Page 25 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
But already, I know this much: I need Hunter to work on the house. It would be a pain to replace him, especially when hedoesknow what he’s doing. But even more—I need an excuse to see him again.
“I’m Dante,” the man says, and I appreciate the way his smile is friendly but not in the least flirty. Or patronizing, despite my obvious tile incompetence. “I noticed you limping. If you'd like, I have a counter where you can sit. Tell me about your project, and I’ll bring over some samples that might meet your needs.”
He offers his arm in a most gentlemanly way, and as he helps me to a stool in front of a counter at the back of the store, I explain the project and Lo’s vision. Once seated, I pull out my phone and scroll through a few pictures I had the foresight to take this morning.
“I love it,” Dante says. “I’ll be back in just a few with some samples.”
Several minutes later, I have a bottled water in hand (thanks, Dante!) and an array of tiles on the counter.
“Which would you pick?” I ask.
They’re all similarly priced, and they’re all in stock, so I can just pick any and be fine. But for some reason, the decision feels exceptionally difficult. What if I screw this up? What if I pick one that no one else likes?
I’m trying my best here, but these are all questions that are very unlike New York Merritt. She is never indecisive. Not a people pleaser.
Where is my swift (and sometimes cutting) decisiveness? Where is my confidence?
I have a sudden impulse to call Eloise and see if she can survey her Instagram followers, but that would only reveal how out of depth I feel. What I need to do instead is make a decision. Then another and another until I’m more confident about making these kinds of choices.
Dante runs a hand over the dreadlocks he pulled into a ponytail moments ago. “I’d probably go with this one,” he says finally, touching the third sample spread out on the counter.
I may be struggling with decision fatigue—more like decision exhaustion—but I know the moment he says it, that’s not the right one. Why is it that sometimes another person’s choice helps you feel more certain about your own?
Rather than tell the man who deserves a giant tip or commission that I actually prefer the first tile, I lean my elbow on the counter, swiveling on my stool to face Dante.
“Can I ask you something else? Slight subject change.”
He chuckles. “That’s why I’m here.”
“What would be the worst choice for the guy installing the tile?”
He scratches the side of his jaw, where dark stubble mixes with a little gray. “These tiles would all be fine for anyone installing. I'm sorry—I don’t quite understand the question. Is this about the contractor who suggested floor tiles as backsplash?”
“Yes. What about grout types? Are there some that are harder to work with?”
Dante shakes his head, looking baffled. “Not really. Not for this. But I don’t really see why you’dwantto make things more difficult. Especially if you’re already working with someone who isn’t familiar with this type of project.”
“Oh, he’s familiar,” I mutter.
Dante rests his elbow on the counter, mirroring my pose. His brown eyes are curious. “Don’t you want the project finished faster? Isn’t that why you’re choosing a new tile that’s in stock?”
“Yes. But say I want my tile guy to suffer—just a little,” I add when Dante’s expression shifts to something like shock. “How about patterns? Is there one that’s trickier than another?”
When Dante hesitates, I lean forward, whispering conspiratorially. “Look. I’m not a horrible person.” He looks unconvinced. “But let’s say my tile guy is a real piece of work. Good at his job but … stubborn. Proud. Kind of a know-it-all. Suggesting a floor tile as backsplash just to show me how little I know. That kind of thing.”
Also: Charming when he wants to be. Deeply kind. Looks good enough to eat in a simple pair of jeans.
“You don’t want to work with someone who’s like that,” Dante says. “Are you here in Savannah?”
“Oakley Island.”
“Then I’ve got a guy.” He pulls a business card from his back pocket, setting it on the counter in front of me. “This is my recommendation. He’s the best.”
I glance down, then throw my head back and laugh.
“Seriously? This,” I say, jabbing my finger on the card. “Thisis the guy.”
Dante rears back a little. “Seriously? Hunter’s giving you trouble?”
