"Mhmm," she softly whimpers.
"I think," I whisper against her as I come up for air, "an early dinner is just what we need."
Chapter twenty-two
Amos
Warinesssitslikearock in my stomach as I wait for Mercy to come back from the restroom.Surelyshe wouldn't leave me after the progress we made this past week and a half. I'd tracked her every step across the restaurant with my eyes, barely able to keep my feet anchored to the floor, but trust has to start somewhere. And now that I know how difficult it is to relinquish it, I admire her all the more for how much she's given me.
The relief that fills me as she catches my eye on her way back and smiles just for me waters the small sprout of trust and helps it grow. Rising to let her in, I can't stop my words. "Did I tell you how beautiful you are? No, don't hide from me. Look at me...there you are." A gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. "And that dress looks gorgeous on you."
Technically,Ipicked it because she chose from what I'd bought for her. But she looks just as lovely in the lacy red skater dress as I knew she would. Paired with her dark tumbling curls and earthy boots, she's absolutely exquisite.And she smells amazing, too. It's the same perfume I sprayed that night in her bedroom.
"Thank you. You...you look nice, too."
Inching closer to her in our private circular booth, one arm wraps around her shoulder while the other reaches for her knee. As soon as my fingers touch bare skin, her own trace small patterns on the tablecloth. I give a gentle squeeze. "Nervous?"
Her shoulders dance with a shiver. "Just a bit."
I believe it. A blush has permanently stained her cheeks since we left for dinner."Don't be."
"And here we are." Square plates appear in front of us with a flourish. "Medium rare steak with herbed butter sauce, loaded baked potato, and sautéed honey carrots for the gentleman. And same for the lady, but with the steak medium well. Enjoy." Our waiter departs as silently as he came.
Immediately, Mercy straightens her plate so the corners are, well, square. "Why do you do that?" I ask, cutting into my steak.
"Do what?" She's moved on now, making sure her napkin is perfectly folded in her lap.
"What you just did...making sure things are straight. The angles, patterns, all of that."
"Well," she circles a carrot in the honey drizzle, "I suppose it all started as a way to comfort myself as a child. To control what I could because I had no say in what was happening to me. Keeping my surroundings and the things that were mine in a state I created and could change kept me from going crazy and throwing tantrums when life didn't happen like I wanted."
That makes sense. "I noticed the way you kept your deskjust soat work. The way you couldn't help but to straighten whatever seemed off kilter." I peer sideways at her. "Like a certain picture frame at work."
My arm tingles with the force of her light slap as soft laughter tickles my ears. "What? That—that was you? It drove me crazy that I never could catch whoever was moving it! Amos Shay, you did that every morning?"
"Every single one. My way of making sure you noticed me, even if you didn't know."
"Oh, Amos, I always noticed you. Maybe a bit too much."
Too much? "What do you mean?"
When her fingers move to trace random patterns on the tablecloth, I stop her. "No. Hold my hand and comfort yourself with me, Mercy."
Our fingers thread together, slender mixed with thick. "I have—had?—a crush on you. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that you're a very handsome man."
A crush.On me.How can I feel love and lust at the same time? I encourage her to continue with a wordless squeeze.
"I was a bit devastated your last day at work because I thought I'd never see you again. Missed opportunities bring such a feeling of emptiness and regret that just weighs heavily on your shoulders. Or it does mine, at least."
"No more missed opportunities for you, kitten, because I won't let them pass you by. You're stuck with me. For good," I tack on, bringing our hands to my mouth. "Now, why don't we finish our food so we can get out of here?"
Mercy's already enlarged pupils dilate further at what I don't say, and she awkwardly stuffs a bit of potato into her mouth.
Tension curls in the booth and settles between us as we finish our dinner in supercharged silence. Nerve endings heighten. Every innocent brush of skin against skin becomes agonizingly sensitized.
Flagging down our waiter, I murmur thickly, "Check, please."
Time blurs as I pay and guide Mercy out of the restaurant into the brightly lit parking lot. When we reach the truck, her hand brushes against the door handle.
