Mercy's Debt (Montgomery's Vampires Series Book One) by Sloan Archer Page A
Authors: Sloan Archer
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suddenly feeling very improper.
“Well, as I am certain you are probably aware, I have a lot of money- more money than most humans earn a thousand lifetimes over.” He wasn’t bragging, only citing a fact. “In the past, whenever I have asked a woman to recommend a location for us to spend the evening, the first places she would think of were always five-star restaurants, exclusive bars, and luxury department stores. Places where she could spend my money. You, however, have just suggested a hole-in-the-wall diner,” he smiled. “I find that… fascinating.”
“ Oh.”
He placed his hand back over mine hesitantly, looking me square in the face with those hypnotic eyes of his. “And I find you fascinating, Mercy.”
TEN
Every head in Whistle Stop turned when Robert and I walked through the door.
For a moment, I found the interest perplexing, blaming the majority of the attention we received on Robert’s jaw-dropping handsomeness. It wasn’t until a little girl on her way out the door pointed to me coyly and asked her mother if I was a princess that I remembered our formal attire.
“I guess we’re a tad overdressed,” I smirked at Robert. For his amusement, I snapped my finger and gasped, “Oh, shoot! Whistle Stop’s tuxedo and ball gown dress code is on Saturday , not Friday! Gosh, now I just feel plain silly.”
H e flashed his eyes towards the ceiling, mocking me playfully.
The little girl outside continued to watch me in awe through the wide windows as her parents scooped her up and buckled her down inside a large SUV with Oregon plates. There was a mishmash of suitcases, bikes, and boxes strapped to the roof of the vehicle, which explained why a child her age was up at such a later hour. They were traveling.
When her dad started the car and backed out of their parking space, I smiled at the girl and curtsied, just like a princess. Her chubby little hands clapped happily and her eyes scrunched up as she let out a squeal. She waved at me sweetly through the back window as they drove off. I waved back with small flicks of the wrist, the same way I’d seen Queen Elizabeth do it on television.
Robert, observing the exchange, chuckled under his breath.
I look ed at him curiously. “What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He shook his head amusedly. “You are simply enchanting.”
We waited for a few minutes without being greeted, immediately feeling foolish as we noticed the PLEASE SEAT YOURSELF sign in the corner. We walked through the main dining area and settled down in a secluded booth near the rear of the restaurant, Robert seemingly taking no notice of the hushed comments and probing glances directed our way.
I, howe ver, had to bite my tongue in order to stop myself from pointing at Robert and yelling, “Eat it up, looky-loos! I’m here with this spectacular man, and he just called me enchanting. That’s right, enchanting !”
“This place is rather quaint. I like it,” he stated. He grabbed two menus from the metal holder on the side of the table and handed one of them to me. He scanned the menu, running a finger over the selections. “Hmm, let me see. What looks good? You think I should ask if I qualify for the senior citizen discount?”
“You aren’t actually going to eat something, are you?” I asked skeptically.
“Of course not, but I have appearances to keep up.” He said this like it was obvious, which I guess it was. “My, my- listen to this. The Scary Coronary: sausage, bacon, onion, and cheese omelet, sandwiched between two king-sized hash browns, all smothered in hollandaise sauce, served with two buttermilk pancakes, and a side of ham. Guaranteed to stop your heart .” He closed the menu and looked at me sternly. “I simply do not understand this grotesque obsession American’s have with killing themselves with food. People treat eating like it is a competitive sport in this country,” he scowled.
He was so bothered, I had to laugh. “Robert, eating is a
“Well, as I am certain you are probably aware, I have a lot of money- more money than most humans earn a thousand lifetimes over.” He wasn’t bragging, only citing a fact. “In the past, whenever I have asked a woman to recommend a location for us to spend the evening, the first places she would think of were always five-star restaurants, exclusive bars, and luxury department stores. Places where she could spend my money. You, however, have just suggested a hole-in-the-wall diner,” he smiled. “I find that… fascinating.”
“ Oh.”
He placed his hand back over mine hesitantly, looking me square in the face with those hypnotic eyes of his. “And I find you fascinating, Mercy.”
TEN
Every head in Whistle Stop turned when Robert and I walked through the door.
For a moment, I found the interest perplexing, blaming the majority of the attention we received on Robert’s jaw-dropping handsomeness. It wasn’t until a little girl on her way out the door pointed to me coyly and asked her mother if I was a princess that I remembered our formal attire.
“I guess we’re a tad overdressed,” I smirked at Robert. For his amusement, I snapped my finger and gasped, “Oh, shoot! Whistle Stop’s tuxedo and ball gown dress code is on Saturday , not Friday! Gosh, now I just feel plain silly.”
H e flashed his eyes towards the ceiling, mocking me playfully.
The little girl outside continued to watch me in awe through the wide windows as her parents scooped her up and buckled her down inside a large SUV with Oregon plates. There was a mishmash of suitcases, bikes, and boxes strapped to the roof of the vehicle, which explained why a child her age was up at such a later hour. They were traveling.
When her dad started the car and backed out of their parking space, I smiled at the girl and curtsied, just like a princess. Her chubby little hands clapped happily and her eyes scrunched up as she let out a squeal. She waved at me sweetly through the back window as they drove off. I waved back with small flicks of the wrist, the same way I’d seen Queen Elizabeth do it on television.
Robert, observing the exchange, chuckled under his breath.
I look ed at him curiously. “What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He shook his head amusedly. “You are simply enchanting.”
We waited for a few minutes without being greeted, immediately feeling foolish as we noticed the PLEASE SEAT YOURSELF sign in the corner. We walked through the main dining area and settled down in a secluded booth near the rear of the restaurant, Robert seemingly taking no notice of the hushed comments and probing glances directed our way.
I, howe ver, had to bite my tongue in order to stop myself from pointing at Robert and yelling, “Eat it up, looky-loos! I’m here with this spectacular man, and he just called me enchanting. That’s right, enchanting !”
“This place is rather quaint. I like it,” he stated. He grabbed two menus from the metal holder on the side of the table and handed one of them to me. He scanned the menu, running a finger over the selections. “Hmm, let me see. What looks good? You think I should ask if I qualify for the senior citizen discount?”
“You aren’t actually going to eat something, are you?” I asked skeptically.
“Of course not, but I have appearances to keep up.” He said this like it was obvious, which I guess it was. “My, my- listen to this. The Scary Coronary: sausage, bacon, onion, and cheese omelet, sandwiched between two king-sized hash browns, all smothered in hollandaise sauce, served with two buttermilk pancakes, and a side of ham. Guaranteed to stop your heart .” He closed the menu and looked at me sternly. “I simply do not understand this grotesque obsession American’s have with killing themselves with food. People treat eating like it is a competitive sport in this country,” he scowled.
He was so bothered, I had to laugh. “Robert, eating is a
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