Page 31 of Heart Over Heels

The corner of his mouth curled. “All right.”

I sat forward, gleeful. “You go first.”

Mercer glanced around the restaurant, still taking in the lavish trimmings and trappings. He must have been used to a bit of glitz, having spent time in the Basilica, but in my opinion, this place was subtler in its glamor, and classier by default.

“I’m a Nevada native,” he said at length. “Served ten years in the Marines as a combat medic. My favorite color is green.”

Cupping my hand to my mouth, I pretended to yawn. “Riveting.”

Mercer’s brows pulled together. “What?”

“The interview’s over, Mercy. I don’t want your height, weight, and shoe size. Tell me something interesting. Somethingunhinged.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. He glanced aside, mentally fishing, then he muttered, “I’m scared of dogs.”

My eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is that the lie?”

“No.”

I gave him a lengthy once-over—broad shoulders, scarred hands, built like he could wrestle a bear—and tried to picture him bolting from a yappy fluffball. The image almost made me choke on my laughter. “All dogs? Because I get like… Cane Corsos or Rottweilers. But what about a Pekingese?”

He gave a tiny shrug, and his gaze dropped to the table. “Not a fan.”

“You’re a Marine.” I said it like he needed reminding, like the title should grant him immunity from fear.

His eyes flicked up. They were rich brown and could have been warm, but now they were flat and firm. “Iusedto be a Marine.”

My grin faltered, leaving me staring at him a moment too long before I shook it off, recalling something else I’d seen on his résumé. “You have a Purple Heart. What’d you earn that for?”

He shifted as the gap I’d found in his armor gaped wide. “I think it’s your turn now.”

My palms raised in surrender. “Okay, all right, you get a pass.” Leaning back, I crossed one leg over the other, letting my bubble dress ride scandalously high. “I’m from Chicago. I’m an only child, which explains my unquenchable thirst for attention. Single mom upbringing gave me daddy issues but killer fashion sense. And ah…” My nose crinkled. “I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“That was four.”

“What can I say?” I replied. “I’m a giver.”

His brow creased. “All truths?”

I nodded. “Seems we’re a couple of honest fellows after all.”

The server returned with plates impeccably balanced, and conversation died as the food became the main event. Every bitewas perfect, and I’d polished off more than my share of the wine before I realized it. By the time our desserts arrived, I was loose and warm, the glow of good food and pleasant company settling under my skin.

We sat in the lull, waiting for the check, when I finally said, “Thank you again for helping me. And Elliot.”

Mercer paused to think. “Is that Hemlock?”

“Onstage Hemlock. Offstage Elliot.”

He nodded slowly. “How is he?”

I sighed and lifted my wine glass for a sip. “Moody. Broody. But that’s pretty normal. He’ll be all right.”

Mercer gave another small nod as his eyes shifted back to me. “What about you?”

“Me?” I blinked. “I’m fine.”

“I meant… onstage Luxe, right? What about offstage?”