Page 42 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
I shake my head, immune to his reason. Or maybe just afraid of it. “It feels a little premature to think that far ahead.”
Dante blows out a breath. “Then quit thinking so far ahead and justact. Make a move. See what happens without worrying about whatmighthappen in the future.”
“Not exactly my strong suit, is it?”
“It’s never too late to shake things up, man. Especially when it matters. And from what I know—this one matters to you. Don’t let the chance pass you by.” He grins. “But a word of advice? Maybe get a couple of dates behind you before you take her home to meet the herd.”
I roll my eyes. “Three dogs don’t make a herd.”
“What about three dogs, a raccoon, and half a dozen rabbits?” Dante asks without missing a beat.
“I don’t have the rabbits anymore. I just fostered them. The raccoon, too. Banjo won’t be with me forever.”
“Oh, right. Totally. That makes all the difference,” Dante says dryly. “But I haven’t mentioned the squirrels, possums, and the deer. If anything would be a dealbreaker, it’s a possum. They’re like giant rats, man.”
“Shut up.” It’s not like I have all these animals at one time. I work too much to foster more than one or two wild animals at a time. And I’m all set on dogs. Probably.
“I’m just saying,” Dante says. “You best find out how she feels about animals.”
“She likes them,” I say with too much confidence.
The Merritt Iusedto know liked animals. I’m not actually sure about the all-grown-up version. I’ve caught glimpses of the Merritt I recognize—watching her dance at the bar, and when she apologized earlier this week on the porch. But most of the time, it’s like I don’t know her at all, and we’re starting out brand new.
“How do I …” I don’t know how to formulate the question. Or maybe I’m too embarrassed to tell Dante I have no idea how to be an adult man asking an adult woman out on a date. Because I’ve never done it.
But Dante has always had a way of reading between the lines, and he seems to know what I’m asking anyway. “Just start small,” he says. “If you know she wants friendship, then be her friend. Take her coffee. Buy her lunch. Be thoughtful. Attentive. Make her want more.”
That … feels less intimidating. At least up to the “make her want more” part.
There were a lot of ways Merritt and I feltright.But Dante’s suggestions sound like they’re tailored for someone else. Not that I’m not a nice, thoughtful guy. More like … Merritt and I always had fun. Joked around, teased each other, laughed until we both cried.
What I really need is to show Merritt that we can have that again. That we’re good together—always were.
A memory pops into my head, the sound of Merritt’s laughter echoing in my ears.
“What did you do?” I ask, eyeing her suspiciously.
Merritt licks her ice cream cone, her expression innocent enough to trick a stranger, but I recognize the teasing glint in her eye. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes dart to the massive bulletin board that hangs in the entry of the ice cream parlor, full of lost dog posters, business cards, and announcements for BINGO night at the Oakley senior center.
And that’s when I see it.
I stand up, abandoning my hot fudge sundae, and stomp over to the board. Right square in the middle, there’s a half sheet of paper sporting a cheesy picture of me, a wide grin, two thumbs raised in a “good job” gesture, with a caption that reads, “Will mow lawns for hugs.” The number under the photo is NOT my number, but one of those made up five-five-five numbers, which makes it easier to laugh. Merritt knows better than to give out my phone number. I hate talking on the phone.
“The grass is getting pretty long at Gran’s,” Merritt says from just behind me, her voice close to my ear. “I volunteer for the hugging part if you want to bring your lawn mower over tomorrow.”
I turn to face her, shaking my head at her cheeky expression. “When did you even take this picture?”
She shrugs and takes a bite of ice cream.
“Wait, Is that my sundae?”
“Mmhmm,” she says as she licks the chocolate off the back of the spoon.
I try not to be obvious about the way my eyes track the movement. The soft curve of her lips, the tip of her tongue sliding over the spoon. It reminds me of the end of last summer when she asked me to be her first kiss. She left the next day, and so far, we haven’t talked about it … but kissing her seems to be all I can think about this summer. Does she think about it too?
I swallow.
