Chapter 5

Five

What joyful noises are coming from our music classroom as Mr. Bell continues to fill in for Mrs. Crenshaw. Students are hard at work on holiday surprises in many classes right now, so look for those to head home in December. As a reminder, there are several ongoing fundraisers for various projects, so see the list and give as you are able!

NOLAN

My last class of the day on Thursday was proving as temperamental as a certain EGOT-winning diva I’d had the horror of working with a few years back. Despite minimal feedback from Merry, I was moving along with my prep work and musical selections for the holiday festival.

“Are you really going to let us sing this song in public ?” Kaitlyn was a member of the eighth grade choir with short hair and a pinched face that made her look closer to a forty-something sales manager. She had managed to find a way to object to something in every class we’d had thus far. “It has a bad word.”

“Literature and music are filled with bad words.” I waved a hand. I’d wanted to use more modern music with a secular but upbeat holiday feel, which meant certain lyrical compromises had to be made. “As you’ll note, I marked the curse word out.”

“I still know what word it says.” Liam K., one of three Liams in the class, was always helpful.

“From the top,” I directed, deliberately talking over Liam.

“My parents might complain.” Kaitlyn had to get one last dig in.

“Are they the ones singing?” I snapped, then immediately regretted it. I could sense the warning email from Principal Alana already, so I took a breath. “Let’s try to find the beauty in the song instead of analyzing individual word choices.”

The students began to sing, but then a rogue squawky low note threw everyone off.

“And let’s try that once more.” My gaze landed on the source of the off-note, a gangly boy with a halo of curly hair that added at least four inches in height. “Jaden, I thought we marked you as an alto?”

“That was the other day.” Jaden, like all three Liams, had a raspy, squeaky voice in a constant state of flux. Gotta love hormones.

“Very well, we’ll roll with it.” I pointed to the way-smaller baritone section. “Try singing the low part today.”

The entire group managed to make it through the song, but it felt flat. The vibes were very last period in a long day, and I sympathized, but we had only a few precious weeks until the performance.

“And emote, sopranos, emote.” I fluttered around, trying to demonstrate the required energy.

At last, the final bell rang, and students raced out of our windowless cave into the hall, leaving me to pick up discarded sheet music, gum wrappers, and other trash.

“Hey there.” Merry stood at the entrance to my classroom. “I figured we needed to talk.”

“Me too.” Finally. I’d only waited all damn week for him to seek me out, either to provide feedback on the plans I’d left with him after our impromptu swim lesson or to discuss that moment. I swore he’d been about to kiss me. Perhaps hopelessly bad at floating was an underrated aphrodisiac? Or maybe he’d been that impressed by how I’d taken charge when I’d thought Legend was in trouble in the water? Whatever the case, he was here now.

“I’ve been scaling back your plans?—”

“You’ve been what?” My squawk was just as off-key as Jaden’s earlier. I’d thought Merry was here to talk .

“To something more manageable.” Merry gestured like my plans were vague things that could be easily dismissed. “But we need to go over the ideas and finalize?—”

“You’ve been dodging me all week.” I shot him a pointed look, and he at least had the grace to blush.

“I’ve been busy.” Huffing, he stuffed his hands in his paint-stained cargo pant pockets. “But I find myself with a kid-free evening after I drop the boys off at an outdoor club event in a little while.”

“I could be equally free after I walk the girls back to Cara.” I brightened considerably at the notion of time alone with Merry, both to sell him on my big ideas and to see if any more… moments erupted.

“Would you like to meet at the food truck pod on the other side of the school? We need to confirm a couple of vendors, and I’m starving.”

“Sure.” It was a distance from Cara’s house, but I routinely walked all over Manhattan. Taxi fares added up, and I preferred to save my pennies for my wardrobe. Also, I wasn’t about to ask Merry for a ride. This wasn’t a date. It was business.

Yet my chest thrummed as I strolled from Cara’s house, where I’d left the girls eating an early supper of mozzarella sticks and chicken fingers, to the haphazard collection of food trucks in a battered old parking lot near an even more ancient baseball field between the pod and the school. I was careful to maintain an easy pace. Not a date, but it wouldn’t do to arrive all sweaty and out of breath.

“Oh, there you are.” Merry waved as I approached the nearest truck.

“You were waiting?” I drew myself up a little taller.

“Nah.” Merry shrugged. “More that I kept watching the parking lot, not the path. I’m surprised you aren’t borrowing your brother’s SUV.”

