Page 79 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
Isabelle flashes him a smirky little smile. “Let’s see who wins the next round,” she says, her tone and cadence an echo of her father’s.
“You’re going down,” Hunter says, dropping his voice into a growly grumble.
Okay, so we definitelyaren’tletting Isabelle win. In our next round, I’m on fire and am the first one to call out for more letters. It seems like she has a pretty solid vocabulary for an eight-year-old. But I also don’t know exactly what’s typical for this age.
“Ooh, Izzy, looks like you’ve got some competition.” Hunter’s eyes lift to mine, and a pulse of something electric sparks between us. Will that ever stop happening?
I hope it never does.
Isabelle purses her lips and looks me over, like she’s sizing me up. “I can handle it,” she says, sounding eighteen instead of eight.
And she totallydoeshandle it. She wins the second round, even though Hunter and I were obviously trying our best.
“Good game, ladybug,” Hunter says.
“I told you,” Isabelle says through a yawn.
“You are good at the game,” Hunter agrees, shooting me a look that seems to say he can’t really argue with her now. “But let’s work on mixing a little humility in with that confidence, k?”
“Remind me what humility is again?”
“When you don’t talk or act or think like you’re the best, even if you are. Not calling attention to your successes but letting them speak for themselves.”
Does parenting also somehow turn you into an oracle or fount of wisdom? Because Hunter’s response is perhaps the best definition I’ve ever heard for humility.
“Let’s pick up,” he says.
“One more game?” Isabelle pleads.
“Nope. Time for soup and a nap. Merritt brought you some from Harriett’s.”
“Thank you,” she says, throwing me a megawatt smile. But then her expression shifts, her eyes darting from me to her father and back again. When the last tile is in the banana bag, she holds my gaze for a long moment before she asks, “Are you dating my daddy now?”
My eyes dart to Hunter’s. “Um.”
He lifts his shoulders in a tiny shrug.
“Yes?” I finally answer, hoping it’s the one I’m supposed to give. “I think I am.”
“Youthink?” For just a moment, Isabelle channels Sadie with her tone and the look she gives us both. “You should reallyknow. We don’t do things halfway, do we, Dad?”
Hunter shakes his head, giving me a look that’s at once amused and apologetic. “No, we give things our all.”
Isabelle crosses her arms. “So, maybe you should make sure Merritt knows where you stand.”
I want to laugh, but Isabelle—full of mischief though she is—is also dead serious. I suspect the fastest way to lose her approval would be for her to think I’m making light of her words. So I just stare at Hunter, whose ears turn pink, then red.
“Well?” Isabelle says, looking exasperated. “I can’t ask for you. I can only lead the horse to water.”
Okay, this child is TOO MUCH. In the best way. And, mostly because it’s fun to see Hunter squirm, I love it.
Hunter clears his throat. “I think this should maybe be a private conversation, Izzy. Between Merritt and me.”
She gives her dad a serious nod. “I can give you a few minutes.”
“Where you’re not listening at the door?” Hunter arches an eyebrow, and she giggles, finally sounding like an eight-year-old again.
“No promises.”
