Page 15

MERIT

He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Well, in all honesty, I might not have fought too hard to say no. But come on, what woman doesn’t love a surprise? Just because I’m still mad at him, should I be forced to forgo all fun? What if the surprise is chicken fried rice? Or blueberry pancakes? And for some odd reason, I start thinking really hard about Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal. That would be good right about now too.

Grunting to cover the growl of my stomach, I flop my head back on the headrest. “It’s been long enough. Tell me where we’re going. Tell me what the surprise is.”

Grinning, he licks his lips and dips his eyes to my bump. “Did your stomach just growl?” I must make a face because he starts chuckling. “And did you try to cover it up by grunting?”

Scowling, I reach for the radio and turn it up, drowning out his sexy little laugh.

He calmly reaches over and turns it back down. “Just give it a few more minutes. It’s not like I have you blindfolded. I’m sure you’ll figure out where we’re going soon enough.” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “And yes, there will be plenty of food.”

He thinks he’s so smart. He thinks he knows me so well, doesn’t he?

“Yes,” he says simply.

My brow furrows in confusion. “Yes, what? What are you talking about?”

“Yes, I do know you. I know everything about you.” Gifting me his signature wink, he turns the radio volume back up, letting me stew in my own thoughts about how much I love and hate the fact that he can read me like a book.

Ten minutes later, I know exactly where we are.

Movie night. At City Hall Park.

When I don’t make a move to undo my seat belt, he reaches over and squeezes my knee. My breath catches in my throat, ballooning and choking me, and I have to physically demand that my body ignore how right his hot and calloused hand feels against my skin. “Do you remember the movie that was playing the very first time I came into the store, the very first time I met you?”

My eyes travel up his hand, mapping the veins that decorate his forearm. “You mean the night you were on a date with Bunny?” I quip.

Instead of responding to that comment, he just rolls his eyes and leans closer. “ Singin’ in the Rain . Do you remember that?”

“You said you had never seen it all the way through. I always meant to make you watch it, but…we ran out of time,” I say honestly.

His fingers dig into my skin, making dimples in my leg muscles. “Now, we have all the time in the world, the rest of our lives.”

He can’t say stuff like that.

It’s not wise, and it’s definitely not kind to my heart.

I shift my leg, forcing his hand to drop away.

He quickly disguises the hurt in his eyes, recovering with a smile. “But why wait? We have tonight.”

Despite my best efforts, excitement blooms in my chest. “They’re playing Singin’ in the Rain on the big screen?”

“Yep.”

Suddenly, my excitement drops into the pit of my stomach, like the free fall of a rollercoaster. “Wait. Did you do this?” I ask him. “Did you pay for them to play this movie?”

The thought of him paying to have the movie played for me cheapens the moment, cheapens the small possibility that one day—in the very distant future—our lives may intertwine with love and forgiveness. I know I shouldn’t even be thinking about such things, but for some strange reason, I can’t help but want this to be fate.

To be a sign that maybe one day—just some day—we might become each other’s everything again.

Call me a prude, but I don’t wanna be his movie whore.

Instead of answering, he climbs out of the truck and jogs over to my side. Opening the door, he leans in and unfastens my seat belt. My body tingles from his touch. When his arm grazes my breast, my traitorous body responds, with my nipples immediately peaking. Wordlessly, he flicks the button on the glove compartment, and it bounces open between my legs. He hands me a piece of paper. It’s a printed flyer for the movies scheduled this summer.

“When you left the coffee shop the other night, I went inside to use the restroom and leave a tip for the workers.” His lip twitches, begging to smile, thinking back to the fiasco with my unwanted suitor. “I mean, we did leave dried, sweetened coffee all over their sidewalk. I figured ants would be there the next day.”

I hope that guy’s shorts are stained forever. If I had a plate of spaghetti to go along with it, it really would have been funny.

“The flyers were stacked next to the bathroom.” He points to today’s date and the movie listed. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. Like you said before, they almost always play cartoons.” Gripping the doorframe of the truck, I watch the flex of his muscles as he shrugs. “I don’t know, it just felt like… fate. I keep hoping the universe will show you that we’re meant to be together. That’ll it’ll show you how truly sorry I am.”

Shock.

I wish I could answer him, throw out some smartass comment, but I’m too shocked to even speak.

“I love you, Merit.”

