Page 69 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
“It’s from Harriett’s.”
“Verythoughtful. Anything for me?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I might have brought you something. Like a mint.”
Hunter’s hands wander up my ribs, finding a ticklish spot. “Is that all?”
I try to twist away, and he tightens his grip. “Maybe a pimento cheese sandwich. But only if you’re good.”
His mouth finds my ear, his breath hot and his beard prickly as he whispers, “I thought you knew, Mer. I’m definitelynotgood.”
I shiver. From the feel of his lips grazing across my eyelids. From his words. From his strong hand circling my waist.
And then I feel a tug on my leggings, glance down, and shriek. “There’s a raccoon!”
Hunter laughs, the sound deep and rich. “It’s just Banjo. I told you about him, right?”
“Oh. Right—your rescue raccoon,” I say, remembering this from our conversation last night. The raccoon, who darted behind the dogs when I screamed, pokes his masked face around, peering at me with bright eyes. “Sorry, Banjo. You startled me.”
Crouching, I hold out my hand. He waddles over, sniffing my fingers before climbing on to my legs and sticking his cold, wet nose right in my ear. “Ah!”
Hunter plucks the raccoon from my lap, holding him with one hand as he uses his other to pull me back up. “Sorry about that. Banjo has no manners. And he really likes ears and shoving his nose where it doesn’t belong.” He sets the wiggling raccoon back on the ground before lacing his fingers through mine. “About that pimento cheese sandwich …”
I laugh, tugging Hunter toward the passenger side of the car where I’ve got the takeout bag. “Right. We need to discuss your taste in sandwiches.”
“I have excellent taste in sandwiches.”
“I agree. It’s just that I don’t know many men who like pimento cheese.”
“How very sexist of you.” Hunter takes the bag from me, still keeping our hands linked. “Why don’t we …”
He trails off, glancing back at the house like he’s nervous about something, which remindsmeI’mnervous abouteverything.
“If you’re busy, I can totally just leave it and go.”
“No, that’s not—I’m not busy.”
Hunter gives my hand a gentle tug, and we head toward the porch, trailed by the horde of animals. He hesitates again, the same expression taking over his face. “Let’s sit out here,” he suggests.
“Don’t you want to give Isabelle the soup?”
“Yesssss,” he says, drawing the word out. “But she’s . . . sleeping! Fast asleep. And she’s a light sleeper, really, so I don’t want to risk waking her up.”
Okay. I don’t know if he’s lying about Isabelle being asleep or if he has some other weird reason for wanting to keep me outside, but Hunter is definitely hidingsomething.
My insecurities start whispering. “Hunter, you can just tell me if you want me to go. I’ll leave the food. It’s fine if this is a bad time. Or … if you don’t want me to meet Isabelle yet.”
“I don’t want you to go,” he says a little more calmly. “That’s not it. And I’m fine with you meeting Izzy. When she finds out about you, she’ll stop trying to set me up with strangers and creating profiles for me on dating apps.”
I bite my lip, happy, at least, that the jealousy eating me at the deli isn’t overwhelming me here. Hunter’s hand still holding onto mine might be helping in that regard. “Harriett mentioned the dating apps.”
Hunter gives me a charming grin. “Izzy is too smart for her own good. She wrote profiles for me, listed preferences, she even included a picture.”
“Sounds like a girl I need to meet.”
“You do. I know she’ll love you.”
“Good.” I pause. “But you don’t want me to come inside your house,” I say, because I can still tell there’s something he’s not saying.
