Page 50 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
I chuckle. “Definitely that.” I wrinkle my nose. “And all over your Gran’s house.”
Merritt covers her eyes. “I don’t need details!”
Me neither, but I got them anyway when I walked in on them more than a few times. “Honestly, I’m surprised she left.”
Merritt nods slowly. “I have a feeling something happened with Jake that made theleavingpart easy. But that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s happy to be gone.”
“I hope they work it out. They seemed good together.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, and our eyes lock. Like always, I nearly lose myself in the intense blue of her irises, in the way they seem to reach in and hold me. I couldn’t look away if I tried.
“I, um, I brought you something,” I finally say, holding out the box.
She leaves the doorway and takes a small step forward.
“I don’t know if you’re still painting,” I say quickly. “Or if you even want to. But since you’ve got some time on your hands, I just figured … maybe?”
I shove the box forward, and she pauses, glancing back at my face. Am I sweating? I feel like I’m sweating. This close to fall, it oughta be cooler, but the temperature and humidity don’t take much of a break on the island. Not for a few months yet.
Yeah,I’m just hot because of the temperature. Not because I’m panicking about the gift I’m holding.
My mouth keeps going, like it’s on a mission to fill the silence. “You don’t have to take it. I can return all this if you aren’t interested. Or you can donate everything. Or throw it all out. I don’t care.”
Iverymuchcare. I’m sure it’s obvious, given the way I’m babbling like this.
When Merritt doesn’t move, I pull it toward me and take a step backward. This was a bad idea. A horrible idea.
I’ll take everything back to the store myself. No. I don’t care how much it cost—I’ll throw it all away. Or dramatically hurl it into the sea.
“Hunter?”
I jerk when Merritt’s fingertips graze my arm. “Yeah?”
“I’m interested,” she says, holding my gaze.
I wish we weren’t just talking about paint. Wait—arewe talking about paint? Every conversation we have seems six layers deep.
“Sorry,” she continues. “I was just surprised. This is … you are …” Laughing a little, she shakes her head. “You actually shocked me speechless.”
“Wow. Didn’t know that was possible.”
She swats my arm. “Hey! I don’t talkthatmuch. Just maybe compared to you, and that isn’t a very high bar.”
I grunt in response, and the air between us shifts. Her smile is fast and unguarded. The kind that feels like both risk and reward.
Merritt bites her lip, and I can’t help but track the movement. “Can I look?”
I hold out the box. But not too far because I want her to come closer. It’s the same technique I use when I’m trying to get some new animal to trust me.
Merritt isnotsome injured raccoon or stray dog, dummy. Terrible comparison.
It is. Probably highly insulting.
Definitely highly insulting.
And yet … as Merritt cautiously steps closer, I realize, whether the comparison is rude or not, her trust has been broken. If I want her to trust me, I have to earn it.
Not just with art supplies. Or with food, like I would with one of the animals I’m fostering.
