Page 47 of Heart Over Heels
“Mm.” I hummed and drifted farther in with my tail trailing lazily behind me.
The carpet was too clean and the tables too bare. Emptiness everywhere I looked.
After a thorough inspection of the space, my attention returned to Mercer and his paper-thin excuse.
“Where’d you move back from?” I asked.
His eyes flicked away. “Iraq.”
“How long ago?”
“Almost a year now.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” he deflected, already bracing.
“Why’d you come back?”
His shoulders stiffened. “It wasn’t my choice.”
I let that sit, studying him in the silence. There was more to tell, but he had that cagey look, the one he’d worn after claiming he “used to be” a Marine. I looked him over, not bothering to hide my intrigue until he squirmed and turned aside.
“Why are you here?” he demanded, gruff to mask his discomfort. “You said you’d show me if I let you in, but so far?—”
“Club Daddy mentioned you were looking for this.” I waved the envelope.
“Club who?” Mercer frowned but took the papers from me anyway. The second he peered inside, his face drained.
“There’s a check in there too,” I added lightly. “Figured you might be a little pressed for cash since that show of generosity the other night.”
“Oh, yeah. I was… looking for this, yeah.” He cleared his throat then glanced toward the window and the sunny street outside. “You brought it all the way out here? Why didn’t you just wait for tonight? And how’d you find my house?”
I smirked. “Infernal intuition. Like Spidey-sense but hotter.”
His stunned look was worth the joke.
“Your address was on your résumé,” I said with a shrug.
The strain on his face relaxed, and he looked almost amused. “Well, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
He glanced past the breakfast nook into the kitchen and seemed to wrestle with himself before asking, “Have you had lunch?”
“You mean breakfast?” I teased.
“I mean a meal. Today. Are you hungry?”
I pressed my hand to my stomach and smirked when his eyes tracked the gesture. “Frankly, I’m starved. Cabbage steaks have zero staying power.”
His brow furrowed. “Cabbage steaks?”
“Ask Ozzy. He’s been on a veggie kick since Zephyr…” I waved it off with a smile. “It’s sweet, really. I just miss putting meat in my mouth.”
Mercer coughed into his fist, and his ears went pink as he turned aside.
I snickered, pleased at having rattled him.
