Paper Bride ✔️ (Book 4 - DP Series - COMPLETE)

7. Redecorating?

I expect sly glances from Seth the next morning, and a steamy, undeniable attraction between us, but there's nothing. I watch him shovel cereal into his mouth as he stands over the kitchen sink. He doesn't even know I'm up yet, so I'm free to ogle him as much as I want. And man does he look good. Those jeans... perfect fit. And the strength of his forearms peeking out from the slightly rolled sleeves of his dress shirt... I'm a sucker for well-defined forearms. Add tattoos to said forearms and I'm a boneless pile of goo on the ground.

And then he turns around. His eyes find mine and his hand freezes mid-bite. I offer a tight smile, pulling my feet away from where they've glued themselves to the wood floor, and take the remaining steps to the kitchen.

"Morning," I say, opening a cabinet and pulling out a cutting board. "I was planning on making bacon and cheese omelets. Did you want one?"

I know it's a stupid question, especially since I'm watching him eat while I ask the question. But, he's a man, and I happen to know that a man's stomach can stretch to accommodate gargantuan portions of food. It should be illegal how much stuff they can squeeze in there. I wish I had a suitcase that worked like a man's stomach. If that were the case, I'd be able to fit my entire life into a single piece of luggage. Actually, that's quite brilliant! The next man that dies, I'm claiming his stomach for experimentation.

"Naw," he says, mouth full of Cap'n Crunch. "No time."

And then he's cramming in another bite and chucking his bowl into the sink, his spoon dinging loudly against the dish with the abrupt movement. I watch in nearly stunned silence as Seth brushes past me, grabs his keys and briefcase from the table, and mutters a 'See ya' before exiting the front door.

Okay, so after his heated glances last night, this morning definitely did not go the way I'd expected. I was hoping for flirty smiles and discreet ganders while we giggled together around the breakfast table. But who am I kidding... we don't giggle. Ever. Giggly couples are gross. I'm so thankful we're not gross. But, at the moment, we're also not cute or sweet or loving.

We're just nothing.

My cell chiming from my bedroom knocks me out of my pity party, and I hurry to answer it, nearly slamming into a wall in my haste. Socks and hardwood floors are a dangerous combination... especially when your name happens to be Mercy. I'd bet an earlobe that my parents named me that out of a plea with God to spare my clumsy self a few happy decades of life. If not for God's mercy, I'd probably have died at the age of three when I was plowed over by a motorcycle. Long story.

Thankfully, I don't actually remember that incident. I'm going to blame it on the fact that I was too young to remember and not the fact that the motorcycle handlebars hit me in the head. Though, it's highly likely that those fierce handlebars knocked the memory right out of my skull... along with a pint of blood.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and breathe out a 'hello.'

"Mercy," the male voice says brightly. "I hope this isn't a bad time."

"Oh no, Steve," I assure him. "I was just about to make breakfast, but I'm in no rush. What's up?"

"Just wondering if you'd be willing to swing by the shop sometime today," he says. "I was hoping to show you a new design for a desk and wanted to know if you'd be up to the task of making me a few."

"Okay," I say, pulling my socks from my feet and flinging them across the room. My laundry basket is somewhere in that direction, so I'm hoping they land close enough to it that I don't mistake them for clean socks later. "Yeah, I've got all day. When should I come by?"

"This afternoon would be best."

"Perfect," I tell him, heading back towards the kitchen. "I'll be in around one then."