Page 26 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
“Not real trouble. I’m sure he’ll do fine. It’s personal. He’s just giving me a hard time, and I want to give him a hard time right back. I probably won’treallymake him do extra work. I’ll just make himthinkhe’ll have to do extra work.”
Dante’s surprise shifts right into amusement. He grins. “Then tell him you want Versailles. Hunter will hate that.”
Something about the way Dante responds or maybe the way he says Hunter’s name prompts me to ask, “Do you know Hunter well?”
“Oh, we’rewellacquainted. He’s a great guy, but let’s just say I’m not mad about this idea at all.”
“Okay, then.” I smile, happy to have a co-conspirator. “So, what’s hard about Versailles?”
“It’s complex and requires four different tile sizes. You have to do a lot more planning and measuring. Plus, Hunter recently had a client choose it for a whole house. You should have heard him complaining. Man, I never thought I’d hear the end of it.”
So, tile-store Dante and Hunter sound like friends then. They must be if Hunter actually talks to the man. I want to press Dante, ask some nosy questions about Hunter, but I have the feeling Dante would be more than happy to tell his buddy all about our conversation.
I grab my phone and tap a little note into the app still open from my earlier browsing. “Thank you, Dante. This sounds perfect.”
“It sounds,” says a deep voice right behind me, “like the two of you are conspiring against me.”
Hunter steps up to the counter, because of course he does. I left the island to escape him, and poof! Like the Ghost of Merritt’s Past, he appears. Right in the middle of a conversation about him. I barely manage to stay on my stool.
Dante only grins. “Welcome in, man. What can I do for you on this fine day?”
Hunter moves closer to me, giving me a look that says I won’t escape unscathed. The promise in his dark eyes makes me shiver.
He turns to Dante. “Oh, no. Don’t think you’re getting off that easy.”
Dante’s eyes widen. “Me? I’m just going the extra mile to help a customer.”
“He even brought me a stool,” I add, and Hunter grunts, glancing down at me. Our eyes lock and hold, and my heart takes this as a sign to start thrashing wildly in my chest. Whether it’s trying to get closer to Hunter or run away, I’m unsure.
“I’ll give you two a few minutes to talk about the project,” Dante says. “Or any other more personal items you might need to discuss. Have fun.”
He heads to the front, where the bells chime as another customer walks in. The sound makes me wonder how Hunter came in without us hearing.
“Did you sneak in here?” I accuse, like I’m in any position to do so.
“I always come in the back. Dante and I are friends.”
“Friends, huh? So why was he so eager to help me torture you?”
“Friends joke with each other. It’s a sign of affection.”
I try not to read too much into his words because even if he is implying he teased me about tile because we’re friends, he saidfriends.
But he also said affection.
Why does it sound like Gran is in my head, planting ideas where they don’t belong?
Maybe they more than belong. Maybe those ideas have always been there, growing deep roots, just waiting for the right time to bloom.
Ugh!
My mouth is suddenly dry, and I have a hard time swallowing.
“Are these the choices for the backsplash?” Hunter asks.
He could move to the opposite side of the counter, where he’d be standing across from me like Dante was. Instead, Hunter stays where he is, planting one hand on the counter and leaning forward, bringing him much too close.
We aren’t quite touching, but somehow that’s worse, like he’s a giant, bearded tease.
