Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“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.
Six
Good morning, ohana! This week’s rainy weather has brought lots of puddles, and Mr. Can-Do requests students use the doormats and abstain from puddle jumping. As a break from the gloomy weather, Mr. Bell tells me our Lights Festival is coming right along. Mr. Winters has obtained a record number of food vendors for us!
MERRY
As I awaited the dismissal bell along with a class of antsy seventh graders done with sanding Lazy Susans for the day, I tried yet again to not think about Nolan. I could hear strains from the eighth grade choir filtering through my open classroom door, which didn’t help. I wasn’t actively avoiding Nolan, but I wasn’t going out of my way to seek him out after our little food truck outing. The way I saw it, we could do much of our planning via text, and Nolan was far easier to turn down when he wasn’t batting those chocolatey eyes at me or turning all his enthusiasm in my direction.
When he got excited, his pale skin flushed, and he spoke faster and louder, more New York coming out in his accent. He gestured with both hands and bounced around, and hell if I hadn’t wanted to kiss him right there in the middle of the food truck pod when he’d acted like beef fried rice was akin to an oyster appetizer at a fancy steakhouse. I shouldn’t enjoy his presence as much as I did, which was precisely why I’d spent most of the week avoiding him, sticking to lengthy texts about the program for the festival. Keeping it professional was for the best.