Chapter 5 #2
Of course, Merritt’s brilliant plan to distract herself from Niko failed to take into account the Niko Is Literally Everywhere factor.
“Sorry I’m late. I hope you didn’t wait for me.” His voice was like an ice cube down the back of her shirt, every cell in her body zinging to attention.
“We’d never start without you, baby,” called Freya.
She turned back to address the room. “You all know Niko, right?” Everyone murmured in assent.
Merritt kept her eyes fixed on the notebook she was thankful she’d had the presence of mind to bring, but since the only empty seat in the room was the folding chair next to her, she knew she couldn’t ignore him for long.
And there he was, easing down beside her, close enough for her to inhale the now familiar sweet-spicy scent of his deodorant, the delicious tang of sweat beneath it.
He inclined his head toward her, like he was about to tell her a secret. “Hi,” he said under his breath, and it felt so weirdly intimate that she was almost embarrassed there were witnesses.
Hi, she mouthed, holding his gaze just long enough to feel her face turn hot, then looking back down at her lap. He inhaled, then hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, but Freya finally called the meeting to order.
Merritt tried her best to pay attention, scribbling down notes, but she wasn’t absorbing a word, her awareness limited to the way Niko’s knee brushed hers whenever he shifted in his seat.
Was he doing it on purpose? He had to be, right? On the other hand, he was so enthusiastically engaged with the discussion that maybe he had no idea. Every graze of denim against her fleece-lined tights became a subconscious game of he???s me, he???s me not.
Once the conversation turned to the fundraiser, though, she was able to tune back in.
The previous year, they’d gathered musicians from all over Silverton County to form the Crested Peak Symphony Orchestra, performing an evening of classical music under the stars led by a world-renowned conductor.
Merritt had wept silently through most of the performance—at the beauty of the music, yes, but also from the visceral sensation of being eight years old again, sitting next to her father on the piano bench, working through that same repertoire—and sent flowers to every member afterward.
However, the consensus tonight was that they needed a serious course correction after their least-attended event in years.
“I do think another concert could be a good idea, though,” the mayor said pointedly, his gaze sliding to Merritt. Slowly, everyone else’s did, too.
Merritt opened her mouth, then closed it. Blood rushed in her ears. “Um…” she managed, after an uncomfortable silence. Then Niko’s voice came from beside her, startling her.
“What do you say? Are the Grateful Dudes ready for the big time?” he asked Larry, grinning.
Crested Peak had a fairly robust local music scene, with one bar or another hosting live music almost every weekend. Larry played rhythm guitar for the Grateful Dudes, the second best of the three Grateful Dead cover bands in the area.
“You know it,” Larry replied, with equal good humor, to a few scattered chuckles. The mayor frowned, but to Merritt’s relief, he didn’t push it, and they moved on.
“What about a talent show?” suggested one of the part-timers.
Daniela wrinkled her nose. “That feels a little middle school,” she said, and a few other people nodded in agreement. “But I do like the idea of something that anyone can participate in.”
“How about a beauty pageant?” Larry said, which was immediately met with groans and eye rolls from most of the women.
“I’ll just dust off my bikini and heels,” drawled Pam, whom Merritt had never seen in anything but Blundstones and oversized cat sweatshirts.
“What if it was a pageant for men?” Merritt said, and every head in the room turned to her again.
She wasn’t surprised—it was the first thing she’d contributed the whole meeting.
“Mr. Crested Peak. The contestants could all pick a different organization they’re raising money for.
We could make it kind of silly and campy and fun. And skip the swimsuits.”
“Now, hold on there,” said Freya. “If it’s a pageant, I want to do some objectifying. They shouldn’t get let off the hook that easy. Fair’s fair.”
“Are you volunteering to host?” the mayor asked Merritt, who was already growing weary of his fixation on the potential publicity she could bring to the event.
“I don’t know if I’d do a very good job,” Merritt said sweetly. “But I’d be happy to be a judge, if you’d like.”
“I can host,” Daniela volunteered immediately, a wicked smile flashing across her face. “Sounds like a trip.”
“Will there be an age limit?” Larry asked.
“How is this not just a talent show?” grumbled the person who originally suggested it, but everyone ignored them.
A few people threw out other ideas, but when they took a vote, Merritt was shocked that the Mr. Crested Peak pageant ended up sweeping.
