Page 53 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
Well—that was before she saw what she had to work with. I want to laugh at her expression when she sees the bedroom littered with dark, corporate clothing and workout pants.
“New York, huh?” she asks, picking up a navy blazer and dropping it over the back of a chair like it’s disease-ridden. It makes me want to laugh.
“Yep. It’s bad, huh?”
Naomi grins. “It’s not bad. It’s a challenge. You and Lo really are different.” When she sees my expression, she holds up a hand. “I do not mean that as an insult. Not good or bad different—just different. Lo and I became friends. And I get the sense maybe you and I could be friends too?”
Friends. A prickle of warmth threads its way through me. I think of Jana in New York. We worked together. Got drinks together after work. Complained about work. And … after I left, she texted once to say she was there if I needed anything. That’s it.
What’s more—I’ve barely thought about her. Not once have I gotten the urge to check in or text. So, yeah—I could use a friend.
“Friends sounds really great, actually.” I drop onto the bed. “I probably need to do a whole wardrobe revamping, huh?”
Naomi inspects a pair of leggings and folds them, adding them to a pile on the corner of the desk. “I mean, not if you’re planning to go back to the corporate world.”
Am I? Definitely not if I’m staying on Oakley.
“You know what? Don’t worry about it. I think this might actually be impossible.”
Naomi grins. “Oh, I love a challenge. I’ll make magic from this.”
And she does. Twenty minutes later, Naomi has not only found an outfit but helped make a pile of clothes to put in storage until—or if?—I go back to office life.Or donate them because you don’t want to go back to that life, a small voice says. But it’s a reasonable voice. Kind of an alluring one.
From my various unsuitable outfits, Naomi picked out a pair of black pants and paired them with a short-sleeved white blouse, which she tells me to leave mostly unbuttoned to reveal a turquoise tank top. The tank top came from Naomi’s purse.
Yes—she really did pull clothing out of her purse like some sort of Mary Poppins. And now I am a woman who wears clothes pulled from the purses of near-strangers.
“Look at you!” Naomi says. “Casual, but also hot. Perfect for a maybe date.”
It is. And I’m not sure why I couldn’t have paired this together, but I never would have.
“Do you feel good? Comfortable?”
“I feel like … me.”
The old me, I don’t add. Because the longer I’m here and away from New York, the more I feel like I’m excavating myself. Slowly, because it’s terrifying, so I’m using one of those tiny brushes scientists use on fossils to sweep away the dirt.
“Good. The best outfit is when you look hot but also feel like yourself.” She hands me a pair of black flip-flops.
“These?”
“Trust me.”
Oddly, I do. The flip-flops that I would never have paired with these pants (except maybe on my morning commute, to be replaced with heels at the office) complete the whole casual but pretty vibe I wanted.
“Hair up or down?”
“Down.” Naomi does not hesitate to plunge her hands into my hair near the roots and do some kind of tousling. The end result is the same natural waves but with a little more body. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m shocked and impressed. Thank you.”
“Anytime! This was fun. So—who’s the lucky guy?”
“You might know him since this island is tiny. His name is Hunter.”
Naomi grabs my arm, her eyes wide. “Hunter Williams?”
When I nod, she groans, then smiles. “Oh man, you definitely need to lock that down. The island vultures have been circling for years. When they see he’s finally dating, it won’t take seconds for one of them to try and sink her talons right into him.”
