He had a striking profile, but she already knew that, his angular jaw and brow perfectly counterbalanced by the prominent slope of his nose. His posture was upright but relaxed, one handresting loosely on the steering wheel, the other draped over the back of the bench seat. She was grateful that the pile of junk between them prevented her from unconsciously shifting closer, his fingertips already inches from brushing her shoulder.
She had two doors in front of her, conversation-wise. Door Number One was businesslike small talk: focus on the task at hand. Door Number Two was more personal, a door he’d already cracked by bringing up his grandmother. She had to admit she was curious about him.
But that was the kind of small talk that inevitably led to big talk, the idea of which felt dangerous, since she wasn’t sure what she was willing to share about herself yet.
There was a third option, too: remaining silent and waiting to see what, if anything, he would ask her. But that felt less like a door and more like a long, dark hallway with an indeterminate destination.
Door One was safest.
“What are you going into town for?”
“I have a couple different stops. Picking up some light fixtures, some paint. There’s a flea market once a month that has good stuff sometimes—antique hardware, things like that. We should get there in time for that. You might want to check there for things for your house, too.”
Merritt hummed in acknowledgment. It struck her anew how absurd it was that last week they were virtual strangers, ignoring each other at every opportunity, and now they were on their way to stroll through a flea market together on a lazy Saturday, hand in hand.
Hand in hand?Where the fuck did that come from?
She flexed her fingers and rolled her wrists, one at a time, to bring them back to reality.
“Do you do this with all your clients?”
He shrugged without taking his eyes off the road.
She hadn’t realized she’d been hoping for him to pick up on the flirtatious edge of her question until she felt the sting of his deflection.
Why was she even bothering to flirt with him at all, intentionally or not? Because he was handsome? Because he was there? This was essentially a business trip, not a date, no matter how cozy the circumstances. It would set a bad precedent for her to start thinking of him as some kind of annoyingly attractive Mount Everest she needed to conquer just for the sake of the conquest.
As their drive continued, her attempts at conversation dwindled, leaving them to contemplate ABBA’s greatest hits in silence.
She shouldn’t have worried. He didn’t ask her a single question.
Maybe Mount Everest was the right comparison after all. He couldn’t have seemed less interested in her if he were literally made of stone.
Niko craned his head andsquinted. Merritt had disappeared yet again.
As soon as they’d approached the flea market, she’d wandered off, slipping into the crowd. It looked like he’d had the right impulse to give her space on the drive over, a gesture made easier by the fact that he’d been so nervous about accidentally asking her something intrusive or inappropriate that his mind had gone blank.
He finally caught up to her a few rows over, where she was studying a stall full of antique mirrors. Her back was to him, herimage refracted a dozen times from every angle, warped and distorted.
She caught his eye through her reflection and smiled. “Did you find anything?”
He shook his head. “You?”
She shook her head, too. “I don’t know if I’m ready for any of this yet. One decision at a time, you know?” She pivoted to face him, sliding her sunglasses off the top of her head and back over her eyes. “Should we head back? Is there anything left on the list?”
They’d already taken care of their individual errands before meeting back up to head over to the flea market. He’d walked into the tile store and seen her weighing two almost identical samples of dark-gray tile in her hands, running her thumbs thoughtfully over their smooth surfaces.
As he’d glanced around at the other customers, he quickly realized he wasn’t the only one observing her.
Watching her drift around the store and the market reminded him of a toy he’d had as a kid, where he’d used a magnetic pen to move tiny metal shavings around a cartoon man’s face, imitating facial hair. Merritt was like that magnetic pen: wherever she went, it seemed like the people around her couldn’t help but turn to stare at her. Not everyone—not even most—but enough. And there was always a question on their faces as they did a double (sometimes triple) take, their eyes flitting to her face and then away again, trying to study her without being too obvious.
But despite the furtive glances, not one of them went up to her. He’d even thought twice about doing it himself, despite having a legitimate reason to. He wouldn’t describe her aura as unfriendly, exactly, but something about the way she carried herself—all the time, not just now—screamedApproach withCaution.Not like she’d attack, but like she’d flee, a startled deer seeking safety deep in the woods.
The night before, he’d mentioned to one of his roommates, Jo, that he was going to work on her house. All the color had immediately drained from Jo’s face, which was how Niko learned that he’d been living with a secret Merritt Valentine superfan for months.
They’d immediately pulled up a music video on their phone—Merritt’s first single, the one they swore he’d definitely know when he heard it. A jagged piano rhythm blared from the speakers, pulsing and hypnotic, over a wide shot of an empty field at night, lit only by the full moon. And then: teenage Merritt, almost unrecognizable. Painfully young, painfully thin, the harsh lighting illuminating her like a ghost against the darkened surroundings. When she opened her mouth, the hair on Niko’s arms had stood up. Her voice was low and rich and buttery smooth, but with an edge to it—an unexpected bite of spice that burned the back of his throat.
Even though Niko could tell the song was good, something about the video had made his stomach curdle. He felt creepy watching it, like he was doing something invasive, even though it had more than two hundred million views. His other roommate, Simon, had grabbed the phone, reading out the top comments with a laugh:Where’s Merritt? What happened to Merritt?
