Page 6 of Izzy and Her Off-Limits Love

“Ohhh, yay,” she says. “Are we talking work clothes? Do you have an interview for a different position? Are they finally moving you out of cubicle land?”

“I wish.” My boss had a lot to say at my job interview about how I could move up in the company. I’ve since realized they were nothing more than false promises used to hustle me in thedoor. After eighteen months, it’s very clear there is no corporate ladder. Just a corporate basement I’m trapped in.

“Not exactly. Can you FaceTime?”

“Uh …” There’s a little rustling and then a low male voice mumbling something in the background. “Let me just put on a shirt.”

I squeeze my eyes closed and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to exorcize all mental images of Merritt in bed, shirtless, with my dad. I mean, good for them, butew ew ew!for me.

Still, I’m happy they’re happy. Though Dad and Merritt fostered quite a few kids while I was growing up, they never had any biological children, and nothing ever led to adoption, though not for their lack of trying. It wasn’t always easy for them to work through those hurdles and heartaches, but they’ve always found solace in each other. And me. And in all the rescue dogs. Even a few more rescue raccoons.

Which, anywhere else in the world, rescue raccoons named after musical instruments—Banjo (the original), Cello (the chonkiest), Piccolo (the youngest), and Ukulele (the troublemaker)—might seem like a really strange thing to be grateful for, but somehow, in my family, it just seems normal.

Despite a life that hasn’t always been perfect, my parents have taught me to find joy anyway.

I have to be grateful for that.

And grateful that Merritt is always willing to help with stuff like this.

Before moving to Oakley and marrying Dad, she had a big-time corporate job in New York. And though she swears she has no regrets about trading in her big-city life, she also lights up when I need help with everything from resumes and interviews to outfits.

“Okay,” she says cheerfully, and when her camera comes on, she’s out on the porch overlooking the marsh. A sudden bolt ofhomesickness runs through me. It’s been too long since I’ve been back on Oakley Island.

When I turn my camera toward the floor of my room, Merritt winces. “Wow. Okay. Yeah, you do look like you could use some help. What’s the occasion?”

I should have known she’d ask. That this level of clothing carnage needs an explanation. But I want some information from her first.

I flip the camera around so it faces me again. I look like I haven’t slept much—which is accurate. Liam’s words about seeing a lot more of him and the phantom sensation of him tugging on my ponytail kept me up most of the night. Also—the idea of sharing a conference room with just him has my knees feeling wobbly.

It’s unfair. I’ve worked so hard to eradicate my stupid girlish crush on him. At this point, it’s more like a chronic illness with occasional painful flare-ups.

“Maybe I’ll tell you once you explain why you didn’t tell me Liam freaking Fieldstone just moved to Savannah.”

Merritt’s expression turns wry. “You mean after I pinky promised I would never mention his name to you again? That’s when you wanted me to tell you what he was up to?”

I huff and drop onto my bed, knocking a pair of tuxedo stripe work pants onto the floor. “You made that pinky promise months ago. And this is different. He’s in Savannah. And now he’s working at my office, and I really feel like someone should have given me a heads up.”

For the past year, I’ve had a break from the family bringing up Liam. Bringing Natasha home for Christmas didn’t just givemea reality check, I guess. But I haven’t kept any secrets from Merritt. She knows better than anyone how hard I’ve tried to rid myself of these unrequited feelings. I’ve tried: dating other guys (which didn’t work), avoiding home (which made me miss myfamily), and burning sage around myself the way people do to clear out spirits from old houses (which just made me sneeze).

Right after Christmas last year, I forced myself to look through all of Liam’s social media posts with his super hot, super perfect girlfriend.

Then, I unfollowed him.

I’m not the type to steal someone else’s guy. Pining after Liam when he’s in a happy relationship—probably an almost engaged one—is just plainwrong.

But it took one stairwell conversation to unravel all my hard work. I can only hope Liam couldn’t tell. My crush on him wassoobvious back in the day. To the point of embarrassment.

With our family teasing me relentlessly, I know Liam had to know how I felt. Which is evenmoreembarrassing.

I need him to believe it’s all past tense.

Which is going to take a Herculean effort now that I’m going to be working alongside him daily.

“So I’m guessing Liam is a part of the clothing crisis we’re discussing?” Merritt asks.

“We’re working together,” I say. “In the same conference room. Getting his brilliant, perfect, amazing software implemented company wide. Which, I’m so proud of him, Mer. But I don’t think I can do this. I can’t face him every day for an entire week.”

“Oh, Iz,” she says with a wince. “That does sound like a lot.” She doesn’t seem surprised about Liam’s software though, so I have to assume the family knew this was happening. I both hate them and love them for keeping me in the dark.

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