Through no choice of my own, a soft, slow mantra starts chanting in my soul. It beats steady and firm, harmonizing with my spirit, anchoring itself to my subconscious.

Forgive him. Forgive him. Forgive him.

Forgive yourself .

I swallow against the rhinoceros-size lump in my throat. “Holt, I—”

And the moment is cut short by a scream. “Coach! I mean, Holt!” The little boy looks up at his dad, who is apparently chastising him for using Holt’s first name. He quickly corrects himself. “I mean, Mr. Hill! Hi!”

And there’s just another thing Delaney did.

She got Holt fired. He’s not a coach anymore. What do you call a coach who is no longer a coach?

Planting a wide grin on his face, Holt spends the next fifteen minutes taking pictures, signing autographs, and handing out shiny pennies—not to just this little boy, but the twenty other people who soon join the circle. Not wanting to waddle my fat ass around everybody, I just hang out of the truck sideways, swinging my feet against the running boards, and watching and enjoying the interactions. I even take a few pictures for him and grab a fresh stack of pennies from the middle console when he runs out.

When the crowd filters away, he turns his full attention back to me. “What were you gonna say?” he asks. “You know, before this…” he waves his hand in the general direction of the dispersing crowd.

“Oh, I—”

Once again, cut off. “Excuse me?” The little girl slides up next to us, almost wedging herself between the two of us. “May I have your autograph?”

Holt looks down, studying her black ringlets and cocoa-colored skin. She’s wearing a hot pink sundress, hot pink ruffled socks, and bright green tennis shoes. Green and pink bracelets are stacked on both of her wrists. She’s one of the cutest little girls I have ever seen in my entire life. If I had to guess, she’d be about ten or eleven. “Sure, sweetheart. Do you have something for me to sign?”

She pouts her pink lips, smiles softly, and then gently pats his arm, like she’s about to deliver horrible news. “Not you. Her,” she says, turning her face to mine.

What did she just say?

“Huh?” I stab my finger against my breastbone. “Me?”

She nods so hard she looks like a bobblehead doll. “Yes, ma’am.” She holds out a hand, gifting me with a torn piece of yellow legal pad and blue ink pen. “I wanna be just like you when I grow up.”

My eyes dart to Holt, wondering if he finds this exchange as weird as I do. Something’s got to be wrong with her; she has to be mistaken. Because I’m just me . Why in the world would this child wanna be like me?

But my confusion finds no answers with the famous Holt Hill. Because it’s pretty clear to see that he agrees with the little girl. The look of pride on his face blows me away. He’s looking at me like I’m a precious jewel that’s just been discovered for the very first time.

Like I’m the very first diamond to ever be mined from the earth.

New, foreign, priceless, and fucking gorgeous.

It completely flusters me. I guess if he’s not coming to my rescue, I have no choice but to navigate these waters myself.

“Ummm, well, hi.”

She smiles widely. “Hi.”

“Do you know who I am, sweetie?”

Her brow furrows. “Of course, you’re Merit Browning.”

“And you want my autograph?”

“Yep.”

I think back through my memories, trying my best to place her. “Did you used to shop in my children’s shoe store? It was called Run and Jump and Twirl . Have you been there before?”

“No, ma’am. My Mommy and Daddy usually buy everything from Amazon.” She leans forward with a secret. “Even our toilet paper.”

Holt’s laugh splices the air between us.

I’m still completely lost. “Have we met before?” I can’t believe I’m asking a child these questions. I probably sound like a lunatic.

“I don’t think so.” Her face scrunches in thought. “Wait, did you go to Dawson’s birthday party at the skating rink?”

As much as I love children, I try to avoid crashing random birthday parties. “No, not me.”

She shakes her head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Don’t worry, it wasn’t much fun anyway. Scarlet sprained her ankle, so we all had to stop skating early because she’s such a big baby and cried because everyone was having fun without her.”

Well, this conversation is going off the rails. Time to get back on track. “Did you say you wanna be like me when you grow up?”

She bounces on her toes. “Absolutely! You totally solved a crime! You know, like Nancy Drew or Veronica Mars or Shelby Woo. You found the bad guy,” she shrugs a shoulder, “well, bad girl, I guess, and kept your boyfriend out of jail.” She turns and pins Holt with a stare, non-discreetly letting him know that she knows he was in jail, and in her humble opinion, I saved the day.

