Page 4 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
I squeeze my eyes closed at the sound of Jake’s voice. The lawyer inhabiting the other side of the carriage house WOULD be here to witness my humiliation. Of course he would.
Why can’t I just have one private moment to fall apart in peace???
“Nothing,” I say just as Hunter says, “Sprained ankle.”
“It’s not sprained,” I snap.
Hunter turns around so I can lift my head and see Jake. Or perhaps so Jake isn’t getting an eyeful of MY butt perched high on Hunter’s broad shoulder.
“Morning, neighbor.” I lift my hand and wave like I’m just out for a morning stroll. No big deal. Nothing to see here!
Jake is also in running clothes. He deals with things—things like missing my youngest sister, Eloise, who is currently all the way across the country—like I do: working too hard or running too long.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jake asks, glancing between me and Hunter.
“Nothing that a little ice and rest won’t fix,” I answer.
And a lobotomy to scrape out the scent of Hunter, the image of his butt as he walks, and the kindness of this whole rescue.
My brain snags and catches on this for a moment. Why was Hunter down on the beach anyway? How did he see me fall? I expected to see him around the main house working on renovations, but I hoped, if I stayed close to the carriage house, I would avoid running into him.
“Well, if everything’s okay here—”
“It is,” Hunter and I say at the exact same time.
Jinx.
Another echo from the past floats into my head the way they’ve been doing ever since I set foot on Oakley Island. I see Hunter’s grinning, boyish face, his wide smile, the one I used to think only I was privileged to see.
“You owe me a soda,” he says.
The Coke machine whirrs, then spits my crumpled dollar back out. I use the corner of the machine to flatten the bill out. Hunter leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest while he watches.
“This is the only time I’ve ever seen you quiet. It’s kind of nice,” he says.
The can thuds its way down into the bottom of the machine. The Dr Pepper is cold against my palm as I hold it out. Hunter’s fingers brush mine as he takes the drink. He pauses just a moment longer before saying my name to release me from the jinx. “Mer.”
I haven’t heard my name on his lips since we were fifteen. It hasn’t gone without notice that Hunter hasn’t said it now.
Hunter is on the move again, totally unaware of how my mind keeps dipping into unwanted memories. The kind that make my chest ache.
But your heart is dead, remember? It died a few minutes ago when you saw Hunter’s face for the first time in so many years.
The screen door creaks as Hunter walks into my side of the carriage house. It’s a duplex, two mirror-image apartments with Jake on one side and me on the other.
Until yesterday when I dropped her off at the airport, Eloise lived here, doing her sisterly duty according to our grandma’s will. One of us—me, my other sister, Sadie, or Eloise—must live on the property until renovations on the main house are done. Then we’re free to sell it as the B&B Gran always envisioned.
Or keep it, I guess, though we haven’t discussed that complicated possibility.
Lo took the first shift since she had just graduated college when we were surprised by this inheritance. Could Sadie have stepped up? Sure. She works from home. But to do her government internet security job, she needs servers and the kind of tech stuff that always has me crossing my eyes and zoning out. Eloise had no plans and no job, which made her the perfect solution. Until she got an opportunity to start a grad school program in the Pacific Northwest.
That left me. And since my life had recently imploded with uncannily perfect timing, I came to Oakley. As of yesterday, I’m living in what was Eloise’s half of the carriage house and driving her car—since I haven’t owned my own vehicle in years. My sisters both think I’m working remotely. I’m not ready to discuss being jobless and boyfriendless and all the -lesses, so I left out a lot of the details.
You know. Just a few teensy things.
“Where’s all your stuff?” Hunter asks, gently lowering me to the couch.
Some part of me—is that my ovaries? Do they even exist?—weeps as he backs away, the warmth of his strong body and the feel of his soft shirt disappearing from my cheek.
