I laugh and hold my arms out. “I’m living it. It’s one of those inexplicable things. Like the craft room in old Bette Mueller’s house. I can’t explain it, but I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. It’s real. It feels like it would have happened no matter what I wanted. It’s been a cosmic pain in the rear. Imagine the look on Mama’s face. I wouldn’t tell you unless I was sure.” That brings a snarl of a smile to her lips.
Goldie and I speak for a few more minutes. Mostly about the salon and when I can stop by and begin my training, but we do talk a bit more about Greenton and who is still there and who is doing what with whom. The mood shifts after I stand up to her in my own way. We’ve come to an unspoken agreement about Mercer and my choices. If she thinks I’m going to follow any more rules, she’s mistaken. When we enter the house, Mercer has resumed painting, and he pretends he’s not listening as I walk Goldie out. He does shout a polite goodbye because feelings be darned, manners matter.
“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll get you the kitchen items you’re missing, and maybe you need something to wear to the salon?” Goldie asks, eyes roving my outfit once again. “All black, remember?”
“That’s such a dreadful, boring color. Can’t we have flamboyant Friday or something?”
Goldie quirks a brow. “There’s no taffeta and lace in the North, honey. You might be able to find it in black if you search online,” she says. It’s a joke, but she notices my eyes light up because she shakes her head once and pats me on the head before heading down the walk to her car parked on the street.
“Nice car, by the way,” Goldie, says over her shoulder. “Very inconspicuous.”
I roll my eyes, thinking I might have to sell it to blend in. My eyes catch on Mercer’s house across the street and I narrow my eyes trying to see in the open windows.
Opening the front door, I shout. “Can we take a break? I want a tour of your house.”
That stoic, pale face Mercer donned when Goldie spoke to him is still there. “Sure, if that’s what you’d like to do. Listen though,” he says, swallowing hard, jaw sliding back and forth. “She’s not wrong. I’m angry at what she said, but she’s not wrong.”
“Are you an attorney now with that false positive? Can’t you say she’s right?”
His lips twitch. “It’s dangerous. I will complicate things. You’ll be waiting for me to come home and…maybe your cousin is right.” I think of the worst-case scenario and know she can’t be right. There’s no possible way.
I lift my chin. “Mercer Ballentine, you are not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting. I am a grown woman and if I want to wait for you, I will. I won’t ask the cop for any help if that’s what you’re worrying over.”
“It’s more than the guy next door, but if you say you’re ready for the long-distance and the lonely nights, I’ll trust you.” I don’t believe him. He’s hiding something behind the smile and warm embrace he wraps around my body. My place is small so we’re nearly through painting, with only a section of the bathroom and the hole in the wall to attend to. I change the subject to his house to avoid any more uncomfortable conversations today.
“I don’t really recall how I left the place,” Mercer says, clearing his throat as he grabs his big bag out of my trunk. “It might be tornado status over there.”
“How much stuff can you have in there? You haven’t lived there very long,” I ask, as we cross the street and walk up the narrow brick path leading to his front door.
He turns the key and pushes the door open. “You’d be surprised how much stuff you can accumulate when you have the space for it.” It’s dusty inside, the motes floating around searching for somewhere to land. The house has been shuttered for a long time and it shows. I’m immediately struck with how tidy it is. It’s not a tornado at all. He said that in denial or at the very least to manage my expectations.
“It’s nice, Mercer,” I admit, nodding, walking deeper into the entrance. The kitchen is modern, and it opens to the living room. “Why did you say it would be a mess?”
“It’s not what you’re used to. Not at all. Didn’t want you expecting a palace.” If I thought the mood called for a joke, I’d tell him I knew it wasn’t a palace from the outside, but I can tell he wouldn’t want to hear that. “I can’t offer you what your typical suitors can. I know that means something to you. Just a lowly government employee.” He smirks. There’s nothing lowly about him and he knows it.
There’s nothing I’d change about his place. The wooden floors are dusty, albeit beautiful, the colors are bright and cheery, and the setting sun streams in from double-paned rounded windows filling the home with light. “You’re right,” I say, turning to face him. His hands are in the pockets of his jeans, and unlike me, he doesn’t have a splatter of paint anywhere on his body. It’s unnerving. “You offer more than my typical suitors because you have my whole heart.” A ray of burnt sun cuts a path across his face. His blue eyes are illuminated, and I see the emotion behind his spoken words. “I love you, and I’ve never been in a place I’d rather be more.”
“That a fact, darlin’?” Mercer’s drawl thickens and my panties flood with wetness. It’s embarrassing that’s all it takes, but my mind flicks to sex, his body, what he can do with it, immediately. “Well how about you get washed up at your house, then come back over to mine? I’ll clean up a bit and we can christen the upstairs.” He juts his chin to the chairs behind his shoulder. He said christen, so that means I’m the first here. The insecure woman rears and flips her hair off her shoulder.Yeah, girl.That’s a victory. It has to be with a man like Mercer. Even my only family member here made goo-goo eyes at the man. I get to have him all to myself.
“You mean, finally?” I shout. “Finally?” I clap my hands, and then an awful realization hits and I furrow my brow and look down at my shoes while I do the math.
“It’s up to you now. You tell me your ready, I’m game,” Mercer says, licking his lips. “We don’t have to,” he adds when I don’t respond. “There’s no rush.”
“I want to,” I say, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth. “My monthly. It’s due. What if, you know, it comes while we’re happening,” I say, motioning between our bodies. “And I ruin it, and oh my goodness I’d die of embarrassment if my first time resembled something out of a bloody action film. Can you imagine?”
Mercer shuts me up with a kiss, his tongue separating my lips and filling my mouth. The warmth and wetness forces me to moan out a haphazard cry. There hasn’t been nearly enough of this lately. When I’m good and quiet, he pulls away, that lazy, turned on gleam in his eye. “Permission to speak frankly about the female body, ma’am?”
“Don’t ma’am me, Mercer. Yes. Always speak freely with me,” I return, gaze on his lips.
“If you think I’m put off by a little blood, well, uh, you’re wrong. That said, I want your first time to be everything you want it to be. We’re not in our parents’ houses, or in a vehicle. We have all that seclusion I’m so fond of now, so it’s your call.” He’s not saying what we’re both thinking. He’s leaving for war in a week or less and our time together is dwindling.
How did I envision losing my virginity? Before falling in love with Mercer, I’d say on my wedding night with a man who I didn’t feel a fraction of what I feel right now. It would be commerce. “Just like this is what I envisioned,” I say, mind mending my previous assumptions. “Like this is what I want. I want real, Mercer. Maybe real is messy and wild and nothing what I thought it would be. I’m leading with my heart here, and I want you to have all of it. All of me. We don’t have a lot of time and I think if you’re not afraid of blood, neither am I.”
His grin twists into something humorous, but I can tell he’s excited. “Alright then. Plans stand. Meet me back here with your game face. I’ll bring the tarp.”
“Tarp?” I rasp, arms stilling by my sides.
He holds out his hands. “It was a joke.” Mercer laughs. “You should have seen your face. Do you really think I’d break out a tarp? I’m intent on making this perfect, not a scene from a triple-x film.”
