“That sounds like scrambled egg pie—one of Zack’s faves. I’ll pay for it.”
“You will not,” I say firmly.
“But—”
“I want to. Please let me,” I say, backing down the ferocity in my voice.
Madelyn hesitates, then nods. “You shouldn’t, though. You’ll spoil me.”
Yes, that’s what I’m trying to do, I think, but I just keep pushing the cart.
Chapter Seven: Madelyn
Mercer paid for my groceries.
Sneaky. He did it without my noticing. He was asking me to look at the cookbook (well, really more of a magazine) that he bought, and his tentacles were dipping into my cart, putting stuff on the little checkout stand, all while rocking Zack to keep him asleep, blocking my view with his broad top half, and gesturing with his tentacles at different potato dishes.
I was upset at first, but then he pointed out that it was his fault—according to him, anyway. I was only out buying groceries because I’d second-guessed his offer, and if he knew more about human manners, maybe he wouldn’t have made such afaux pas.
So, of course, then I had to tell him that it was kind, generous, and notfaux pas-ish at all. I had to watch this gorgeous hunk gently place my son in his car seat while, at the same time, unloading groceries into the other side of the backseat.
Damn, those are some long, strong tentacles.
It made me think about other long, strong things.
I stared too hard, startled myself when I realized I was staring, tripped over my own flipflops, and one of those big, muscular tentacles just reached out and wrapped around my waist like it was choreographed.
Suddenly, I was wondering what it would be like to dance with a kraken. To swim with one somewhere private, without a toddler audience. I thought I even saw a glimpse of us somewhere tropical, locked in a passionate kiss, swirling in the water, barely coming up for air.
I felt happiness like I’ve heard about, but never found for myself.
Frankly, I barely remember driving home, putting Zack to bed, and unpacking the groceries, but I did, because I’m sitting here on my bed scrutinizing every tiny detail of tonight.
I think Mercer is awesome.
He’s the kind of man I’d want... If I ever wanted to do this stupid relationship shit again.
As if a hunk like that would want you, Eli’s voice taunts in my head.
With a grunt, I grab my laptop and open some files. Can’t sleep. Might as well work.
“Mommy. Did Mr. Mercer tuck me in?”
“No, baby. You did sleep on his shoulder.”
“He feels nice. His skin is...” Zack rubs his hands together as we ride to the lake, trying to find the right word.
I help. “Smooth? Scaly? Tough?”
“Huggy.”
Huggy. New vocab word unlocked.“He looks huggy?”
“You can hug him. You’ll see.”
“Zack, you can’t tell a person that they can hug another person. You have to let people decide who can hug them,” I explain, trying not to laugh. Or think impure thoughts about a very nice, generous lifeguard, whom I owe a huge debt of gratitude to.
“You can ask. You might get a whistle.” Zack holds up the whistle that he’s scarcely taken off in three days.