“First, that thing is a boat.” I made a sour face. Craig loved to drive, to the point that he owned a huge family SUV along with a smaller, more nimble Jeep for off-roading that he’d ordered me not to touch. Typical big brother. I’d made a few halfhearted stabs at learning to drive, but I seldom left New York City, so it simply wasn’t a priority. “Second, I don’t much drive.”

“Similar to how you don’t much swim?” Merry’s skeptical tone said he was on to me.

“Something like that.” My face heated. Merry had likely been surfing by three and driving as soon as it was allowed. “Should we start with getting something to eat or talking to the vendors?”

“Vendors. Get the business part done, then we can eat.”

Merry had brought a clipboard with flyers for the festival as well as a signup sheet. The taco truck and the waffle truck were already on board for the festival, and Merry managed to drum up interest from the Hawaiian shaved-ice stand as well. Despite my irritability over Merry’s lack of communication that week, I was impressed by how he knew someone at almost every truck. And not only names—he knew about kids, school, hobbies, and more, bantering his way around the semi-circle of food trucks.

He’d joked I should be a salesman, but he was far better at gaining people’s trust and agreement than I’d ever been.

“You really seem to know everyone.” I tried to match Merry’s longer strides as we headed to the last truck, which offered Polynesian staples like garlic chicken and shrimp, beef fried rice, and more. “Did you grow up around here?”

“More on North Shore, but yes, I’ve always lived on Oahu. My parents own the surf shop my grandparents started. Dad and Grandpa still surf.” Merry delivered this fact off-handedly like it wasn’t absolutely fascinating. “And as for knowing everyone at the food trucks, I don’t like cooking, but my kids sure enjoy eating.”

“I’m the same way.” I offered a conspiratorial smile, and for once, Merry returned it. “My fridge back home is mainly takeout containers and coffee creamers.”

“Creamers plural?” He raised both eyebrows.

“It pays to have options.” I bristled because he undoubtedly lived on alfalfa and carrot juice and never let caffeine touch his perfect lips. However, I had to swallow back my irritability as Merry turned on his charm for the older woman in charge of the Hula Yum truck.

After he’d convinced her the festival patrons would enjoy purchasing spring rolls and potstickers, he plopped down at one of several wooden picnic tables to jot down notes. Very responsible, which shouldn’t have been a turn-on. And I had zero reason to spend the time admiring his toned and tanned forearms, yet I totally did.

“Your…partner doesn’t like to cook either?” I asked, keeping my voice casual.

“Oooh, nice fishing expedition, Nolan. So subtle.” Okay, so apparently, I’d failed miserably. Merry chuckled as he shook his head. “I’m divorced.”

“I guessed you were a single dad.” I exhaled hard, mad about being called out. But I really did need to know whether our moment was something he had on the regular while also being partnered or if perhaps I was special. And I was mad at myself for wanting to know that too. “I’m just…curious?”

“Or nosy, but I’ll allow it.” He chuckled as he finished his note-taking. “Not much to be curious about. I don’t date. I’m divorced. The boys’ mother lives in Los Angeles. She’s a fashion influencer.”

“Really? Who?” I perked up at the notion that Merry had been married to a quasi-celebrity. “Maybe I follow her?”

Merry made a rude noise. “You’d certainly get along, that’s for sure.”

Oops. I’d failed Empathy 101. Again.

“Sorry. That was the wrong response.” I offered a sheepish smile. “It sucks that she’s not in your lives as much as you and the boys might like.”

“Eh.” Merry leaned forward on his elbows, propping up his chin like he was settling in for an inquisition, which I supposed this was. “Motherhood wasn’t her thing, and we both knew it, even before the shocker of a positive pregnancy test. I was more excited than her about the babies, but of course, I was twenty.” Gazing off into the pale blue horizon, he shook his head. “What did I know about twins? We tried to make it work for a couple of years, but she missed California too much.”

“She was from there?” I was starting to get a feel for Merry’s thing against outsiders and city slickers.

“Yeah. Her mom was a backup dancer to someone famous, and her dad owned a nightclub. She came to Hawaii to learn to surf on a break year from college. Met me, stuck around, but really, she was too glam for the island.”

There was a warning there, a reminder that I also didn’t belong and shouldn’t try too hard. I frowned, unsure whether I wanted to prove him wrong or shake his ex more.

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh. Don’t be.” He waved the pen he was still holding. “The tide has long since been out on that relationship. I feel bad for the boys’ sake mainly.”

“And yours.” I managed a chipper tone. “You deserve?—”

He cut me off with a loud groan. “The school has enough matchmakers. I’m totally happy being on my own. The singlest of singles. Now, let’s get some food before more questions.”

