted with herbs and sea salt.

“Do you have a large family?” the orc asked as he stuffed a bag full of goodies.

“Just me. My stomach’s been very vocal about how I underfed her last night.”

He huffed again, but I thought I saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a complete smile. More like his face almost remembered how to do it.

I tilted my head, trying not to beam too much. “You wouldn’t happen to have tea or coffee, would you?”

“No.”

I waited. He said nothing further. “I guess I could get some somewhere else.

“Tea shop’s next door.”

“Ah, thanks.” I went to pay.

“On the house,” he said gruffly. “Welcome to Harmony Glen.”

“Oh,” I said, quite touched. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”

He didn’t answer, just turned away to wipe down the counter behind him, his big shoulders tight under his shirt and apron.

I was heading out the door when he spoke. “Dorvak.”

Turning, I lifted my brows.

“That’s my name. Dorvak.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Dorvak.” With a grin that might out-blaze the sun, I left, cradling my haul in both arms.

After buying tea in the very empty shop next door, I drove to the farmer’s market.

The charming, single-story, red barn-type building sat at the edge of a large farm just outside town, much of the market’s front side open to the air because of several roll-up doors.

The inside was cool and packed with produce, from piles of tomatoes, to heaps of onions, to baskets of greens so crisp and fresh they must’ve been picked this morning.

They even had a large refrigerator case stuffed with neat packages of local chicken, beef, and pork. I’d still need to find a supermarket for cleaning products and basic necessities, but this farmer’s market could feed me for a very long time.

A troll stood behind one of the wooden counters, sorting apples into neat rows.

He was at least seven feet tall with mottled green skin and wearing dark-blue clothes that, while clean and tidy, also made him look ready to hop on a tractor and head for the fields at any moment.

His smile reached his eyes when he saw me.

“New face,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Welcome. I’m Ogram. Just visiting Harmony Glen or settling in here?”

“I just moved to town.” I set down my tea. “I inherited the estate on Winterbourne Avenue and moved in yesterday. Helga was my great aunt. I came to you because I’ve got an empty fridge and an ambitious appetite.”

Ogram chuckled. “We’ll fix that. Grab a basket and go wild. Let me know if you need suggestions.”

He helped me pick out the freshest produce. Carrots with frilly tops, sweet little peppers, golden apples, a bunch of kale so pretty I almost didn’t want to eat it. He threw in a bundle of herbs and extra tomatoes “just because.”

“People will be glad to know someone’s moved into the manor,” he said, as I fished out my wallet to pay. “That place has been empty for so long it started growing rumors.”

I grinned. “Let me guess. Haunted?”

“Not officially,” he said, a hint of smile visible behind his protruding tusk teeth. “But some folks say they’ve seen shadows on the roof. Gargoyle sightings, most likely, but you know how it is.”

Actually, I didn’t, but I suspected I was soon going to find out. Gargoyle sightings?

“I like gargoyles,” I said. “I saw the stone one on the roof, and I can’t wait to view him in daylight. They’re protective. Old magic.”

He nodded. “I believe you’re right.”

I paid and thanked him again.

“Keep an eye out for the welcome committee,” he said as I walked toward the door with my arms full of bags of goodies. “They usually swing by with treats once a new resident’s settled.”

“Good to know. Thanks, Ogram.”

I drove to the supermarket he mentioned on the corner of Melody Road and Sugar Maple Street, and filled my cart with necessities. Paper towels. Spray cleaner. Chocolate and more wine.

Back in my car, I couldn’t resist the call of the bakery goods. I opened the box, tugged out an éclair, and bit into it.

Oh. Oh my.

The chocolate glaze melted from my warm fingers, and the custard inside was rich and silky, the pastry soft but holding together enough to make it messily amazing.

I groaned.

“Good grief,” I muttered between bites. “That orc’s a genius.”

I licked a smear of cream from my thumb, took a cautious sip of tea that was almost too hot, and leaned back in the seat for a long, blissful moment. I loved this town already. Harmony Glen was already starting to feel like home.

I drove back to the estate, parked in the drive, and carried everything inside with multiple determined trips. I set the bags on the kitchen counter and opened a window to let in the fresh air. The house didn’t creak. It sighed, like it was stretching out old bones.

After unloading the perishables and eyeing the box from the bakery before telling myself to wait, I headed toward the front of the house with cleaning supplies in hand.

I stepped out into the hallway beyond the kitchen and slammed into something solid.

Cold.

And growling.

I yipped and reeled backward.

He stood in the hall like he’d been carved there, his wings half-furled, his tail twitching behind him like an irritated cat. His eyes glowed, stone-gray and flecked with gold. His mouth was pulled into a tight snarl, and not the cute kind. Not too cute, that is.

I froze. Mostly because my brain took a full second to catch up.

“Oh,” I said breathlessly, still clutching my tea. “You must be Feydin. The orc baker mentioned you.” I’d put it together after speaking with Ogram and thought Dorvak was joking, that the gargoyle on the roof had a nickname around town but wasn’t real.

This gargoyle was massively real and oddly attractive in a dark gray, stony way.

He growled as if I’d insulted him by existing.

I thrust out my hand. “I’m Dazy. Dazy Osborne. It’s nice to meet you. ”

Leaning down, he sniffed my hand, and I hoped he didn’t plan to bite it off.

Tipping his head back, he released a long, throaty snarl. His wings flared out and when his snarl cut off and he glowered down at me, I wasn’t worried about my hand any longer. Now I was concerned he’d bite my head off instead.

Great first impression, Dazy.

Just great.