My Orc Mistletoe Mistake (Eastshore Isle #13)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Brooke

Guess which one I was?

To give you a hint: When I reached the Christmas tree lot set up along one side of Eastshore Park, near where the community gardens would be in the spring, I sat in my car for an extra thirty seconds to hear the end of “All I Want for Christmas Is You”.

Cliché, yes, but I figured I owed it to Mariah Carey, to average out all the people who immediately turn off their radios when those distinctive opening xylophone notes begin.

Radio? Did I say radio?

Oh yes, radio. This was Eastshore Isle, and Eastshore didn’t do things normally. There was a public radio station here that actually played nonstop Christmas music, starting right after Thanksgiving, and after realizing every shop was blaring the same channel, I tuned my car’s radio to it as well.

Climbing out of my hybrid, I ruefully shook my head at myself.

Eastshore did have a bunch of adorable shops, each run by a friendly neighbor or cheerful helper-type—except for the body shop, because the orc who ran that was a grinch, despite being married to the world’s most cheerful baker.

The shops were all decorated beautifully, and the vibe was very much that they were playing the Christmas music not to sell stuff like the stores did out in L.A. , but because they liked it.

“Oh yeah,” I whispered to myself as I glanced around the lot. “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Yes, yes, I know Los Angeles is in California, not Kansas, I’m not that geographically challenged…but the sentiment is the same.

I’d left the big city and returned home to my mom’s small town right before Christmas. Now all I needed was to run into my high school crush, who ran the local candy-cane-bending factory or a failing poinsettia farm, and I could star in one of those wonderfully cheesy holiday movies.

I pulled my wool cap around my ears, reached into the pocket of my jacket for my gloves, and headed toward the Christmas trees, all arranged in neat rows.

Running into my high school crush would be difficult, considering I’d gone to school in Baltimore—Mom moved down here after I’d left for L.A.—and he was married with three dozen kids in Michigan somewhere.

What the hell had his name been? Ryan? Bryan? I needed to check social media. I think I’d seen a photo from his wife recently—

Wait, what had been the point of this mental detour? Focus, Brooke.

Oh, yeah, Eastshore’s Christmas spirit.

“And nowhere is it more evident than right here,” I announced in satisfaction, pulling on the gloves to protect my poor little frostbitten fingers from the brisk air as I marched along the rows of upright trees. “Christmas trees smell amazing, don’t they?”

“Um. Yes?”

Considering I hadn’t expected an answer—I was talking to myself, and myself wouldn’t be rude enough to startle me, after all—I gave a little screech and whirled toward the voice…only to swallow back whatever I’d been about to blurt out, which resulted in me more or less choking on my own spit.

Look, if you’d been there, you wouldn’t blame me.

Because this guy? The orc who was leaning out from around the huge Fraser fir that had hidden him, looking mildly concerned as he glanced around to see who I was talking to?

Holy moly, he was gorgeous.

Big, buff, clean-cut, and I’d always had a thing for guys in glasses.

Ethan had worn contacts, and I’d hated it.

Don’t think about your ex now, not when you’re busy trying to remember how to breathe and this hunk of deliciousness is looking at you like…like…

Like I was crazy?

“Hi!” I managed. “Sorry. I…uh…I was talking to myself.”

And that’s when his lips curled upward. Not like Oh, she’s nuts kinda way, but more like he was interested and wanted to hear more. “I do that too.”

Let me tell you: if I thought he was hot before, I was wrong, because he was even more handsome when he smiled. I found myself staring at him, lips parted in appreciation. He’s waiting for an answer. What had he said? I needed to say something in return! Quick!

“Hi!” I blurted.

And his smile grew. “Are you picking out a tree?” he chuckled, stepping from around his and adjusting his glasses. “It’s my first time.”

“First time picking out a tree?” Oh good, look at me, managing a conversation like an adult. “A Christmas tree?”

“Yes.” He looked away from me to survey the tree offerings, but he turned his body toward me as if he wanted to include me in his study. “I’ve never bothered to bring a tree inside my house before.”

Oh, maybe he was one of these new orcs my sister’s fiancé had helped bring to Eastshore.

This guy didn’t look like he was some backwoods weirdo though.

Fitted jeans, neatly trimmed hair, and a polo shirt which stretched over impressive muscles—wait, who wore short sleeves on December 10th? Wasn’t he freezing?