“What’s the best thing here?” I asked boldly. After a lifetime in the city, I considered myself an adventurous eater and was eager for more insights into Merry.

“Hmm.” Merry narrowed his eyes, sizing me up. “How spicy can you go?”

“How spicy can you go?” I countered.

“Well then. There’s a rice-noodle dish at Hula Yum that’s my favorite when I don’t have the boys with me, but my fallback when I do is the carne asada fries from the taco truck.”

“I’ll try the noodles.” I marched over to the truck, Merry trailing behind me. “Can I get your dinner? As a thanks for helping.”

“Nah.” Merry was already pulling out his wallet. “I’m good. And if you’re getting the noodles, I’m getting the beef fried rice because you really should taste that too.”

“Okay.” The prospect of sharing food took the sting out of him not letting me pay. After the woman working the counter handed us a beeper to wait for our food, Merry led the way back to the picnic table.

“How about you? Husband waiting in the penthouse back home?” Merry managed to sound both friendly and not at all interested in my reply.

“No penthouse.” I resolved not to discuss the size of my parents’ place, which, while not a penthouse, was nevertheless large and airy by New York standards. “I have a studio near the theater district that I sublet to a friend of a friend for the winter. No husband, no boyfriend. I date here and there, but no one seems to want to stick around for the role of a lifetime.” That sounded rather mournful, so I added a quick joke. “I might be a bit high-maintenance.”

“A bit.” Merry nodded.

I made an indignant noise. “You’re not supposed to agree.”

“You’re wearing loafers that require actual polish to maintain.” He gestured at my outfit. Up until that moment, I’d thought I looked pretty darn spiffy. Narrow gray dress pants with a subtle sheen to the fabric. Vintage bowling-style shirt with whales on it. I’d thought the ensemble rather beachy when I packed it.

“My sandals don’t go with these pants.”

“Sandals go with everything.” Merry kicked up his foot to demonstrate right as the beeper went off. “I’ll fetch the food.”

He returned with giant platters of food along with forks and chopsticks. His was a mound of fragrant fried rice adorned with large chunks of steak and a fried egg. My noodles swam in a spicy brown sauce, the scent of chilis making my nose tingle. The wide, flat rice noodles were chewier and held more flavor than the typical thinner Pad Thai noodles.

“Oh my God, this is amazing.” I hadn’t been aware of how hungry I was until I started scarfing down my noodles. My eyes watered and my nose ran from the spicy flavors, but I was in foodie heaven.

“This food is pretty good, but there’s a truck on the way up to North Shore that I always stop at with the boys that does an even better fried rice.” Merry deftly speared a piece of steak along with some of the rice and held out the bite for me. “But here, try this.”

I was too eager to try the dish to make eating the outstretched morsel sexy, but the way Merry stared at my mouth, I might as well have.

“I love it.” The steak was succulent, well-marinated with notes of ginger and garlic, and the rice was perfection, each grain separate without being overly oily.

“Here.” He placed another two pieces of steak on my platter. “Clearly, we need to feed you more.”

“It’s because I’m still in vacation mode.” I sighed because leaving vacation mode for audition mode was going to suck. “When I’m in a production, we usually burn off what we eat, but I’m hyperaware of costume sizes and director preferences nonetheless. It sucks not being able to play a teenager anymore.”

“You want to be eighteen again?” Merry scoffed. “Those TV shows with people our age playing teens always creeped me out anyway.”

“I like having options in roles. I’m moving steadily into the father-of-the-lead category, and I hate feeling like my ship has likely already sailed.”

“You’re what? Not even thirty-five?”

“Thirty-three,” I admitted.

“My grandpa will tell you we’re still babies. He’s still surfing occasionally at eighty-three, has a whole flock of would-be girlfriends, and has had his greatest competitive success as a senior citizen surfer.” Merry waved his fork. “I don’t want to hear about too old.”

“Ok, I’ll be quiet.” I pressed my lips shut.

“I didn’t know you had an off switch,” Merry teased, an unexpected fondness to his tone.

“I don’t,” I admitted, snagging another piece of the steak. Again, Merry’s eyes were locked on my lips. This time, slowly, with great deliberation, I flicked my tongue out to lick my lower lip. Color bloomed on Merry’s cheeks. Yep, he was watching, all right.

Our gazes met, and there it was, another of those pesky moments where we could touch or kiss or something. I had no clue how I’d reached the ancient age of thirty-three without better game, but I simply let the moment stretch awkwardly out. I wasn’t going to lunge at him. That much was sure.

But I absolutely would keep on hoping for more moments, and maybe if I hoped hard enough, kissing could get added to our holiday agenda.