Page 108 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
I let Merritt be as nosy as she wants, looking in every room, touching some of the canvases with a look of wonder. When she finally opens my closed bedroom door at the end of the hall, I hang back.
Now, maybe Iama little embarrassed.
Merritt comes back out a moment later. She’s still crying, but she’s laughing a little now too, her cheeks pink.
“Over your bed, Hunter? Really?”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
This is the only painting I’d never seen until Genevieve brought it over with the rest of them. Merritt must have done it years after I last saw her. I don’t know how old Merritt is in the painting, twenty or so, maybe, but she’s definitely grown up. In the portrait, Merritt is turned to the side, only her profile visible. She’s laughing, her hair in a long tangle down her back. Behind her, there’s only sky, and, like the painting she did of me, it’s a mix of colors that look like they shouldn’t work up close.
She looks beautiful. And happy.
I liked keeping it above my bed so I could imagine that she was living her life with this kind of laughter, this kind of happiness. As much as I ached when I thought about her, about us, about what I wish had been, I hoped this was a picture of her life. When she got to Oakley, though, there was none of this joy in her.
I see it now, though.
“It’s the only thing I painted after I left,” Merritt says. “And only because Gran insisted.” She faces me. “How did you get it?”
I push my hands into my pockets. “She brought it to me. Said she wanted me to have it.”
“But when?” Merritt asks, like she can’t quite make sense of how her self-portrait made its way to my bedroom. “How?”
I think back. “It’s been a while, I guess. A few years. I ran into Genevieve over at Gators—actually, I remember I’d just signed my divorce papers, so I was in a terrible mood. But your grandmother had a way of making people feel better, and sure enough … anyway, I asked about you. Asked if you were still painting. I tried to keep my interest casual, but she must have seen right through me because a couple of months later, she was pulling up to my apartment with a car full of canvases.”
“Which was when? Do you remember the month?” She props her hands on her hips like the answer is very important.
I run a hand through my hair. “June, I think? June six years ago.”
Merritt lets out a little laugh. “So you got divorced in June. And my grandmother, probably not so coincidentally, called me andbeggedme for a self-portrait, also in June. I remember because it was right before my twentieth birthday. If she gave it to you a couple of months after you saw her—Hunter, she didn’t even keep it a month before she gave it to you.”
I grin. “What’s your theory?”
“My theory is that my grandmother was a sneaky little matchmaker.” She sniffs and wipes away a tear. “That woman. She tried to tell me these things have a way of working themselves out. Guess she didn’t want to leave it to chance.”
“I was in a pretty dark place, Mer,” I say softly. “Your paintings were a lifeline I didn’t know I needed until Genevieve showed up with them.”
She walks slowly toward me, placing her hands on my hips, yanking me closer by my belt. I swallow, my gaze snagging on her small smile.
“Think we can add a second painting to your bedroom? I mean, if we hang them side by side, they’ll look like a matched set.”
“I don’t know how I feel about having my own portrait hanging in my bedroom.”
She bites her lip. “What if it’sourbedroom?” Her voice is low, sultry, and it sends a wave of heat coursing through me. “I mean, not right now,” she says quickly. “But just …” She shrugs. “You know. Eventually. If that’s something you want, too.”
I lift my hands to her face, brushing away her tears with my thumbs. “As you might be able to tell, you’ve had a place in my life, in my heart, for years. Even if you weren’t here. But”—I glide my thumbs down her cheeks until I’m cupping her face—“to make it perfectly clear—I want you here. I want you to stay. I want the forever we talked about back then.”
She blinks and smiles. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And I talked to Cass at the hospital.” I grimace. “I didn’t mean to have the conversation right then, but she kind of brought it up. I told her I need more boundaries. That I want to continue to have a peaceful relationship as we co-parent Isabelle, but nothing else. I won’t be at her beck and call anymore. I never should have been. And if Adam isn’t stepping up like he needs to, that’s between them. It’s not my job.”
I pause, searching Merritt’s face. She’s so beautiful, even with red eyes and her lashes clumped together with tears. I definitely see relief and hope in her expression now.
“Is she … okay with that?”
I nod. “She apologized. I think she knew. And I realized I’ve been doing this because I feel guilty—still—about everything. Especially about not really ever loving her. Merritt—it’s only ever been you. You, Mer. And I know it hasn’t been long since you came back, but I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you to be here with me.”
“This is really what you want?”