He turns to me, his lighthearted good humor from the toilet paper comment fading into something more serious, more sincere. “She’s a hero. She’s my hero,” he says.

“And mine too,” the little girl adds, shoving the paper and pen back in my face.

With a shaky hand, I grab it. “What’s your name?”

“Vanessa.”

“Vanessa,” I roll the letters off my tongue as I write her name.

Now, what the hell am I supposed to write? Good Luck? Be safe? Have fun? Don’t do drugs? Eventually, I settle on It’s nice to meet you. Remember, anything is possible. Before I can question my own logic and start overanalyzing myself—because is ‘anything possible’—I quickly sign my name. I don’t have a Hollywood-type signature, so I just sign it like I’m signing a check.

Vanessa gingerly handles the paper and studies the words in fascinated awe. It’s like I just gifted her with a rare artifact. Like I pulled Excalibur from the Stone and traveled across time to give it to her.

Nerves flicker in my stomach, making me feel hot and sweaty. I’m not sure what else to do. “Ummm.” I reach behind me into the console. “Would you like one of his pennies?” I ask, nodding from the penny in my hand to Holt.

Vanessa glances at him, sizing him up, trying to determine if he’s worthy enough to be granted the privilege of her carrying around his loose change. Giving a nod, she holds out her hand again, quickly pocketing the copper penny I drop on her palm. “Why not?”

Holt’s eyebrows dart into his hairline, and he dramatically clears his throat. “Tough critic.”

“Well, I better get back to my mom,” Vanessa says, pointing to a woman milling around the sidewalk, filming our encounter on her cell phone.

Holt and I wave hello. She politely waves back and mouths a ‘thank you’ to us.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Vanessa. I hope you enjoy the movie tonight,” I say.

“You too. Bye!” And with that, my unexpected admirer skips away to join her family.

I sink back in the truck, wincing when the bony part of my ankle hits against the running board in a funny way, shooting pain across my leg and foot. “Ohhhhh. Ouch!”

Holt leans against the doorframe again, drawing my attention to the firm lines of his body. Grabbing my foot, he rubs my ankle, trying to ease the pain. A slight breeze blows, wafting his scent around me. Minty gum and a woodsy-cedar-deodorant smell. Back when we shared a bathroom, his deodorant came in a black container that had a picture of the woods on it. It had some super manly name. Like Ax-Throwing Lumberjack or some bullcrap. I can’t help but wonder if he still uses the same one.

When his fingertips trail up my leg, massaging my calf, I pull away.

“Thanks,” I mumble. I guess I should thank him, huh? The pain in my ankle is gone. Although, now I do have a pain in my crotch.

Eager to change the subject, I sigh deeply. “So, that was weird, right?”

“Me massaging your leg was weird?” he teases, adding his sexy little wink for good measure.

I wish I could say I was immune to his charm, but I’m not. “Haha,” I playfully add before explaining what doesn’t need an explanation, “the little girl, the autograph.”

“Why was that weird?” He blinks twice before continuing. I know, because I count them. “You are my hero, Mer. Every little girl should wanna be like you when they grow up.”

I shake my head. “I did what anyone would do. I just told someone what I saw. The real work came from everyone else—Crutch, Marcum, Ella, all those other people.”

He tugs the ballcap from his head, puts it on the roof of the truck, and drags his fingers through his blond waves. Gripping the roof, he moves even closer to me, sliding his body between my legs, invading my space, depleting my oxygen and my will to be strong—my will to still be angry with him.

“Stop. Stop diminishing yourself and what you did. There’s a very real possibility I would be sitting behind bars right now, and possibly for years and years to come, if it weren’t for you.” His hand cups my cheek, scalding me with heat, piercing me with tenderness. “You are my everything , Merit. I will love you forever. And I will beg for your forgiveness forever, if that’s how long it takes.” His other hand splays across my stomach, and our son instantly starts to move. “Every night I pray that he grows up to be just like you. And I pray that one day he finds someone he loves just as much as I love you. Someone he’d slay dragons for. And who would do the exact same for him.”

My heart flutters, pumping those painful, familiar words through my body.

Forgive him. Forgive him. Forgive him.

And because I can be stubborn as a damn mule when I wanna be, I plaster on a fake smile and say, “We better go. We’re gonna miss the start of the movie, and you know how I feel about that.”