They wrapped up the meeting soon after that, and Merritt took her time gathering her things as the room hummed with side conversations.
When she looked up, Niko was still there.
“Want a ride?” he asked.
That’s the problem, actually.
“Sure. Thanks.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and stood up, following him out. “You should probably start charging me, though.”
“I’ll just add it to your invoice.” His grin disappeared, his brow furrowing. “That was a joke. I’m not gonna add it to your invoice.”
“I’ll have to make it up to you some other way, then.” Her cheeks heated as soon as the words slipped out. It had only taken about four sentences for her vow not to flirt with him to devolve into “offering to exchange sexual favors for taxi services,” which felt like a personal record.
Thankfully, he didn’t take the bait, though she thought she saw him do a double take before he opened the door of his truck for her.
“I thought this was Olivia’s thing,” he said, pulling onto the quiet main street. “Is she still feeling sick?”
“Yeah, we did the classic twin switcheroo. How could you tell it was me?” she deadpanned.
His forehead creased in confusion. “Wait, you guys are twins?”
She let out a burst of surprised laughter. “You came to our joint birthday party. Twice.”
“You can have the same birthday without being twins,” he said, a little defensively.
Merritt opened her mouth to object, though she had to admit it was technically true.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I’m glad you came. It’s a really good idea. The pageant, I mean.”
“Are you going to enter?”
He shook his head emphatically. “No way. I get major stage fright. I did my middle school play because I needed the extra credit, and I honestly still have nightmares about it. Looking out into that auditorium and not being able to see anything, but just knowing everyone is sitting there staring at you…” He shuddered. “Never again.”
Merritt nodded, feeling a pang of empathy. “It is scary. But that’s what makes it worth it.”
When she’d started out, she’d thought of herself as a songwriter first, but it hadn’t taken long for her to get addicted to the rush of performing.
She’d never found anything that could touch that high—but the lows that surrounded it made sure she never broke even.
Now she spent every day recommitting to a stable life in the middle, avoiding those peaks and valleys that had defined her teens and twenties, trying to convince herself she didn’t miss them at all.
He glanced over at her. “I don’t think I could handle you judging me.”
A pang of guilt shot through her. Was that how he thought of her? “I wouldn’t judge you,” she said quietly.
He tilted his head. “Didn’t you agree to be a judge?”
“Oh. Right.” She was thankful it was dark enough that he couldn’t see her flaming cheeks.
He pulled up outside Dev and Olivia’s house. She met his eyes across the cab of the truck.
Just thank him, say good night, and get out of the car.
But she didn’t move.
“Who were you?” she asked.
“What?”
“In the play.”
He grimaced. “A cow. I didn’t even have any lines. And then I puked as soon as I got offstage.”
Merritt pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. “I threw up, too. My first time. But before, not after.”
A homemade demo she’d given to her father’s old manager at fourteen had led to her spending fifteen and sixteen in New York, writing and recording her first album in collaboration with men—always men—two or three times her age.
Then, suddenly, she was in LA kicking off the tour to promote it, freshly seventeen, pacing backstage, a pit of snakes writhing in her stomach.
That wasn’t technically her first time onstage, but she thought of it that way, anyway. Her first time that mattered, cleaving her old life from her new one.
She had no fucking idea why she’d shared that. He must’ve seen on her face how much she did not want to elaborate, since all he did was let out an amused breath through his nose.
He cleared his throat. “This weekend still good for you?”
She hesitated.
Clearly, avoiding him was not going to work. Whether she liked it or not, he was going to be a major part of her life for the next few months. She was going to have to figure out a way to deal with that. Or, at the very least, figure out how not to get quite so flustered in his presence.
Maybe exposure therapy was the way to go after all.
If she spent enough time around him, he was bound to eventually reveal some unsavory trait or opinion that would snap her out of it and turn her off for good—like that he listened to toxic bro podcasts, or kept his bananas in the fridge.
She would just have to be firm in her boundaries until then, and keep things as professional as possible.
Sometimes the only way out was through.
“I could come tomorrow, if that works.”
He raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Oh yeah? Your schedule clear up?”
“Something like that.”
He inclined his head so his eyes were shadowed. “Okay. See you tomorrow, then.”
“See you tomorrow.”
She tried not to read anything into the fact that he stayed idling on the curb, watching her, until she was fully inside the house.
As soon as he drove away, she pulled out her phone and texted Alan.
Call me in an hour.