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Sometimes it seems unreal that I’m standing by his side, my hand held in his, that he seems to want me, and want to spend time with me.
So unreal.
He tugs me toward the front door and I fall in step with him. “My sisters will be there, Octavia and Augusta, and their guys, Matt and Jarett. And Matt and Octavia’s kids. And Mom of course, and her boyfriend.”
“Sounds like a lot of people.” I sound doubtful even to myself. I thought I could hide my feelings better, but around Merc, that doesn’t seem to work so well. “I mean, nice.”
He chuckles, the deep, dark sound distracting me as he rings the bell and we wait for the door to open. Such a contrast to his golden looks—like that deep dark center he seems to be hiding, and won’t talk to me about.
Or am I imagining it? Could it be those dreams I had of him have influenced the way I’m looking at him?
It seems ridiculous as I stand there, in bright winter sunlight, his fingers wrapped around mine, as he winks at me and grins widely. He’s made of sunlight, strong and tall and golden all over. What am I doing, putting stock in dreams?
I mentally shake my head at myself as the door swings open and a female version of Merc says, “Sorry, we’re not buying.”
“Also beware of sibling ribbing and really bad jokes,” Merc mutters, and I grin.
“Mercky! You made it. Hi, I’m Gigi!” the girl says, grabbing my free hand and pulling me into her arms.
Which is awkward, since Merc hasn’t let go of my hand, so I’m sort of hanging between them.
“This is my sister Augusta, Gigi for friends.” Merc says. “Let go of her, Gigi. Stop terrorizing my girl.”
Gigi releases me and sticks her tongue out to him. From close up she’s not such an exact copy, but they have the same eyes and when Merc sticks his tongue out to her, too, well… the picture is complete.
Wait… rewind. Did he say, “my girl?”
“Your girl’s safe with me,” Gigi says.
He did. He said it. And she doesn’t seem surprised.
I’m still reeling when squealing kids ambush us—well, Merc—and climb all over him. He lets go of my hand to lift a blond girl up in the air and spin her around, while the little dark-haired boy keeps tugging on his pants.
Then it’s the boy’s turn, and he squeals as he flies.
So cute.
I’m distracted by the arrival of a dark-haired woman with a baby in her arms and a bearded guy with massive shoulders.
“I’m Octavia,” she says, “Merc’s older sister. This is Max,” she rocks the baby forward so that he laughs, “and my husband, Matt.”
Those blue eyes. The whole family has them. “I’m Cosima.”
“The mystery girl,” Matt rumbles, dark eyes appraising. “Merc has told us a lot about you.”
“He has?” I turn to Merc who has put the boy down and is straightening his jacket.
He opens his mouth as if to say something, but the little boy and girl are pulling on his hands.
“Uncle Merc, Grandma said to come in,” the girl says. “You’re late, and the food is getting cold.”
“Cold,” the boy repeats, nodding earnestly. “Grandma said so.”
“Cos,” Merc says, just my name, reaching for me, and I find myself reaching back without thinking, needing the contact to his skin. I think he’ll take my hand again but instead he slips his arm around me. “Come meet my mom.”
Mrs. Watson looks just like her oldest daughter, Octavia, only a bit heavier around the middle and with wrinkles around her eyes. “Hello, dear.” She takes my hand and pats it. “So nice to finally meet you.”
“Hi, Mrs. Watson.” I turn a questioning look on Merc. What did he tell them about me? “Thanks for inviting me today.”
