Page 38 of Accidental Orc Daddy

"That color looks amazing on you," he says as I step out in a dress with a deep blue hue. "It brings out your eyes."

"I love the way that dress hugs your curves," he says as I model a form-fitting dress with a flattering empire waist.

"You look like a goddess," he says as I emerge in a dress with a Grecian-inspired silhouette.

Each compliment makes me smile wider and by the end of it, I feel like I’m practically glowing.

As we make our way out of the boutique, my stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I haven't eaten in hours. I mention my craving for crab legs to Mustaf, and he immediately insists that we pause our shopping spree to indulge.

"There's a great seafood restaurant just down the street," he says, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "We have to go there."

I smile and nod, feeling a sense of gratitude for Mustaf's willingness to indulge my cravings. We make our way to the restaurant, and as we're seated, Mustaf immediately orders a platter of crab legs for us to share.

As the waiter sets the platter down in front of us, Mustaf picks up a crab leg and begins to de-shell it with ease. "Here, let me do that for you," he says, holding out the crab meat on a fork.

I protest, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I'm perfectly capable of de-shelling my own crab legs," I say, reaching for a crab leg of my own.

Mustaf insists, his eyes filled with determination. "I want to do this for you," he says, his voice soft and sincere as he smiles. "You just sit back and relax, sweetness.”

While we sit at our table and I sip on a cold glass of water, I can't help but feel a sense of unease. Mustaf's kindness and generosity have been overwhelming, and I can't help but wonder if this is all too good to be true. What if this idyllic love becomes real and lasts forever? Could he truly be my partner in life?

I try to push the thought out of my mind, reminding myself that this is just an arrangement for the baby. I can't let myself fall for Mustaf, no matter how much I might want to. It wouldn't be fair to either of us.

But as he hands me a perfectly cleaned crab leg with that broad, warm smile, I realize that it might be too late to stop myself.

CHAPTER 22

Mustaf

There is an energy, something like anticipation that thrums through my veins as I move through the hall, hurrying along. Like a buzz in the back of my brain, it carries my footsteps at a quickened pace until I almost reach the kitchen. Upon reaching the foyer, however, I stand still at the sight that greets me.

Meiko is arranging flowers, barefoot and smiling as she hums a soft tune. Morning sunlight splashes through the front windows and spills across her glowing, growing form. Taking a minute, I hang back at the doorway to simply watch her complete her task, her smile widening with satisfaction at the finished result.

Gods, she is truly a beauty. I’ve always been a little enchanted by Meiko, but the pregnancy has made her even more attractive. We’ve been living together for about a month now, and every day is a struggle to hold myself in check. To keep from taking her in my arms and seducing her all over again.

But I smile at the fact, knowing she does not even need to touch me to keep me falling deeper and deeper for her everyday.

“Hey, there,” Meiko greets, interrupting my wayward thoughts. She turns her attention from her latest creation and shuffles toward me. I have to make an active effort to not pay attention to the way her new maternity sundress floats around her delicious legs.

I have tried very hard to not remember how those legs felt wrapped around me and have failed miserably every time. “Good morning,” I return instead. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Oh, much better, thanks. I think the morning sickness is mostly gone, now I’m just hoping the swelling in my hands and feet will follow.” She gives a small chuckle and casts one of those thousand-watt smiles in my direction.

Maybe I’m imagining it, but Meiko seems to smile more and more when I’m in her presence. It makes the tiny cord of hope tighten around my insides.

“I’m glad the morning sickness has passed. That should make breakfast easier. Like the flowers, by the way.”

“Ikebana,” is her sunny reply. She absently tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and the action makes me want to follow the movement with my own hands.

“Gesundheit,” I respond, flashing what I hope is a charming, rakish smirk, because I really have no idea what she just said.

At least I get an amused chuckle from her. “Ikebana is the Japanese art form of flower arranging,” she explains easily. “My grandmother taught me ages ago. I just haven’t had much time or practical reason to put it into use as an adult.”

As we walk along to reach the breakfast nook, I surreptitiously roll my sleeves up my forearms to pretend I’m not looking at her. “I had no idea that was even a thing.”

“Oh, sure. Plenty of cultures signify different meanings to various flowers. Many believe that the right arrangement of flowers can be revitalizing and can even promote happiness.” She continues the flow of conversation easily, even as we settle into our respective seats for breakfast.

The morning sickness does indeed seem to have abated because this morning she looks positively excited by the prospect, as opposed to green around the gills. “So what do your flowers say today?”

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