Page 85 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
“I think you’d make a great helper. Moms do need lots of help, and I’m sure your mom would appreciate you being so responsible.”
“How doyouknow I’m responsible?” This comes out like a challenge or demand, and I’m beginning to see just how sore a subject this is.
I tip my chin toward the coffee table, where the game we played is put away, the box stacked neatly on top of the others. “It’s in the little things,” I tell her. “I can see it. I know I’d be glad to have you as my helper.”
She perks up, straightening in her chair. “Really?”
“Yup.”
“Cool. So you’ve got two sisters. Do you want a lot of kids?”
I almost inhale a slice of tomato and definitely inhale some pepper because I have to set my sandwich down as I hack up a lung. At least it gives me time to think about my answer.
Honesty, I remind myself.
But whatisthe right answer? I wanted kids. Then I didn’t. Now, I maybe do again?
“I never planned on having kids,” I say, relieved when she nods like this is a perfectly acceptable answer. “I mean, when I was little, I thought I would. Then I focused on my career and … yeah.”
“Daddy says you have a big important city job.”
Did he, now? I’d love to know what other little tidbits Hunter mentioned, but it feels wrong to ask.
“I do. Or, I did. My focus was more on work, not on being a mom. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a mom. It just wasn’t part of my plan.”
I should add something about plans changing. Maybe even tell Isabelle that spending time with hermakes me think Icouldbe a mom someday. But before I can say anything else, Isabelle slides her plate forward and drops her folded arms onto the table. “That was yummy.”
A tiny beat of regret pulses through me, an opportunity lost.
I take the last bite of my sandwich and lick the juice from my fingers. “I want another,” I confess.
“Maybe we should eat Daddy’s and not tell him.” Isabelle’s grin has a naughty edge to it.
Remind me not to get on this child’s bad side.
“How about we make more and carry them over to the house to eat with your dad this time? We don’t have to tell him we’re on our second sandwich. Our secret?”
“Our secret,” she promises. “But you should make him two. He eats a lot.”
We don’t get the chance to walk over the sandwiches because Hunter knocks and then walks right in as I’m spreading the mayonnaise. The sight of him after only a few hours makes my pulse race. He gives me a grin that’s fast and flirty before turning to Isabelle with an entirely different expression.
“Hey, ladybug,” he says, ruffling Isabelle’s hair. I don’t miss the way he does so carefully, not making knots or a bird’s nest. It’s just a soft, playful touch.
Thoughtful man, I think.Even in the details. Maybe especially in the details.
“We made tomato sandwiches,” she says and pats the chair next to her. “Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hunter smiles at me as he sits, and I wonder if I’ll ever stop feeling this fluttery sensation in my belly. As I pass out the plates, Isabelle makes a face, and I realize she’s trying to wink. It’s only clear when she mouths,Our secret.
I give her a quick nod. Hunter may not know what we’re talking about, but he doesn’t miss the silent exchange. I catch sight of a grin before he takes a big bite.
He closes his eyes as he chews, making a deep hum of appreciation that stirs feelings in me I don’t exactly want to have with Isabelle sitting here.
“This is delicious,” he says. “Haven’t had a good tomato sandwich in … I don’t know how long. Perfect tomatoes.”
“They’re from Ms. Sylvia’s,” I tell him. “I couldn’t help myself.”
