6. Chapter 6 Undercover Elves

Chapter 6: Undercover Elves

J oy

The old Majestic Theater has clearly seen better days. It’s a crumbling relic of Hollywood’s golden age. My heart races with excitement. Wouldn’t it be great if we find the presents before lunch? Although I have to admit, I’d kind of enjoy spending the day with Grum. He’s not bad to look at on his worst day, and today he’s acting almost… nice.

“Okay, big guy,” I whisper, “we need a plan to get inside and look for clues.”

Grum snorts, giving me an up-close view of those pearly tusks. The more I’m around him, the sexier they are. “How about we just walk in the front door? Place looks abandoned.”

I force my thoughts out of the whole “sexy” rabbit hole and take the opportunity to scold him. “And risk alerting any potential toy thieves? No way. We need to be stealthy.”

“Stealthy,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. His pointed ears twitch slightly, and I find it oddly endearing. “Right. Because a nearly seven-foot orc and a woman in jingle bell earrings just scream ‘inconspicuous’.”

Despite myself, I giggle. “Well, when you put it that way… Oh! I’ve got it!” I rummage through my bag, pulling out two elf hats I’d packed for the Santa’s Workshop event. “Ta-da! Instant disguise!”

Grum’s expression is priceless—a mix of horror and disbelief that somehow makes his handsome face even more appealing. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Come on, it’s perfect! We’ll pretend to be event staff scouting locations.”

“Scouting locations? For what? A Christmas horror movie?”

“No one will question it.”

“I’m green,” he growls. “Over six feet. With tusks. And pointed ears.”

I wave dismissively. “Exactly. Pointed ears. Just like an elf.” When his expression becomes even more glum, I make a last-ditch attempt to coax him. “It’s the star tattoo on your head. It screams…” I’m going to have to use my Oscar-winning acting talent to say this next part. “Merry Christmas. Now put on the hat!”

“This color green clashes with my skin,” he protests.

I only realize the grumpy orc is joking when I see his lips trying not to twitch into a smile. After much-exaggerated grumbling and a few choice words in orcish—which sound gravelly and serious and somehow make me think of bedroom activities—Grum reluctantly dons the hat. It’s comically small on his massive head, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

As our gazes meet, he tugs it forward, purposely covering the pretty tattooed star. Too bad, because it just adds to his sex appeal.

We make our way to the back of the theater, where a rusty fire escape clings precariously to the brick wall. “After you, big guy.”

I wait for him to protest with a “ladies first,” but he sighs heavily, gives it a good yank to ensure it will hold his weight, and starts climbing. I follow, trying very hard not to notice how his muscles flex with each movement.

How is it we’ve been together for days and I failed to notice he has the finest ass this side of the Mississippi? And how, despite the musty theater smell, does he manage to emit a scent like pine and woodsmoke? It’s… distracting.

At the top, we squeeze through a narrow window into what looks like an old projection room. Dust coats every surface, and cobwebs stretch across corners like spooky garlands.

“Well,” Grum whispers, his breath tickling my ear in the close quarters, “no sign of your missing presents. Color me shocked.”

“No. Color you green,” I snip, hoping my snark covers the way goosebumps are tiding up the back of my neck from the effect his heated breath has on my skin.

“It’s not a total disaster… yet. We’ve only just started looking. Come on, let’s check downstairs.”

We creep down a rickety staircase, wincing at every creak and groan of the old wood. The main theater is cavernous, with rows of tattered seats facing a stage hidden behind a moldering curtain.

“Wait,” Grum suddenly hisses, grabbing my arm. “I hear something.”

We duck behind a row of seats. Grum pulls me close, tucking me next to his side. Oh my. He really does smell good.

Focus, Joy!

“I don’t hear anything,” I whisper.

Grum pulls me even closer, his warmth enveloping me in the dusty darkness of the old theater. “That’s because you have human hearing,” he grumbles, his breath tickling my ear. “Trust me, there’s definitely something moving around out there.”

I try to concentrate on the potential danger, but it’s hard with Grum’s strong arms around me. His delicious scent fills my senses, making it hard to concentrate on anything but his masculine presence.

“What do you think it is?” I ask, my voice barely audible.

Grum is silent for a moment, his body tense as he listens. Then, gradually, he relaxes. “Probably just rats,” he mutters, but he doesn’t loosen his hold on me. “Still, we should get out of here before you start decorating this dump with tinsel.”

We stay like this for a few more moments, pressed together in our hiding spot. I’m achingly aware of every point where our bodies touch, of the rise and fall of his chest against my back. Part of me wants to stay here forever, safe in his embrace.