When he glanced back at me, I realized he was waiting for an answer, so I blurted, “Oh, I do it all the time. I mean, at Christmas. Of course I mean at Christmas.” I was blushing, wasn’t I?

Damn. “Mom and I put up all the artificial trees last week, but she put me in charge of picking out the real one for the living room—I need a big one.”

Instead of scaring him off with my blathering—Ethan would have admonished me to play it cool whenever I got too bubbly about something—this mystery orc nodded along, then tipped his head back toward the tree he’d been studying. “This one is pretty large.”

“Yes, it is!” I exhaled gratefully. “It hid you, and you’re pretty large.

I mean…” When he raised a brow, I blushed harder as I flopped my hands about in helpless gestures.

“You’re big. Of course you’re big, you’re an orc.

I just mean, your muscles seem bigger than usual. Do you work out?” I finished weakly.

And he chuckled again, his dark eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “I try to when I’m not stuck behind my computer. Do you want help with this tree?”

He still wasn’t scared off by my social awkwardness? Hm.

Feeling myself relaxing just slightly at the realization, I stepped closer to the tree. “You can’t just grab any tree, you have to check it out.”

“For…bugs? Birds’ nests?” As I inspected the tree, he tried to do the same, bending and peering into its depths. “Squirrels? Is it squirrels?”

I’d never heard of a bird’s nest in a Christmas tree. Where was he from? “You have to make sure it’s symmetrical and there are no weird bald spots.”

“Bald spots? On a tree?”

“You know, empty bits.” At this point, he was opposite the tree from me. “Unless you’re going to put it in the corner?” I stuck my head around the bushy boughs—ostensibly to be polite while speaking to him, but really just because I liked looking at him. “Are you going to put it in a corner?”

He seemed more amused than anything. “I don’t know yet. Is that important?”

Feeling somewhat emboldened by my newfound rank as Christmas tree expert, I straightened self-assuredly. “If it’s going into the corner, you can get one with bald spots and just hide them. It’s common sense.”

“Yes,” he murmured, his gaze sliding over my features as his lips twitched. “That makes sense.”

“And besides…”

I trailed off as The Carol of the Bells finished up on the speaker system and the opening bars of the next song began. My eyes widened in horror.

“Besides?” the orc prompted.

Last Christmas…I gave you my heart…

It was the opening lines to Wham’s “Last Christmas”, and I couldn’t change the channel.

“Oh no!” I clapped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. “I’ve gone ten days without being Whammed!”

I could feel him step closer, hear his concern when his tone turned serious. “What’s wrong? How can I help?”

“You can’t!” I wailed, knowing I’d lost Whammagedon already.

This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special!

“No,” I moaned, and tried to whirl away, as if that might hide me from the stupid song.

Unfortunately, my clumsy ass forgot to open my eyes, and thus I slammed right into a Christmas tree. The one we’d been examining. The one he was standing behind.

The one which, when my eyes flashed open, I realized was toppling over on him.

Sylvik

Vaguely, I was aware of the danger, but how could I worry about that when my Kteer was reacting so viscerally to the sorrow and pain in her voice? This female—this strange, wonderful breath of chaos in my ordered life—was hurt by something. The song? Could a song hurt her?

I was reaching for her, intent on wrapping her in my arms to protect her from—from whatever—

When the tree slammed into me.

Maybe, if my feet had been planted, I could have caught it. After all, it wasn’t too much taller than me, mostly air, and not terribly heavy. It’s just that these trees were resting against one another without the support of their taproots to hold them upright and strong.

Why would someone cut down trees and bring them into their home?

Perhaps I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be distracted by such a question, or off-balanced by the intriguing female who caused my Kteer to purr. Because when the fir slammed into me, I went over too.

I fell backward, landing on my ass in the brown grass—grass! No snow here on Eastshore!—and caught the tree as it toppled over me. The bushy branches caught me, pushing me down further, until I was lying on my back, cradling a Christmas fir in my arms.

This took less than a second, and just as I was about to roll out from under the offending pine—I supposed I would have to buy the monstrosity now—another weight landed on the other side of the trunk, pushing all the spiky bits into my chest. My breath whooshed out of me with a grunt, and I instinctively raised my hands to brace for whoever it was.

Warm wool and silky hair met my fingers.

“Oh my God! Are you alright?” Then, as if I wasn’t holding her head on the other side of the tree, the female’s gloved hands began to pat my arms. “Are you squished? Say something! I’m so sorry!”