His Human Surrogate (Monsters Love Curvy Girls #2) - Michele Mills Page 0,11
room eager to meet my day.
After breakfast, I learn that Riley is busy dealing with two teething twins and lots of baby drama, so she has to bow out of the move. But it’s okay, Bestla and her friend Methone show up, ready to help.
And strangely, Grandma Narvi decides to join us. She rarely goes out anymore, but she insists on coming along. I thought she hated me, but I’ve learned two things pretty quickly: First, even though everyone calls her “Grandma,” she’s actually Bergelmir’s great-great-grandmother on his father’s side and is over a hundred years old. Second, she cusses at everyone. The bad language she tossed at me so far is nothing. She does that to everyone. Every single day.
And it turns out Berg’s grandmother is a fountain of knowledge when it comes to the history of this house.
“I was a girl when this place was built,” she yells from the centrally located seat she’s placed herself in. “And I was here for the ribbon-cutting and the open house.”
“Really?” I say, truly impressed.
“And now, I’m here for its resurrection,” she says with pride. “Even if it’s being done by a strange, colorless species with weird follicles growing from its head. I’ll take it.”
I roll my eyes at her latest dig at my human “condition.” Then I’m distracted because a large green vehicle pulls up out front. Five different Hyrrokin males jump out and stride up to the door, letting me know they’re here to bring in Bergelmir’s stuff.
They are?
I cannot believe how quickly this is happening. I sign their tablet and stare in awe as heavy furniture is moved in. A bunch of it looks brand new. By the time the movers leave, there’s furniture filling up every room on the first floor and in the master bedroom on the second floor. It’s a good start, but the house is so freaking huge it’s still only half full. And there are walls of boxes everywhere. It’s pretty daunting. At least the movers placed the boxes in their appropriately labeled rooms.
Also, the whole place barely looks habitable. The furniture has plasi-shields to protect it from the dust, so at least there’s that. I get to work opening some of the biggest boxes and inspecting what’s inside.
Bestla is studying the furniture with a puzzled look on her face. “Bergelmir picked all of this out himself?” she questions.
“Right?” Methone responds. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Why are you surprised?”
“Well, I’m surprised because this antique furniture is all actually…really nice,” Methone answers. “And our Bergelmir isn’t exactly known for his design style.”
“Nope. Not known for that, at all,” Bestla agrees.
“He isn’t?” I sputter. “But I think Berg’s got great taste.”
They both stare at me with surprise.
I stamp my foot. “Really, he does.”
Seriously, Berg has good taste. My Hyrrokin friend has been completing a painstaking refurbishment of his ancient hunting lodge. I’ve learned over the last three moon cycles that Berg is usually either off saving other beings on some seekret mission he can’t tell me about, or…he’s home restoring old things to their former glory. We’ve bonded over our mutual love of restoration. It’s nice to have a friend who is into this like I am. I show him what old object I’ve found at the Singapore market and explain how I’m going to fix it. The he’d show me the latest project on his lodge and we’d give each other advice.
I understand completely why he purchased this old house and what he’s doing here. He wants to bring it back to what it should be, to preserve it for future generations of Hyrrokin. This is a noble endeavor. I was just put off by this house because I’m a human who isn’t used to houses created in the likeness of vicious, flame-throwing dragons. But I guess I can get used to this. In fact, when I walked up this morning, Berg’s house already looked less scary than it had the day before. It’s starting to look less “ugly” and more “bold design.” Maybe one day I’ll like it as much as the other Hyrrokin do?
“Did she say he has…?” Methone laughs.
“Yes, she thinks Bergelmir has good taste,” Bestla joins in, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her life. “Bergelmir! Good taste?”
Then they fall against each other, laughing.
“Hey,” I try to explain, “he’s shown me his design choices for the cabin. They’re always spot on.”
“He did?” Bestla says, wiping her eyes. “When was this?”