Page 97 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
Now Isabelle’s here too, laughing and grabbing at Merritt, who now looks like she’s pregnant with a large, wiggling racoon baby. She throws her head back, laughing while Isabelle is holding her stomach and the dogs are dancing around her feet. For a moment, time stops.
This is it.
This is the love of my life.
This is my future.
My whole world.
Right here.
Maybe … without the raccoon in the shirt.
I’m going to fly in the face of all my doubts, tell Merritt what I really want and hope she wants the same. I’ll show her the inside of my house, and she’ll understand why I didn’t before.
She’ll understand everything.
Banjo pops his head back out of Merritt’s collar, looking totally unrepentant, of course. Merritt untucks her shirt from her jeans with a yank, and the raccoon tumbles down to the dirt with a thud. Chittering, he gives Merritt a look that I swear is more of a glare before he scurries back to the house, followed by Vroom.
“They say there’s a first time for everything,” Merritt says, a blush lighting her cheeks. Paired with her gorgeous smile, it makes my heart start thumping. Even more when she pulls her shirt away from her body and glances down. “I think he scratched me a little.”
“Need me to take a look?”
Did that come out sounding like an offer to check her out or an offer tocheck her out?
“It's fine. But do I need to worry about rabies?”
“He’s up to date on all his shots,” Isabelle says, reminding me she’sright hereand I need to get my head in the right place. But I don’t feel like anything will actually berightuntil Merritt and I have a conversation. Alone.
Preferably now.
“Is it time for bed?” I ask, and Isabelle squints at me.
“We haven’t had dinner yet. Silly Daddy.”
“Oh, right.”
“Are you okay?” Merritt asks.
Not really. Not yet. Maybe I will be in a few hours. First, I have to get through dinner. Tucking Isabelle in. Hoping Isabelle won’t want me to make up twelve stories tonight.
This whole dating with a kid thing … how in the world did Cassidy manage? I don’t think I’d be good at dating anyway, but add in Isabelle, and I don’t know how to do any of this.
“Hunter?” Merritt asks, touching my arm.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m just—”
“Grammy and Pops!” Isabelle cries. The dogs begin barking and running in circles through the yard as my parents’ sedan bumps along the driveway toward the house.
Just what I need—more people to deal with.
But after greeting Isabelle and Merritt both with hugs, my mom says, “We thought we’d take Isabelle out to dinner and give you a little time.”
She winks, and I have to wonder if I sent out some kind of cosmic bat signal that only my parents could see. I’ll take it.
“Yes, please! I want ice cream!” Isabelle says.
“For dessert!” My dad calls after her. “Not for dinner.”
