“Iam,” Merritt said softly, sincerely, trying to ignore the jolt of guilt in her gut about how close that description came to her own initial perception of him. This must be why he was reluctant to share his art, she realized—this deep-rooted insecurity about whether others valued his inner life.
He met her eyes. “Thank you.”
The surprise, the pleasure, the gratitude in those two little words fused together to form an arrow straight through her chest. She blinked, trying to absorb the impact.
Out of all the surprises of the evening, this one felt the most profound: the idea that Niko—hunky, kindhearted, universally beloved Niko—might, deep down, be just as lonely as she was.
10
Six months ago, if someonehad told Niko that the person he’d be spending the most time with as spring turned to summer was Merritt Valentine, he would’ve told them they were out of their minds. But, somehow, it was true. In the weeks following that night at Off the Rails, he saw her more days than he didn’t.
She sat next to him at every SummerFest board meeting, whether it was in someone’s cramped living room, a conference space at the Crested Peak Community Center, or the after-hours dining area of one of the local restaurants. That meant he’d had a front-row seat when Larry had come over to apologize for Frank’s behavior.
“He’s officially on probation,” Larry said gravely. “And he was already on thin ice after forgetting the lyrics to ‘Casey Jones’ last month. Hell, if you want to replace him as lead singer, thegig’s all yours. I could definitely get the other guys to vote him out. We’re all sick of his prima donna bullshit.”
“I really appreciate that, Larry,” she said, her expression as sincere as his. When he walked away, though, she caught Niko’s eye, and her mouth twisted with suppressed laughter. “What do you think?” she murmured under her breath.
Niko glanced up to make sure Larry was out of earshot. “Sounds like if you learn the words to ‘Casey Jones’ you might finally get your big break.”
She snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand, looking up to make sure nobody heard. It reminded Niko of sitting in the back row of math class, goofing off with his friends, trying to get the attention of the girls they liked without the teacher noticing—although somehow Merritt occupied both roles in this scenario.
She’d started showing up at the house, too—supposedly to check in, but sometimes she’d bring snacks or lunch or coffee and they’d sit around and talk about nothing in particular. Her couch had been delivered already, since the living room was done, and every now and then she’d bring a book and hang out silently while he worked.
He hadn’t been able to resist sketching her this time, curled up on the only piece of furniture in an otherwise empty house, sun streaming in from the giant picture window. He’d tried to be as discreet as possible, using loose, quick strokes as he wandered in and out of the room, but she’d glanced up and caught him looking at her. “What are you doing?”
“Uh, measurements,” he said, fumbling with the tape at his belt. From the look on her face, she hadn’t really believed him, but she hadn’t seemed to care, either.
They’d usually go to Off the Rails when he was done for the day, chatting with Jo whenever it was slow, or whoever else theybumped into when it was busy. Her pool skills had gotten better, but only enough to win one out of every ten games or so. Still, the first time she’d beat him, she’d let out a whoop of delight that had sent a thrill down to his toes. He was tempted to let her win every game just to get that reaction again, but he knew he’d never get away with it.
She visited him late at night, too, even though she didn’t know it. He would die before telling her how many mornings he’d woken up painfully hard, half humping his pillow, tortured by the deceptively real feeling of those soft hands caressing him, those rosy lips teasing him to the brink of insanity. How he’d try to carry those wisps of dreams with him into the shower for some much-needed relief.
Because the truth was, as much time as they now spent together, he still had no idea if her feelings for him were anything beyond friendly. He couldn’t get a good read on her. Every time he thought he’d found something to grasp on to—a hand on his arm, a glance held a beat too long—she’d retreat again, and he’d lose his nerve.
And then there was the other truth: He liked her. A lot. More than just wanting her—which he did, desperately, his feverish sex-starved dreams about her betraying his best attempts to keep things platonic in her presence. He liked that she was smart in a way that he couldn’t fully wrap his mind around. She was a good listener, too, though it didn’t always seem like it. Sometimes he’d be talking and her gaze would go soft and she’d appear to retreat into her own world, only to surprise him days later by bringing up some detail he’d forgotten he even mentioned.
But in the end, it was her laugh that did him in.
She’d laughed around him before, but it was restrained, like most of her smiles: a short exhale, a hum in the back of herthroat. He didn’t hear the real thing until the second time she’d met him at the bar.
It wasn’t from anything he did, much to his dismay. He’d reracked the pool balls, her turn to shoot first. She’d lined up her shot with confidence, her form already notably improved from their first game—and sent the cue ball whizzing straight into the corner pocket.
She’d planted her cue on the ground and leaned against it for support, throwing her head back and letting out a laugh that shook her whole body. She’d sworn to him earlier that she didn’t make music anymore, but there was no other word to describe it. After that, he’d made it his informal mission to figure out how to trigger it himself.
That was what kept him from trying to push things further: the knowledge that, if he was wrong, he risked snapping the delicate thread of their new closeness. It was better to know her in this strange in-between, “friends” with an asterisk, than to cross a line and be shut out in the cold again. The more time he spent with her, the more he had to lose. It wasn’t worth fanning the spark he felt if it would just burn everything down.
Still, as he sat idling in his truck one morning, waiting for her to pick up their coffees from Mountain Roasters before they drove up to the house to test paint samples, he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting in that direction again.
It probably didn’t help that it had been months since he’d last had sex—not since Gabby’s going-away party in the fall. She’d worked with Simon at Last Chair, and she and Niko had hooked up a couple times a week for most of the six months she’d lived here. Their arrangement had been strictly business, existing only within the boundaries of their respective bedrooms (or, if no one else was home, the couch, or floor, or dining table), andthey hadn’t been in touch since she’d left. His other post-Helene relationships—if you could even call them that—had been along the same lines. Actually, his whatever-this-was with Merritt was the closest he’d come to dating in years.
But they weren’t dating. They hadn’t even kissed. In a way, he wished hewereback in math class again, where he could at least pass her a note requesting she check “yes” or “no” if she felt the same way.
A rap on the passenger window of his truck startled him out of his thoughts. He glanced over, expecting to see Merritt, but instead, Skylar, the receptionist from the yoga studio, was waving shyly at him. He rolled down the window, trying his best to shake off his distraction.
“Hey, Skylar.”
“Hey, Niko,” she said, her grin widening, cheeks going pink. “I was hoping to run into you. Are you busy tonight? A few of us are going to one of the campgrounds, if you want to come. Liza’s bringing shrooms.”
It wasn’t completely out of nowhere. Skylar had moved into town around the same time as Jo and Simon, and he’d hung out with her a handful of times, always in a group.
