Page 52 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
Her eyes soften. “Hunter, it’s too much.”
It’s not nearly enough, but I won’t risk scaring her by saying so. Instead, I give her a playful grin before I start down the steps. “What are friends—ormore than friends—for?”
Merritt calls after me before I can get too far. “When are we having this yet-to-be-determined level of friendship dinner?”
I turn but continue to walk backward. “When are you free?”
She rolls her eyes. “I have no job. I’m free all the time.”
“Then, why wait? Let’s go tonight.” My heartbeat is like a battering ram against my ribs while I wait for Merritt’s response. When she finally grins, instead of calming down, my stupid heart redoubles its efforts.
“Then I’ll see you tonight,” she says.
I nod before turning around and letting a full grin loose on my face.Tonight, I think, barely keeping a skip out of my step.Tonight.
TWELVE
Merritt
What doyou wear to a friendly (or more-than-friendly?) dinner with a man you fell in love with when you were both just kids? A man who still doesn’t know how spectacularly he broke your heart after you first broke his? A man who you might be falling for again—that is, if you ever felloutof love with him in the first place?
These are non-rhetorical questions for which I have no answers.
Strangely enough, googling variations of my question does NOT produce any solid outfit suggestions. And New York Merritt’s style does not translate well to Oakley Island. The business suits hanging in the carriage house closet in black, gray, and navy? Not a chance. Other than that, I’ve got my running clothes, pajamas, and a few casual outfits, none of which feel right.
When there’s a knock on the cottage door, my heart leaps.Hunter. Excitement and desire and nervousness form a tight braid in my chest as I close the bedroom door. Must hide the clothes covering every surface showing a woman freaking out before a date.
I am more disappointed than I should be to see a woman I don’t recognize standing outside the screen door. She waves as I push open the door.
“Hello,” I say cautiously. Not because she doesn’t look friendly. Her smile is warm and open. But I find after years in the city, the friendliness of other places still unsettles me a little.
“Hey. I’m Naomi, Jake’s sister.” She hooks a thumb toward the other side of the carriage house. “You must be Merritt. I figured I should come over and say hello. Be neighborly and all that. Jake watches Liam a lot. Liam’s my son. I’m a single mom. Wow—I’m kind of botching this whole introduction thing. Did you ask for my life story or what?” She laughs, running a hand through her brown hair, a few shades darker than mine.
“No worries. I think it might be an island thing. At least, I’ve found myself doing a lot more talking myself.”
Probably more than I should. Like saying yes to dinner with Hunter, who left it up to me whether this is a friendly or more-than-friendly dinner.
Hunter, who carried me off the beach with anger and hurt brewing like a storm in his eyes. Hunter, who listened as only he can and forgave me for what I said and did years ago. Hunter, who bought me hundreds of dollars of art supplies I can’t bring myself to take out of the box. I’m not sure if I’m more afraid of trying to paint and realizing I can’t, or trying to paint and thinking abouthimthe whole time.
Would that be so bad?
I don’t know!
I realize I’m staring, but my gaze snagged on Naomi’s outfit, which is a romper—I think that’s what the one-piece shorts and top combo is called—in a soft navy material. Strappy sandals wrap around her calves and big gold earrings brush her shoulders. It’s the kind of thing I could see Eloise wearing.
Except the romper would be covered in anchors or parrots or something like that.
“You’re cute,” I say, then realize how weird that sounds. “Sorry. I mean, I like what you’re wearing. The whole … everything.” I gesture toward her whole body, like this will convey what I’m stumbling to say. “I’m sorry. See? The talking thing. Bad.”
She laughs, but it feels like laughingwithme, notatme. It puts me at ease.
“It makes me feel better about awkwardly dumping so much information on you,” she says. “Don’t worry about it. And thanks. I’ve got a date.”
Some kind of eager longing must show on my face because Naomi tilts her head. “What?”
“I just …” My eyes dart back toward my room and the rejected outfits. “I actually have a date, too. I think?Maybea date. A dinner. I don’t know what it is exactly. Which means I don’t know what to wear. Do you … do you think you could help me?”
Naomi’s eyes light up. “Yes! I have a little time before I need to go. I love clothes.”
