Page 33 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
“Well, let’s hear it while the other one is fresh in my mind. I’ll compare the two and type up a critique.”
Merritt shakes her head, her hair falling over her cheek as she dips her chin, hiding her smile. “You’re the worst. I rescind my offer. We’re definitely gonna keep things impersonal.”
“I don’t think I’m capable of impersonal when it comes to you, Mer.” I meant this to be teasing too, but somehow it comes out as solid and weighty as the truth it holds.
A blush sweeps up her cheeks, and she bites her lip. “Friends, then?”
It’s not what I want, I know that much. But I can’t have what I want. Merritt has Simon. A life outside of Oakley. A life outside of me. Iffriendsis all she can give me, I’ll take it.
I’ll hate it. But I’ll take it.
“Mm,” I say, which sounds like an agreement, but I have a feeling Jake would tell me it wouldn’t hold up in court.
Merritt smiles and extends her hands. “Shake on it?”
Touching? If talking to her makes keeping this very request difficult, physical contact is even worse. My body has its own sort of muscle memory when it comes to her. It remembers, and it wants to go right back to the summer months when things were easy between us.
We were both pretty young and inexperienced back then. Kissing, holding hands, holding each other—that’s as far as we got, even if the connection feels so much deeper than what Ieverhad with Cassidy. My body never longed for Cass the way it did for Merritt. Not before we were married. Not after.
But all thiswanting,this desire to go back to what Merritt and I had—not just the physical but ALL of it—it’s the thirst of a man lost at sea. Surrounded by water, the one thing he needs, but a kind that will kill him if he drinks.
In the interest of not revealing any of this to Merritt, I have to shake her hand.
I wrap her smooth palm in my rough and calloused one, wondering what on earth I’ve just agreed to and how I’m ever going to survive herfriendship.
EIGHT
Merritt
I should feel betterafter talking to Hunter. Isn’t that how apologies work? You screw up. You say sorry. You make peace and move on.
But after our conversation, I sleep more restlessly each passing night. I find myself actively avoiding Gran’s house. And Hunter. Either hiding in the carriage house trying to decide how to spend days that seem interminably long without a job, or reacquainting myself with Oakley Island and its residents—most of whom seem more than happy to stop me and share a favorite story of Gran.
There’s the one Frank the barber told me about Gran bringing in a man she found hanging out on the beach. She paid for him to get a haircut and a shave before she bought him lunch, then sent him off in an Uber with a thick wad of cash. No one but Gran ever knew the man’s story, which I totally believe. The woman could keep a secret.
Then there was the story Harriett told me when I stopped by Sweet Tea and Toast for an early lunch. She slipped into the booth across from me, her arms resting on the smooth Formica tabletop, and told me about the famous cherry pies Gran sold in the elementary school’s dessert auction every Spring. Gran kept the recipe a secret until the year before she died when she brought a faded recipe card to Harriett, handed it over, and insisted the pie be added to the restaurant’s menu.
After I finished my sandwich, Harriett brought me a slice of that pie on the house, making me cry.
But aside from these totally welcome distractions, I’m feeling … restless.Anxious.
My ankle is mostly better, but my head is worse. Can you sprain your brain? Certainly has a nice ring to it. I still haven’t seen Hunter, and at this point, I’m not sure who is avoiding whom. But every time I see his truck at Gran’s, I have a Pavlovian urge to run over there. And … what? That’s the thing—where do we go from here?
We made peace with our past (mostly) and then … I friend zoned myself.Reallyfriend zoned myself since Hunter still thinks Simon is in the picture, and I didn’t tell him any different.
Because it’s better this way.
Because even if I can’t trust my own ability to stay away from Hunter, I can trust his ability to stay away from me. At least in all the ways he should, since he believes I’m an attached woman. Off-limits. Only available for friendship.
Not coming clean about Simon seemed like the right choice at the time. I also didn’t see a way to bring it up. Like,oh, and not that you care, but … I’m actually single!Or,by the way, about that boyfriend I had … he cheated and got her pregnant and now they’re getting married!I just couldn’t work out a non-freakish way to announce this. Even if some part of me hoped Hunter would push a little, to imply that he wanted something more.
In any case, I can’t remember the last time I was that vulnerable or honest with anyone at all. Maybe that’s why I’m avoiding Hunter. I’m not actually sure I can look him in the face.
I’ve heard nothing from Eloise. Which is shocking, since she poured so much of herself into the renovation. I don’t know if she’s just busy with grad school or if her radio silence is her avoiding reminders of Jake like I’m avoiding Hunter.
But at least I’m communicating with Sadie more frequently. She texts at least once a day, which is so unlike her, I’m starting to wonder if she senses something is up. That I might have a secret or two. Or twelve.
On day three of my island-wandering Hunter avoidance, Sadie texts me just before midnight. I’m awake, staring at the ceiling, trying not to remember how good Hunter looked yesterday as he replaced the gutters on the east side of Gran’s house.
