Chapter 32

32

MERRITT

I couldn’t explain it, but I was nervous to show him where I worked. My job didn’t embarrass me or anything, but after seeing his reaction to my condo and then my car, I was a little nervous. Having him around made me realize how much I had changed. I was, for lack of a better phrase, hoity-toity. He was still the same Kannon I’d grown up with in so many ways.

He was the guy who could make me laugh like no other, whose gaze made my stomach flip-flop. The guy I’d cherished and loathed in equal measure, the one who’d broken my heart yet somehow it remained his captive.

I didn’t want him to think I was some stuck-up lady. I was still the same girl but with nicer things.

We stepped into the lobby of the building. Kannon looked around.

“It’s impressive, Merritt,” he remarked, his eyes skipping over the sparkling chandeliers and mahogany decor.

“Thank you,” I replied, leading him toward the elevator.

“Do you really need all of this?” he asked quietly.

I paused, looking at him with raised eyebrows. “Need? No, probably not. Want? Definitely,” I said, pressing the button for the elevator and stepping inside. “It’s not like it’s my building. I just work here.”

“I think you know what I mean.”

“I do.” I nodded. “And there’s nothing wrong with nice things.”

Kannon seemed impressed but simultaneously un impressed with my office. I quickly grabbed a couple of things while he looked around my space. He picked up a picture of me and my dad and stared at it. “I took this,” he said.

I smiled. “Yes, you did.”

“It was at that old rundown fairground,” he continued, his voice distant as he scrutinized the picture. “Do you remember the Ferris wheel? The way it creaked and groaned like an old man on his rocking chair?”

I chuckled, crossing the room to stand next to him. “How could I forget? It was terrifying.”

He put the picture back down. “Yeah, but we climbed into it anyway.”

“I guess we were both always a little wild,” I said with a laugh. “Always looking for an adventure.”

“Or just young and stupid,” he said.

“Maybe both.”

There was a quiet moment as I thought back to some of the shenanigans we got ourselves into.

“I’m ready to go,” I said. “Ready for dinner. It’s an amazing seafood place. It’s so good.”

“Sounds great.”

The restaurant was stunning but I barely noticed. The aroma of grilled seafood was tantalizing, and the ambiance was calming but my attention was entirely on Kannon. He sat across from me, his dark eyes scanning the horizon where the city skyline gave way to open ocean. He had that same half-smirk he always wore when he didn’t want to admit he was impressed.

“You like it,” I teased, watching him sip his drink.

“It’s alright,” he said, the smirk widening just enough to betray him. “Not sure it beats the view from your dad’s place, though. Remember how the lake used to glow at sunset?”

I did remember. Too well. “I don’t know,” I replied, gesturing toward the view. “Ocean waves? Palm trees? City lights? It’s a tough call.”

“The view’s not just about the water, Merritt. It’s the memories. Night swimming, fishing off the dock, you trying to out-paddle me in that bright pink kayak.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing. “I did out-paddle you.”

“In your dreams.” He leaned back, his gaze softening. “The memories outweigh the scenery. That’s what makes it unbeatable.”

“You’re getting soft,” I accused, pointing my fork at him.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But only for a minute. Don’t get used to it.”

The conversation drifted to lighter topics after our food arrived. I found myself genuinely enjoying the ease between us. We had not seen each other for ten long years and so much had changed about us and between us, but somehow, he felt the same. Rough around the edges, a little cocky, but steady in a way that felt like home.

“So,” he said, glancing around the restaurant before turning his attention back to me. “This is your life now, huh? Fancy cars, oceanfront condos, dinners at places like this?”

“What? It doesn’t suit me?” I arched a brow, challenging him.

“It suits you fine,” he said, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “It’s just different. I remember you saying you’d never leave home. That you wanted to stay close to your dad, buy a house…”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, stabbing at a piece of pasta. “Yeah, well. Things change.”

His grin faded and he nodded, waiting for me to go on.

“I needed something different,” I said, my voice quieter now. “After Mom died, I felt lost. I was always trying to be the person I thought she wanted me to be, but I didn’t know who that was. Moving here, starting fresh—it felt like the right thing to do at the time.”

He watched me closely, his expression unreadable.

“But now?” I continued, swallowing hard. “Now Dad’s gone too, and I look back at all the time I lost… I can’t help but wonder if the choices I made to find myself only took me further from who I was supposed to be.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and uncomfortably honest. I hadn’t meant to say so much, but with Kannon, it was always hard to hold back.

“You’re still the same girl to me,” he said after a long moment. “Tough when you need to be, too kind for your own good. Like with that jerk on the plane. Confident and full of self-doubt at the same time. A workaholic. And, let’s not forget, a pasta fanatic.”

