Page 8 of Charming the Orc's Mate

“Out.” Osen’s growl held no room for argument. His mate’s scent had shifted to something headier, and I really didn’t need to witness what came next.

I barely made it out the door before Miranda’s giggle turned into a moan. Gus darted out behind me, giving me a look that clearly saidbipeds, right?

The walk back to my home felt longer than usual. Every step away from Carissa physically hurt, like someone had tied a string between us and was slowly pulling it taut. The mate bond was still new, raw, and demanding. It would settle eventually. Probably. Hopefully.

But for now, all I could think about was how she’d looked in that moment before Tate interrupted—almost smiling, almost softening. The way that loose strand of hair had taunted me. The vanilla-cinnamon scent that still clung to my clothes.

I needed to prove myself worthy. Show her I could be reliable and dependable. Someone she could trust with her heart.

First, though, I needed to figure out how to keep her in Silvermist long enough to try.

CARISSA

I checked the clipboard again, as if the numbers might magically change. Thirty-five confirmed attendees for Paint & Sip, and only twenty-eight wine glasses. Not counting the three I’d already broken trying to wash decades of dust off them.

“You’re sure there aren’t any more glasses in storage?” I called up to the second floor where Molly was supposed to be shelving an armful of books a customer had decided against at the checkout counter. Truthfully, I’d rather them handed over like contraband than left to be found two seconds before closing.

Molly, however, propped her hip against the railing and tapped away at her phone. “Nope.”

“Could you maybe look?” The words ground between my teeth. “Instead of texting?”

“Already did.” She didn’t even glance up. “Jana told me last time that Mags switched to plastic cups after the Valentine’s incident last year. Something about blood being hard to get out of the carpet?”

Perfect. Just perfect. I addedsource disposable wine glassesto my ever-growing to-do list, right underfigure out why we’re hemorrhaging moneyandhire new employees sans phone addictions.

I was going to murder my past self for ever thinking I could manage this place remotely.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to find calm. As much as the little girl who loved losing herself in the stacks would have loathed to hear it, I missed Seattle’s predictability. Nine to five shifts, healthy savings accounts, and perfectly calculated risk assessment. I liked knowing where every item was in a storeroom and how much was ordered at a time. Everything made sense. Nothing required guessing games.

The bell above the door chimed, and I spun with dread coiling in my stomach. If that was our first guest...

But no. It was worse.

“Little Carrie!” Beverly’s voice rang through the store with the cheerful obliviousness of someone who’d never stressed a day in her life. “I hope you don’t mind me popping in early. I wanted to make sure everything was set up properly.”

My eye twitched at the nickname. “It’s Carissa, Mrs. Morris. And I’m afraid we’re running a bit behind schedule.”

“Oh, nonsense.” She waved a hand airily. “I’m sure you have everything under control. This event’s been on the calendar for months, after all.”

I bit back the urge to point out that if it had truly been planned for months, perhaps someone could have mentioned it to me before yesterday afternoon. But Beverly was already puttering around, tsking at the lack of setup.

“Now, where are the brushes? And the smocks? We can’t have people ruining their nice clothes.” She peered at me over her glasses. “You did remember smocks, didn’t you, dear?”

Fuck.

I was saved from answering by another chime, and I spun to face whoever dared interrupt my spiral into madness with a tight smile. My breath caught as Torain ducked through the entrance, his broad shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the frame.

“Hope I’m not late. No one wants to fuck with geese when they block a path. Devil creatures.” He shook his head and his eyes danced with mischief. “Heard you might need help.”

I opened my mouth to politely decline. To maintain that professional distance I’d been clinging to since he first walked back into my life. Instead, what came out was an embarrassingly relieved, “You’re here.”

“Happy to lend a hand. Or two.” He held out his arms, and I definitely did not stare at the tattoos disappearing under his rolled cuffs. “Where do you want me?”

Everywhere. The thought ambushed me before I could squash the image of those strong hands on my hips, my thighs, my?—

“Easels,” I blurted. “We need to set up the easels.”

I busied myself with distributing canvases, desperately trying to ignore how easily Torain maneuvered the awkward stands into place. He worked quickly and efficiently, pausing only to tease me about my color-coded system for organizing supplies.

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