Page 112 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Brinkley’s gaze flicked to Silas with mild curiosity. “And you are?”
Before Amelia could introduce them, Silas squared his shoulders. “Silas Finley.” His voice was perfectly polite. Almost too polite. “Who might you be?”
Brinkley’s lips twitched. “Beau Brinkley, but everyone calls me Brinkley.”
“Surnames, hm?” Silas’ eyes darted back to Amelia, eyebrows narrowing together for a moment. “An old friend, you said?”
Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look—”
Brinkley, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow before his grin turned downright wicked. He leaned closer to Silas, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t worry, I don’t have claims on her. I prefer my men a little less—” He made a vague motion towards Amelia. “—curvy around the edges.”
Amelia snorted.
Silas froze. Blinked.
“Oh,” he said, and then, “oh.”
He exhaled, his entire demeanour shifting in an instant.
Brinkley patted his shoulder. “There it is.”
Amelia rolled her eyes, pushing past them into the cottage. “Can we get inside, please? My fingers are still frozen solid from that wasteland we were just in.”
“By all means,” Brinkley said in a friendly tone, holding the door open. He winked at Silas as he passed by, who still looked a little sheepish.
The interior was just as cosy as she remembered. Low wooden beams, a hearth blazing with crackling flames, shelves cluttered with books. The smell of cinnamon curled through the air, punching her with nostalgia at the thought of late nights with hot mugs of cinnamon tea. Wool blankets draped haphazardly over armchairs near the fire, where a steaming mug of tea sat abandoned on the wooden table next to an overturned book, as if Brinkley had just been in the middle of reading before they arrived.
Brinkley shut the door behind them and shook his head, still amused. “Lia, you always did have a habit of showing up on my doorstep looking half-frozen and in trouble.”
Amelia collapsed into the chair closest to the burning hearth, letting the warmth soak into her frozen, tired limbs. She rubbed her cold fingers together and sighed. “Some things never change.”
Brinkley turned to Silas, scrutinising him for a moment. Then, with a smirk, he added, “I imagine this one is part of the trouble.”
Instead of denying it, Silas merely blew out a short laugh and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “You have no idea.”
“We’re sorry to impose,” Amelia offered.
“Are we?” Silas was quick to interject.
Amelia shot him a dirty look while Brinkley looked between them with a growing smile.
“Yes, we are,” she said, turning back to her old friend. “We, uh…need somewhere to lie low, perhaps for a few days.”
Brinkley strolled over and took a seat in an armchair, lifting his teacup to sit on his lap. He levelled Amelia with a serious look, which was not often found on this man’s face. “You know you’re always welcome here, Lia,” he said before he raised a devilish brow and sent Silas a smirk. “Even him, I suppose.”
“Such a welcoming host,” Silas said, raising his hand to his chest and bowing mockingly.
Amelia sighed wearily. “Quit it,” she said, voice low, lacking strength. Her eyes fell shut, body relaxing back into the chair. “I’m too tired to deal with two male egos at once.”
A hand was warm against her knee and her eyes opened, finding Silas kneeling before her, concern etched into his features. “You okay?”
“I have nothing left to give today,” she answered honestly, the fatigue settling deep into her bones. “How far away is midnight?”
“Less than an hour away,” Brinkley answered. Amelia tilted her head to find him looking between her and Silas with a curious expression. “You can have your old room. You remember where it is?”
Amelia smiled gratefully, nodding. “Thanks, Brink.”
He smiled warmly before turning his eyes to Silas. “It’s the couch for you, unless you want to share my bed—but before you answer, you should know…I’m a snuggler.” Brinkley’s smile widened, hazel eyes dancing with mischief.
