Page 9 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
Hunter grins, and my heart jumps just like it always does. I could be wrong, but it feels like I’m the only one who makes him smile so easily. And that smile has a direct link to my heart.
“Elusive, huh? You and your SAT words.”
“Shut up. You like me for my vocabulary.”
“Notjustyour vocabulary.”
The way he looks at me when he says that wakes some new part of me, a part that’s just beginning to stir when I’m around Hunter. I rip the page of MASH out of my notebook and fold it up before slipping it into the back pocket of my cutoffs.
“What are you doing?” he asks on a laugh.
“Evidence,” I say, my expression serious. “I’m holding you to this, Hunter Ashton Williams. One day.”
A spark of heat flashes in his eyes, then his expression shifts to something lighter. “Fine by me,” he says. “But do I really have to drive a garbage truck?”
I am both elated that Hunter named his daughter Isabelle andfuriousthat he did so when he was married to anyone else but me. How could he?Whywould he?
More importantly, what am I supposed to do now that I know this?
My ankle throbs.
You’re supposed to get yourself home to ice your ankle and stuff a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts in your face, you big baby.
I look to my right and grab the biggest bottle of wine I’ve ever seen, lowering it into my cart. It’s a practical decision, really.
I’m going to need something to wash down all the donuts.
THREE
Hunter
“Simmer down,buddy. Having no legs doesn’t mean you get a free pass to act like a monster.”
I use my boot to nudge Vroom’s food bowl away from the other dogs. The dachshund mix likes to be the dictator of dinnertime. Vroom doesn’t actually havenolegs—the front two work just fine, but he’s missing his back two and has a wheeled mobility cart. He gets around almost as well as the other two rescue dogs I have. But pair his disability with the small-dog syndrome, and Vroom can be a little bit snappy when Sunbeam and Lilith get too close.
I can relate.
There’s a tug on my jeans, and I glance down to see Banjo the raccoon waiting not so patiently for his food. “Sorry, bud,” I tell him, walking a few feet away to get his bowl set up on a small table. To keep the interspecies conflict to a minimum, it’s best to keep Banjo’s food out of reach.
He’s not the first raccoon I’ve taken care of since becoming licensed to rehab and foster wild animals. But Banjo is the first one I’ll be sad to see go. He’s a total nuisance—one I’ve grown accustomed to having around. He’s nearly back to normal after being hit by a car a few weeks back, but if I haven’t quite mentioned his quick recovery, well—I will. Eventually.
Am I running a miniature wild kingdom of rescued animals over here? Yes, yes I am.
When all the animals settle into their own food bowls, I walk inside, letting the screen door slam behind me. I need to fix the springs so it closes nice and soft the way it should. I’ve been saying that for three years, since I first bought the place. It’s so much easier to fix things in other people’s homes than attend to the broken parts of my own, which feels a bit like a metaphor.
One that’s way too on the nose.
This glorified cabin may need a lot of work, but it’s livable. More than that, it’s peaceful. Located on the southern tip of the island, just on the edge of uninhabitable marshland, I have almost half an acre to myself, and I can’t even see the next closest house.
“Mom says you live like a hermit,” Isabelle told me recently.
Not untrue, but I wish Cassidy would be more careful about the things she says in front of our daughter. “I’m not a hermit,” I told her. “But I do really like things quiet.”
“I’m not quiet,” Isabelle said, chewing her lip, and I wanted to kick myself for saying the wrong thing. Again.
Though Cassidy and I divorced amicably when Isabelle was barely two, at times I see our daughter worried about approval, anxious to know she’s wanted. According to the articles I read, this is a normal part of growing up but can be harder for children of divorce, even if the parents are both still involved in their lives.
I ruffled her hair and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t need you to be quiet, ladybug. I like you just the way you are.” Then I challenged her to a shouting match, and we went out back and yelled at the marsh, scaring off some shore birds while the dogs barked and Banjo ran in circles.
