"You cry as much as you need to. I'll always be here to hold you until the tears stop. And then I'll hold you some more, just for good measure."
Chapter twenty
Mercy
AcatnamedMouseis sleeping on my lap while Amos and I wait for breakfast. Oh, the irony, but her gray coloring suits her name.
That's not where the irony ends, though.
The man I'm watching whisk egg whites is a kidnapper, and the woman he took and married is buttering toast beside him. She looks happy and healthy. In love, even. Focused on his task, Mitchell still glances to the side every so often to throw a doting look down at her. When their eyes catch, gradual, knowing smiles that speak of years of intimacy spread across their faces. "Come here, woman. You can't be flirting with me like that and not giving me a kiss."
Feeling like a voyeur, I avert my eyes when their lips meet, the weight of Amos's hand on mine and the raw pureness of the moment too much to bear. Is their love real? I suppose it's altogether possible considering the way I'm falling for Amos despite our less than auspicious start. I'm beginning to believe over the top is the only way these Shays go after their women.
Normal is overrated, apparently.
Mitchell adds in cheese, chives, and seasoning before scooping the stiffened egg whites onto a baking sheet and sticking them in the oven. "Almost done. Sweetness, you go sit with the kids. I've got everything under control here." With a pat on her butt, he sends her our way.
"Hey," Amos protests. "Keep it rated PG in front of the kids."
Kids. I smother a laugh. Even at our ages, that's what Amos and I are to his parents. He was so sweet to me last night after my breakdown. My well-deservedandoverdue breakdown. But I'm feeling much better this morning now that my eyes aren't puffy croissants and I can breathe from both sides of my nose. Crying and sleeping away my stress maybe isn't the healthiest way to deal with things, but emotions can't be trusted to make the best of decisions.
A kiss to my fingers breaks me out of my internal monologue. "Ready to eat, baby?"
I look down at the food he places in front of me. Wheat toast, baked eggs that look like clouds, and—grimace—vibrant raspberries. Fruit. I hate it. My mouth already waters in a bad way at the thought of the pungent taste and the fine little hairs—a shudder involuntarily leaves me. I can't be rude, though. I'm going to have to choke these down somehow.
But first, I redirect as I gently move Mouse to the floor. "I've never seen eggs done quite this way, Mr. Shay." And I haven't. He put them in the oven again after dropping the egg yolk on top of the pillowy mixture that had firmed up. Luckily, the yolk isn't runny when I cut into it and chance a bite.
"Call me Mitchell. We don't stand much on ceremony around here."They don't stand much on legality, either. "As soon as I saw this recipe, I knew I had to try it the next time Amos was over. I know it's not melting behind the cloud, son, but I promise it tastes just as good."
Behind the cloud? Puzzled, I hazard a look toward Amos, but...are his ears turning red?
"Dad," he groans.
Now I'm truly confused. Corina takes pity on me and explains. "When Amos was just a little boy, he loved his eggs over easy. But he never could remember to call it that, so he always told Mitchell he wanted the sun to melt behind the cloud."
Ohh. Is that why he looked at me so funny and wanted to make sure I liked the eggs he cooked the other day? I see how a child would liken the whiteness to a cloud and the liquid yolk to ameltingsun. The adorable image of a young and innocent Amos makes warm fuzzies tingle and sprout in my heart. That's actually way too cute, especially since he still likes them that way and it makes him blush.
"Mom? Dad?" A deep voice sounds from the front of the house.
"In the kitchen, Connor," Mitchell calls out right before an unsmiling man appears in the doorway.
Good Lord, is this another Shay? And why do they all have to be drop dead gorgeous? And muscular. Ohmigod.
Probably a few inches shorter than Amos, this Connor has massive shoulders. Thick pecs and biceps that wear his skin-tight shirt instead of the other way around. If he were Amos's height, they'd look the same body-wise, I think. But that's where the similarities end. Black tattoos snake up his forearms, disappear under the sleeves of his shirt, and reappear to circle his massive neck. A shaved head and eyes so dark they seem black add a menacing air as he moves closer.
"Did Mouse have babies? Toto found this when he jumped out of the truck." His huge hand unfurls to reveal a tiny black kitten that immediately squeaks out little mews. "Shh, little bit.Daddy'sgot you."
My fork drops to my plate with a clank as I choke on my bite and watch in disbelief as he cradles the little fluff of fur to his neck.Daddy?That's...insanely sweet. And hot. This slightly scary man can be brought to his knees by a kitten that weighs less than one pound. That makes him slightly less scary, but not by much.
The screech of my chair sounds in the room as Amos dragsme closer and kisses my neck while rubbing my back. "You okay, Mercy?"
Someone feeling a little territorial?
"No, Mouse was spayed a few months ago, remember? Too many babies and not enough good people wanting to take care of them." Corina gestures my way, catching me as I awkwardly wipe my mouth with a napkin. "Connor, this is Mercy. She's here with your brother."
Having his focus completely on me is intimidating in a way unlike Amos. With lips tugged apart in a polite smile, he nods at me. "Mercy."
"H-hello." Needing to lessen the intensity of his gaze, I drop mine to my plate, intending to stuff my mouth so I don't have to talk. Just need to push those nasty pink things around so it looks like I'm eating some. Wait—where'd they go?