But when I finally realize an army of rats might be gathering forces to attack us, I’m suddenly eager to leave our hiding spot.

“I don’t want to get eaten by rats.” I rise, immediately missing his warmth.

Grum chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Don’t tell me the fearless Joy Noel is scared of a few little rodents?”

“There’s nothing little about L.A. rats,” I mutter, already inching toward the exit.

The bright sunlight is almost blinding as we make our way out of the dim interior. Standing on the sidewalk, we blink as our eyes adjust.

“Well,” I sigh, trying to keep my voice upbeat, “I guess that was a dead end. But we’ll find another lead, I’m sure of it!”

Grum rolls his eyes. “Your optimism is exhausting, you know that?”

I grin up at him. “Someone has to balance out your grumpiness. So what’s our next move, Mr. Scrooge?”

He glances at his phone, then cocks an eyebrow. “How about lunch? I’m starving.”

My stomach growls in response, making us both laugh. “I think that’s a yes,” I say.

Twenty minutes later, we’re seated at a cozy booth in the Brushfire restaurant, a trendy spot I’d read about but never had the chance to visit. As we settle in, the intimate lighting casts a warm glow on Grum’s green skin. He looks… different here. Softer, somehow.

We peruse the menu and, our tastes being surprisingly similar, we decide to order two dishes and share.

“So,” I begin, taking a sip of my wine, “tell me about life in the Integration Zone. What’s it like?”

Grum’s amber eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of vulnerability. “It’s… complicated,” he says, his deep voice rumbling. He stops talking, as though those two words were a sufficient description.

I tip my head, wordlessly requesting more, fully committed to waiting him out, forcing him to talk.

Finally, he says, “We’ve built a community, but it’s not always easy. We’re separate from humans but dependent on them. And they don’t understand us.”

“What don’t they, uh, we understand?” I lean in, genuinely curious.

Perhaps I asked the right question, or maybe the wrong one, because the grumpy green orc launches into a tirade I imagine he’s spewed on many occasions. He talks about being fenced into the Integration Zone.

“They let you out now, though. Right?”

“Yeah. Until recently, it was only on work permits.” Then he talks about the lack of resources, lack of decent jobs, and the difficulty getting into college except through distance learning.

As he goes on and on, I realize a couple of things. One, he—and all the Others—have every right to be pissed. And two, this man, um, male, however irritating he may be, is… brilliant and articulate. And sexy, the back of my mind pipes up.

A small smile tugs at Grum’s lips. “And another thing most humans don’t understand is our sense of smell. Humans are always surprised when we can tell their emotions.”

I laugh, then pause. “Wait, you can smell emotions?”

“Among other things,” he chuckles. Is it my imagination, or does his gaze linger on me a bit longer than necessary?

As our lunch progresses, Grum shares stories of daring fire rescues and the camaraderie among his fellow orc firefighters. I find myself laughing at his dry humor and marveling at his bravery.

“What about you?” he asks suddenly. “How’d you end up running a Christmas shop?”

For a moment, I freeze, memories threatening to surface. But I push them away with a bright smile. “Oh, you know. I’ve always loved the holiday season. Seemed like a natural fit.”

Grum’s eyes narrow slightly, as if he senses there’s more to the story. Might he smell that I’m keeping a secret? But he doesn’t push.

Instead, he leans forward, his voice softening. “You know, Joy, I have to admit… you’re not what I expected.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, my heart skipping a beat. “And what did you expect?”

He grins, showing his tusks. “Someone a lot more… annoying.”

I gasp in mock offense and swat his arm playfully. “Hey! I’ll have you know I can be plenty annoying when I want to be.”

“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” he retorts, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

As we finish our meal, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed that our day is coming to an end. “We should probably call it a day,” I say reluctantly. “Start fresh tomorrow. Maybe we’ll get a tip or a clue overnight.”

Grum snorts. “Yeah, because Christmas miracles happen every day.”

I stick my tongue out at him. “With that attitude, you’re definitely on the naughty list.”

He rolls his eyes but then hesitates. “You know, there’s a night bazaar in the Zone tonight. If you wanted to check it out… I could show you around.”

By his wide eyes and shocked expression, the offer seems to surprise him as much as it does me. Beaming at him, warmth spreads through my chest.

“I’d love that, Grum. My daily trips to the community center have been great, but I’d love to see more of the Zone.” The rest of what I’m thinking— I’d love to see it through your eyes while holding your hand —remains unspoken.

He grunts, but I catch the pleased look in his eyes before he turns away. “Don’t get too excited. It’s probably just a bunch of junk and overpriced mellatons .”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’ll have my very own grumpy tour guide to keep me from getting swindled,” I tease. “Lead on.”