Despite myself, I smiled, glancing down at my plate of linguini. “I’ve changed, Kannon. Life changes people.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning forward. “But not entirely. You can dress it up all you want, but at your core? You’re still Merritt.”

The way he said my name made my heart ache. No one else could make it sound like that—like it was something sacred.

“Maybe. Can I ask you about Leah?”

“What about her?”

“I’m just curious to know the woman you married,” I said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Just curious. I want to understand you better. You see my life here. This is me. I want to know more about you and the last ten years.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening before he let out a long sigh. “Leah was complicated,” he said. “She was bossy, but she loved when someone took charge. Used to tell me she couldn’t make another decision at the end of a long day, so she liked when I just handled things.”

“She sounds strong,” I offered.

“She was,” he said, nodding. “Too strong sometimes. Pushed herself too hard. Paid the price for it more than once. She loved kids but didn’t have any nieces or nephews to spoil. It was always a point of sadness for her.”

I could picture her in my mind now. A woman I’d never met but someone who seemed both larger than life and heartbreakingly fragile.

“She liked to run,” he added, his voice taking on a softer note. “Loved fitness, staying active. She was a decent cook but a terrible baker. I used to joke that she could burn water.”

His lips quirked up at the memory, but I felt a sudden, unexpected sting behind my eyes. I dabbed at them quickly with my napkin, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I just wish things had been different for her. For you.”

He went quiet for a moment, looking out at the water. “Yeah. Me too.”

We didn’t talk much after that. The weight of everything unsaid hung between us like a thick fog, and for once, I didn’t know how to cut through it. Kannon had always been the one person who made me feel truly understood, but tonight, I realized just how much time and life had changed us both.

And yet, sitting across from him, it still felt like no time had passed at all.

“Did you run with her?” I asked curiously.

He started laughing. “Merritt, maybe I’ve changed, but I haven’t changed that much.” He shook his head. “No, I left that to Leah. I’m not running unless something is chasing me.” His gaze drifted away as he spoke, lost perhaps in memories of Leah.

“I agree,” I said. “Dominique runs. I think she’s nuts.”

“Weren’t you into yoga or something meditative like that? I think your dad mentioned it once. Still finding time for it?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it keeps me balanced,” I replied, rolling my shoulders back slightly as if feeling the stretch through the mere mention of it. “It’s my little piece of peace in a hectic world. And you? Still finding solace in your fishing?”

Kannon nodded, a soft grin on his face. “Yeah, it’s still my escape. Nothing like the quiet of the lake at dawn, just me and the water.”

I smiled, comforted by the familiarity of his hobbies. “It’s good to know some things don’t change.”

He looked at me then, really looked at me, as if seeing me clearly for the first time that evening. “And some things do,” he said softly. “You’ve grown, Merritt. In ways I think even you don’t realize. This life you’ve built, it suits you. It’s impressive.”

I felt a sense of pride, mixed with a twinge of something else—regret, maybe, or just the bittersweet tang of paths not taken.

“Thanks, Kannon,” I said, meeting his gaze. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

“Your dad really was very proud of you,” he said. “I don’t know if he ever told you, but he was. Like really proud. When his mind really started to slip, he mixed the you now with the little girl you were, but I always knew what he was talking about.”

A lump formed in my throat at the mention of my father. I blinked rapidly, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over. “That’s comforting to hear. I miss him more than I can say. I feel bad I wasn’t there but he had long forgotten me. Well, not forgot, but you know what I mean. I’m glad you were there. Thank you for that.”

“He talked about you all the time, Merritt. About your strength, your spirit. Said you were all he could have ever hoped for and more.”

“I just wish I could have done more for him,” I said.

“He was comfortable,” he assured me. “It was a good facility. They were good to him.”

I smiled, but it wasn’t enough to erase all the guilt I felt. I felt like we were spending too much of our time together talking about dead people. “What do you think of the fish?” I asked.

Kannon glanced down at his plate, almost as if he’d forgotten the meal in front of him. “It’s good,” he responded, though his tone suggested his mind was still partly elsewhere. “Really good. I don’t think I’ve had fish this fresh since well, ever.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, taking a bite of my own dish to fill the silence that lingered briefly. “It melts in your mouth, doesn’t it? It’s like it came straight from the ocean to our plates.”

He smiled again, that familiar, warm grin that had always made me feel like everything might just be okay. “This was a good choice. Is this one of your regular hangouts?”

I laughed. “No, but I like to come here for special occasions.”

“Is this a special occasion?”

“Yes.”

He smiled and took another bite.