“That means if you feel the size of an ant, you’re in good company. There are a lot of you and there’s power in numbers.” His low, rough voice plows through the words.
My lips quirk with amusement.
“Cool fact number two.” He counts on his fingers. “The creature with the most painful sting in the world is an ant. Fact three, there’s another species that’s the fastest.”
“So, they’re strong.”
“I haven’t even gotten to number four. Ants are thestrongest. Relative to size, they can lift over fifty times their body weight.”
“They’re powerful and strong.” The corner of my lip lifts because, for all his grumpy, gruff girth, I realize that Grey was once a kid—probably fascinated by all things creepy and crawly.
He nods. “And number five. Ants don’t have ears.”
“How is that cool?”
“They don’t have to listen to nonsense spewed by some loser who thinks you’re small when they’re actually powerful and strong. You’re powerful and strong, Buttercup.”
Grey’s meaning rushes at me and I lean back in my seat. My look of amusement grows into an unexpected, perplexing smile.
“That’s better.”
I snort a laugh. “You surprise me in so many ways.”
He’s too big to fit in a coach seat. His muscles flex under his shirt like he hides boulders under there. However, deep inside, there is a softness and understanding I never expected or experienced from a man.
“Thanks for that,” I say.
His eyes flash, reminding me that he’s a dangerous gentleman.
I like it. A lot.
He says, “Don’t mention it.”
21
GREY
Once the flight out of Concordia is underway and after I relay to Everly everything Dixie Davis told me about her dogs, a runaway lizard, and a wedding day pie recipe she promised to share with my mother, I select an action movie. My eyes dip, exhausted after last night. But before they close, I glimpse a sketch of a Viking in the same notebook Everly had during our first meeting.
Asleep, I dream of rescuing the fairest maiden in the land and then bringing her home to my island castle.
“Hey, sleepy head,” a scratchy voice whispers on a waft of sweet sunshine.
I blink my eyes open to Everly, her head on my shoulder, looking up at me appreciatively as if I’d actually rescued her from an ogre hoard.
“We just landed,” she says.
As if hypnotized by her green eyes, I can’t think straight until after we disembark from the airplane and I down a large coffee with a shot of espresso.
“Are we going to Canada?” she asks as we navigate the airport to the connecting flight.
“Toronto and then Thunder Bay. Isle Royale is closer to Canada than anywhere in the US, so that’s my typical route even though it involves a bit of travel.”
“So, we’re heading to Michigan?”
She knows her geography.
Although I’m football famous, aside from the charity work I participate in, I don’t get involved in all the press hoopla and high-profile events the other guys do—keeping up with the media circus. I save my energy for the field. At least, I do now. Earlier in my career was a different story.
