Page 31 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
NOT in the kitchen. I’m not a total jerk. Or some kind of foot fetishist. Some men might like a woman in heels. I just like seeing Merritt barefoot. Bare feet lead to bare legs. It’s the stripped-down version of her without all the polish and pretense.
I climb out of the truck slowly, and Merritt stands up, still favoring her ankle. She laces her fingers together in front of her stomach like she’s worried about something.
I move to the back of my truck and open the tailgate, partially to buy myself a little time, and partially to keep from looking like I think she’s there for me. It’s her house. Well—her and her sisters’. There are any number of reasons Merritt might be standing there. Except she’s staring at me like she’s got something to say.
I slide the panels of shiplap out of the truck and hoist them onto my shoulder.
“Can I help you?” I ask as I approach the porch, immediately regretting how cold I sound.
I can’t figure out how tobewith this woman. How to balance how Iwantto be—holding her, kissing her, caring for her—with how I’msupposedto be. Her contractor. A professional. NOT her boyfriend.
“Can we talk?” Merritt says gently, her voice small. “Not about the house.”
I stop at the base of the stairs. “Not about tile?”
She shakes her head, her expression unchanging. No sarcasm. No judgment. She really wants to do this. Right now.
I sigh. “Okay. Just let me put this inside.”
She’s sitting again when I make it back to the porch, and I drop down beside her. She turns sideways, extending her injured ankle across the top of the step. I barely resist the urge to reach out and wrap my fingers loosely around her foot. To be near her and not touching her is its own form of torture.
“You should get a brace for that. It’s not gonna heal if you’re gallivanting all over the island and over to Savannah.”
“Gallivanting?”
“Traipsing?”
Her lips quirk. “My, what a big vocabulary you have.”
It’s so easy to slip into this back and forth. It’s like the true north to our shared compass.
But we shouldn’t be sharing it. Not anymore.
She seems to be having a similar realization because her smile fades away. “I’m just going to talk for a minute, okay? And I don’t want you to say anything. Or stop me. Or maybe even look at me? At least, don’t make eye contact.”
“Do I need to wear a blindfold? Or turn my back?”
See? There the needle goes, pointing back to our north. I never much felt the need to talk much to other people. Not until Merritt started coming around. Something about her makes it so I can’t shut up. Even now.
“Hunter,” she says, half laughing and half exasperated. “Seriously.”
I hold up both hands. “Fine. No eye contact.”
She takes a slow deep breath. “I’m sorry for what I said about you back then. About your life being too small. I didn’t mean it, Hunter. Not any of it. But I was hurting. Angry at my parents for getting a divorce and determined to turn myself into someone who would never need a man as much as my mom did.”
She pauses, like she knows I need a moment to digest her words. I do need a moment. Actually, these words are too much for digesting, but the pause at least helps them line up in my head. Already, I feel the sickly twist of guilt in my gut. Because when I was busy being angry and hurt and angry again, I never once considered the way Merritt might have been reacting to the news of her parents’ divorce.
Merritt goes on, “Mom fell apart when my dad left. In the worst possible way. She stopped caring about things. Stoppedmothering.” Her voice catches, and she pauses, taking another breath. This clearly isn’t easy for her to talk about.
“I hated her for needing him so much. It was like she didn’t know how to be a person without him. I got so scared that I might turn out just like her. Needing a man. Needingyou.”
Needing me. The words hurt to hear. They’re also really great fertilizer for the hope weeds that keep trying to nudge through the surface.
This was the past,I remind myself.And it isn’t all aboutyou.
Still, my mind fills with things I want to say. I met Merritt’s mother a few times, and Merritt isn’t anything like her. Merritt is vibrant and bold and brave and determined, aforce.But I swallow the words and hold still. I can tell by the set of Merritt’s shoulders, she isn’t finished. I do my best to stick to my no-eye contact promise, but it takes great effort.
“I was afraid I needed you too much. Plus, Mom made it clear we weren’t coming back to Oakley. She wanted to cut Dad off completely, which meant cutting Gran off. No more summers. No moreyou. Pushing you away felt like the best protection. But I swear, I didn’t really mean it. I need you to understand that. Hunter …”
