But in the end, friendship was the only thing he’d offered, which was fine. Great, actually. She was in no position to refuse an outstretched hand, and besides, it would be good for her to figure out how to be friends with someone she was this attracted to.
The next board meeting was a few days away, and since she was still short on her donation quota, she’d texted him asking if he had any leads. Somehow, that had led to him agreeing to spend an afternoon taking her around town, introducing her to anyone he thought might be useful.
The half-frozen grass crunched satisfyingly under her feet, and she took a deep, grounding inhale, almost painfully sharp, as she walked the few blocks to Mountain Roasters to meet Niko. One of Merritt’s favorite things about Crested Peak was how long the winter lingered there, well into the spring; it was possible to wake up in May to a dusting of snow.
When Olivia had told her that she and Dev were moving toa ski town in Colorado, Merritt had been surprised, initially picturing something along the lines of Vail or Aspen, a luxury playground for the über-wealthy. But while there were plenty of rich people here—like anywhere that relied on tourism—at least there was a sense of identity beyond just catering to them. A scrappiness, an eccentricity, an unpretentious charm that had made Merritt fall in love at first sight.
It helped that chain businesses were banned within the city limits. The first time Merritt had walked down Spring Street, taking in the candy-colored Victorian storefronts against the breathtaking mountain backdrop, she felt like she’d wandered onto a Hallmark movie set. Even after two years here, as she pulled open the mint-green door to Mountain Roasters, she half expected to find it nothing but a façade, propped up by dusty two-by-fours.
Luckily, she was greeted by not only a bustling establishment but also Niko, sitting at the table by the door, drawing her attention with a wave as soon as she walked in.
“Do you like cinnamon rolls?” was the first thing he said to her, and she blinked in surprise.
“What?”
He held up a pastry encased in wax paper. “This is the only day they make them. Usually they sell out early, but I got them to save one for us.”
She nodded, a sudden flare of gratitude for him melting away the last traces of the chill from outside.
She wasn’t sure why. She didn’t have much of a sweet tooth.
He’d gotten her coffee, too, texting her beforehand for her order, so it didn’t take long before they were out the door again. Outside, he broke off a piece of the roll and handed it to her, along with a few paper napkins, and she averted her eyes as he sucked icing off the side of his thumb before digging in himself.
She bit into the pastry, taking a moment to savor the sweetness, the spice, the gooey dough melting over her tongue, perfectly balanced by the bitter black coffee. She didn’t realize she’d let out a low hum of pleasure from the back of her throat until Niko glanced over at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. She quickly looked away, finishing her piece.
“Where do you want to go first?” he asked.
“Who have you gotten already?”
Niko scrunched his brow as he chewed, thinking it over.
“Well, Bruce is donating a six-course tasting menu for two at Gwendolyn’s. Cheryl from the yoga studio is giving a package of three private classes for up to five people. And I know one of the saleswomen up at the resort; she’s offering four full-season lift tickets.”
Merritt raised her eyebrows, reaching over to tear off another piece of roll from between Niko’s fingers, brushing them in the process. “Wow. Aren’t those, like, a thousand bucks a ticket?”
Niko nodded, a bashful smile spreading across his face. “She was trying to get away with just giving me a few day passes, but I hit her with the ‘it’s for a good cause.’ Oh, and Al from Al’s Hat Shack is putting together a big basket of hats.” He paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t have saved that one for last.”
Merritt suppressed a laugh with a sip of her coffee. “That’s only four. Are you donating something?”
He nodded. “I’ve been working on a dining table and a set of chairs—they were in the garage, if you saw them.”
“What about your paintings?” She glanced at him in time to see his cheeks go pinker than they already were from the cold.
“What about them?”
“Have you thought about donating one of them?”
He shrugged and looked away. “I don’t know if they’d be worth much.”
“I think the whole point of an auction is that other people get to decide what they’re worth.”
He didn’t respond to that, just offered her the last bite of the cinnamon roll without a word. When she declined, he popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
Had she hit a sore spot? She was almost surprised he had any. But of course he did. Everyone did, if you poked around enough.
She continued gently. “It just makes me sad to think of them sitting in your garage where nobody can see them. They really are good.”
He shrugged. “I paint because I like doing it. That’s all it’s about for me. I don’t care much what happens to them after I’m done.” He pointed down the street, clearly eager to change the subject. “Let’s try Last Chair. Simon might be able to help us out.”
