He walked off and proceeded to fix our drink order.
Mercy studied me closely, and it was obvious she wanted to say something.
“Speak what’s on your mind.” I encouraged her by touching her hand. “Honey, I won’t be offended.”
“Aren’t you even a little excited?”
“Relieved to know more, but it’s still not sinking in.” On a long sigh, I collected the glass the bartender set before me.
“Well, Tak gave us a speech earlier,” she said while touching her heart-shaped earring. “Your business is your business, but you’re not alone no matter what you decide. Just ignore me. I can be a little nosy sometimes.”
I smiled warmly while Mercy eagerly drank her cocktail. While I no longer felt stressed about keeping the baby a secret, another emotion snuck up on me unexpectedly: guilt.
I bet she’s wondering why I’m not excited about the pregnancy. Maybe I should tell her about the tears I’ve shed each night while lying beside a man who doesn’t love me. Snap out of it. Smile and come up with something pleasant to talk about.
Oversharing could turn the pack against Salem, and I didn’t want that. He was beholden to me for a grave error he’d made, but it had nothing to do with them. I also remembered Milly’s advice to avoid stress, so I needed to stop focusing on all my problems and just learn to relax.
“Dang!” Mercy finished off her glass. “That’s the most delicious drink in all of Storybook. I keep telling Calvin he needs to spice up our menu, but he absolutely despises mixing cocktails.”
I flagged the bartender and smiled. “She’ll have another.”
She gave my arm a friendly pat. “I need to take you out more often.”
“How are you and Bear adjusting to mated life?”
Her megawatt smile said it all. “Bear’s a big ol’ sweetheart. We never have fights. We disagree but always work it out. He’s the most patient man I’ve ever met. How did I get so lucky? And it’s nice we get to see each other at work for a couple of hours. Late at night, we sit up and talk.”
“About what?”
“Oh, lots of things. He tells me all kinds of crazy stories. We talk about places we want to travel to, future plans. He has this sexy way of describing food that gets me all hot under the collar. Then we do a little wrestling.”
I giggled. “That’s one way to describe it.”
She cocked her head to the side. “I always knew something was up with you and Salem. Every relationship is different, but you two didn’t have any chemistry. You sure made a purty couple, but there wasn’t a connection that I saw. How in the world did hot Jesus court a glamorous woman like you?” She thanked the bartender when he handed her the cocktail. “I asked him once how you two met.”
I nervously cleared my throat. “What did he say?”
“He suddenly had to leave the conversation and go check on something.” Mercy gripped her glass, swiveled around to face the room, and crossed her slim legs. Her sneakers were ones Melody had designed with blue butterflies painted on them. “I think we need to find you a date. What about the fellow in the brown cowboy boots?”
Turning to look, I replied, “Absolutely not.”
“What’s your type?”
“Men who take pride in their appearance. Not ones who wear T-shirts that advertise beer.”
She choked on her drink before setting it down. “Ignore the image of the giant beer glass and just read the words.”
I silently read the words on his T-shirt:I Love Good Head.
“Well, that’s even worse,” I muttered. “Fashion is dreadful these days. There was a time when you couldn’t enter a club or restaurant without the proper attire. Men wore hats and jackets.”
“It’s a different age,” she remarked. “You’d be lucky to find a man who wasn’t wearing flip-flops to a wedding. How about thehot guy by the gardenias? He looks dapper with the bow tie. You don’t see those anymore.”
I admired the bearded man, who probably spent more hours grooming than I did. Frankly, the idea of dating put a bad taste in my mouth. Men used to call me high-maintenance, but I simply knew what I wanted… and what I didn’t. Every woman deserves to be treated like a queen, and far too many men had treated me like a fool. What made these men any different?
“Oh my lord. What is he doing here?” Mercy craned her neck. “Virgil?”
I searched the room and spotted Virgil lying on a sofa, his head in a woman’s lap and his feet in a man’s. With his fingers laced across his stomach, he held his audience’s rapt attention while spinning one of his tall tales.
