Page 45 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
“I know enough to figure it out.” I stop just short of telling him I have an MBA—I can figure out a piece of lawn equipment. “Does this thing still work? It looks old.”
And the lawn ishuge. I’m shocked Gran never had a riding mower. Or a lawn service. Back in the day, I think she used to pay some high school boys to do it.
“It works. Are you sure you can manage?”
“Yes, I can manage.”
With another grunt, one that sounds like a challenge, Hunter swings open the main double doors to the shed so I can wheel the mower out. “I’ll be in the house if you need me.”
“I won’t,” I call, and I swear, I hear him chuckle.
Only, Idoneed him. Or someone. Maybe I just need stronger arms because once I get the mower out of the shed, I can’t even get the stupid thing started. There’s a cord to start it—that much I know—but I'm either not pulling it hard enough, or it’s out of gas, or something else is wrong.
“Need a hand?”
I glance up to see Jake walking along the path in a suit, briefcase in hand. I'm about to tell him no when I think of the alternative—telling Hunter I need help.
“Actually, could you just help me start this thing?”
“Sure.”
With two good yanks from Jake on the same cord I spent ten minutes pulling, the mower roars to life.Sexist machine, I think.
“There you go,” he says over the roar of the motor.
Jake tries to say something else as he steps back, but it’s impossible to hear. And I suddenly see a bearded face watching from a window in the house. A smiling bearded face. I hope against vain hope Hunter didn’t just see me accepting Jake’s help.
“Thank you!” I call as Jake heads back to the path.
I try to move the mower forward and holy mackerel—does this thing put thepushin push mower. Even holding down the self-propel lever, I feel like I’m trying to force an armored tank across rocky ground. I don’t look at the house again to see if Hunter is still at the window when heshould befinishing the backsplash. Sweat trickles down my back as I dig in and heave my weight behind this thing. Iwilldo this.
Not gonna lie—my MBA is proving totally useless in this particular activity. The lawn is like some optical illusion that gets larger and larger as I mow. How big is this property? I try to remember the specs Jake went over when he was going over Gran’s will. A full acre? Whatever the official measurements, it’s never-gonna-finish large.
I’m definitely hiring a lawn service after today. There’s money in the accounts marked for renovation, but I feel like I remember Jake mentioning funds for maintenance and upkeep as well.
Almost as though they’ve been conjured by wishful thinking, a pickup truck towing a trailer with a riding mower pulls up to the curb near Gran’s. It must be here for the neighbors, but I really wish it was here forme.
Maybe itcanbe …
With a quick glance at the house to make sure Hunter isn’t watching, I dart over to the truck. I leave the mower running because I don’t trust myself to get it started again without help from a man. Since the mower is sexist. Not because I apparently need to work on my upper body strength.
“Hey,” I call, waving to the man with sun-worn skin and bleached blond hair.
He pauses at the back of the trailer, eyes moving from me to the still-running mower, which smells very strongly of gasoline and exhaust. Which likely means I smell like gasoline and exhaust. And sweat. So much sweat.
I stop out of smelling range. (I hope.) “I don’t know if you’d be interested in picking up another job, but I’ve got one for you.”
“Sure,” he says easily. “What kind of job?”
I sweep a hand behind me, indicating the half-mown lawn. “This. Not today, obviously. But maybe we could get on your schedule?”
“Right. Um.” He scratches his cheek, glancing again at the lawn like he’s confused. Or thinking really hard about my offer.
“I could pay you extra,” I say quickly. “Whatever you normally make, plus … twenty-five percent.” My legs begin to shake, and I realize exactly how exhausted I am from mowing just this tiny fraction of the yard. “More if you start today. If you aren’t too busy.”
He grins. “I can’t say I’d mind the extra money, but I have to decline.”
I slump. I already got my hopes up. “Thirty percent? Fifty?”
