Page 14 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
She's bent over a small wire cage, an orange kitten pressed against her chest, her face soft with the kind of tenderness that makes my throat tighten. The sight of Lucia being gentle with something small and vulnerable, her guard completely down as she murmurs to the tiny creature, makes my already hot blood runs even hotter.
Her fingers are running over the small creature’s head and it snuggles against her body, tiny and vulnerable and utterly safe in her arms. I swallow through a suddenly closed throat and try to look away, but I’m paralyzed.
Like she senses someone is looking at her, Lucia looks up and around the market, her eyes finally landing on me across the distance.
Shit. Like I wasn’t enough of a creep last time.
Our eyes meet across the market, and I’m hooked from somewhere deep in my guts. Her beautiful, soft face hardens and her mouth slims to a fine line. She glares at me, still petting the oblivious kitten. I’m still staring, my pulse hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. Then she pointedly turns her back on me, her shoulders rigid with dismissal.
That fact alone cuts deeper than any words could.
But at last the spell is broken and I look at the yarn my mother piles in great big plastic tubs. So much fucking yarn.
"…and then the little devil got into her yarn stash and made such a mess," Martha continues, oblivious to the silent war happening across the square. "Poor Helen didn't know whether to laugh or cry."
I grunt something that might pass for interest, but my gaze keeps drifting back to Lucia. It’s like my eyes have a mind of their own and they just won’t obey me. She's struggling with a heavy folding table now, the kitten returned to its carrier. I can see her mother, Condoleeza, in conversation with another woman a few booths away. After a few minutes of failed attempts, it’s clear she’s never going to be able to lift that table on her own.
She’s still not asking for help.
I wince as she lifts one corner, then puts the table down and holds her wrist in her hands, making a face that’s midway between pain and anger.
That woman is too stubborn for her own good.
My irritation builds, at her stubbornness, at my own weakness for watching her, at the persistent ache in my chest that’s only made worse when she bends down to pick it up again. When she cries out in pain as it drops on her foot, something in me snaps.
Before I can think about what I'm doing, I'm striding across the market. The distance between us feels like miles and inches at the same time, my boots crunching through the snow as vendors pack up around us. The scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke from the fire barrels does nothing to calm the storm raging under my skin.
I reach her just as she's wrestling with the heavy wooden surface, and without a word, I grab the far end. The table feels like cardboard in my hands and she cries out in surprise as I lift it to my side. She whirls around, her expression of shock turning to fury as she sees me standingthere. Her dark velvet eyes shoot dagger as she braces her hands on her hips.
"I don't need your help," she snaps immediately.
"You clearly do," I growl back, noting the way she's breathing hard, the slight tremor in her grip. "You're going to hurt yourself."
"I'm fine."
"You're being stubborn."
She glares at me in silence for a long moment, then flexes her hands and looks down at her fingers. Her palms are red and she bites down at her lower lip in a way that’s all too familiar.
Tiny Lucia Reyes. Too proud to ask for help.
“Where do you want this?” I ask her, changing the subject.
Lucia grunts, eyes the table, then seems to finally accept that she’s never going to move it by herself.
“Mr. Halrak’s truck is waiting by the entrance,” Lucia finally answers. When she looks up at me again, her gaze is softer. “Thanks, Gideon.”
I nod, then leave to bring the table over to the old man’s truck. As I go, it feels as if I’m walking on clouds. Like some invisible weight has been lifted from my shoulders and I’ve become somehow as light as air.
When I come back, Lucia is already busy with some other task.
"This is ridiculous," she mutters, wrestling with a particularly stubborn tent pole that's clearly stuck. She tugs at it with increasing frustration, her cheeks flushing pink from exertion and cold. "I can do this on my own."
Without a word, I step closer and wrap my hand around the pole just above hers. The metal gives way instantly under my grip, sliding free with a smooth click that makes her stumble backward slightly.
"Sure you can," I say softly, catching the tent as it collapses.
She shoots me a look that could melt steel. " Show-off."
