Page 38 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
What would I do for work?
Would I live in the carriage house forever?
Would my sisters care if we didn’t sell the beach house?
Would Hunter feel differently about being friends if he knew I wasn’t leaving and Simon was already out of the picture?
This last question gives me pause. Do I want Hunter to feel differently?
I’ve been flirting around myattractionto him since I first arrived on Oakley. But that’s different than allowing that attraction to turn into something more. Is that what I want?
Something sparks low in my gut.Oh yes, I absolutely do.
Another sip of the vodka tonic gives me a smidge of what I know Gran would callmoxie. Maybe it’s time for me to tell Hunter another truth. I could tell him about Simon. Or about my thoughts on not returning to New York.
I take a deep breath, leave my glass on the bar, and head his way.
He watches me the whole time, and I wish I could read his expression.
I take the stool next to him, facing outward, completely aware of him but with my eyes trained on the pool tables and dance floor.
“I’m surprised to see you,” I say, going for light and funny. It comes out flirty instead. “This doesn’t seem like your scene.”
“It’s not so bad.”
He’s drinking coffee, because of course he is. It’s about the most contrary drink you could order in a bar.
I tip my chin toward his mug. “Do they have your fancy creamer here?”
Hunter glances down, like he forgot about his coffee altogether. “No. But they do have heavy cream.”
“You put heavy cream in your coffee?”
“Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”
Boldly, I reach for his mug and take a slow sip, my eyes locked on Hunter’s the whole time. The drink is lukewarm—a stark contrast to the fire racing through my veins.
Hunter’s gaze narrows, like he can’t quite figure me out.
“Not bad,” I say as I lick my lips. “Very rich.”
A tense silence stretches between us as the song shifts to something slow, the couples in front of us pressing closer to each other. I’m struck with a longing so intense, my chest feels tight.
Because I only spent time here in summer, Hunter and I never went to a school dance together the way we might have if we grew up in the same town. I never got to know how it would feel to watch him open a door for me, to slide a corsage on my wrist, to put his hands on my waist as we danced.
I feel a sudden tug of nostalgia--a longing for things past that also somehow links to a very real desire for things now. Like,rightnow.
“I saw you dancing earlier,” Hunter says. “I was surprised.”
I elbow him lightly, careful not to spill his coffee. “Thanks a lot.”
He leans closer, his breath the faintest tickle on my cheek. “Not surprised you were good at it. I was worried about your ankle.”
Way to suck all the romance out of the moment, Hunter.
Now that he mentions it, I’m suddenly aware of a dull throb I've been ignoring. But my mind wants to focus on other things. Like his concern and his compliment about my dancing. Well—hissort ofcompliment.
“Right. My ankle. It’s better.”
