Chapter 30
Remy
A month later
The house smells like garlic and whatever dessert magic Ivy has going on in the oven.
The tree is gone now, decorations are packed carefully into boxes and hauled out to the attic of the barn until next year, but the living room still feels magical.
Junie is sprawled on the rug with her colored pencils, Lola watching her like a furry best friend chaperone.
Pizza night is still our thing every Friday, rain or snow, and I look forward to it every week.
There was a time I would have been in the barn until dark, eating cold leftovers over the sink.
Now, I’m standing in a warm kitchen, flour up to my elbows, waiting for my girl to tell me what toppings she wants.
The sauce is simmering when Ivy slides onto a stool at the island with her notebook. I wipe my hands on a towel and raise a brow. “That looks serious.”
“It is,” she says, smiling, but there’s a nervous edge to it. “I’ve been working on a business plan. I am finally ready to tell you about it.”
I turn off the mixer and lean on the counter, curious. “Why haven’t you told me yet?”
She chews her lip, then says, “I kind of wanted to prove to myself that I could do this before I said anything out loud.”
I flip the towel over my shoulder and grin. “Ivy, this is amazing. Whatever it is, I’m in. Tell me.”
She lays the notebook flat and starts talking, flipping pages she’s filled with neat handwriting and little sketches.
It’s an idea for a kids’ program with farm tours, seasonal workshops, even summer day camps where they can learn about trees, animals, nature.
She’s mapped out costs, schedules, even a list of local sponsors she could approach to get it going.
“I’ve been thinking about this for months,” she says. “I figured I’d test the idea this spring with a weekend workshop, see how it goes, and if people like it, I could expand. With your blessing, of course.”
I can’t stop smiling. “This is brilliant. You’d be amazing at this, Ivy. Kids would love it. Parents would love it. You could do it year-round if you wanted. Use the barn or hell, we can build you a new building just for this. You could host your own retreats, kids’ parties, whatever you want.”
She goes quiet, blinking like she’s trying not to tear up.
“Hey,” I say, stepping around the counter to stand between her knees. “Whatever you want, I am here for you.”
She smiles, soft and certain, and kisses me. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen my marketing plan.”
Her laugh makes my chest feel too full. I tuck her hair behind her ear just because I can, and the oven timer dings before I can kiss her again.
The front door opens, and cold air and trouble blow in.
“Hey, guys!” Finn calls, stomping snow off his boots. Rowan is right behind him, scarf trailing like she was running here.
They look like they have been up to something, which means they have.
Ivy calls from the kitchen, “You’re early.”
“Had to be,” Rowan says. “We brought a special guest.”
I frown, dusting flour off my hands. “What?”
Finn grins like a man who knows he’s about to get punched. “Marco.”
“Marco?” I repeat, not following.
“As in Marco’s Pizza,” Rowan says, practically vibrating with glee.
I stare at Finn. “You didn’t.”
He grins wider.
“You’re going to get it,” I tell him, trying to be dead serious.
Rowan laughs so hard she has to hold onto the back of a chair. “Finn might have told Marco that his pizza was just as good as yours, and Marco was wildly curious. So…he’s joining us for pizza night.”
“You’re both dead,” I inform them.
Finn shrugs. “I regret nothing.”
Before I can reply, there’s a knock at the door and Marco himself steps in, cheeks red from the cold, carrying a crate of fresh garlic bulbs and a tiramisu cake like some sort of saint.
“Remy!” he booms, his Italian accent warm as summer. “Thank you for having me. I am so excited to watch you cook.”
I glance at Finn, who is trying not to laugh, and then shake Marco’s hand. “Come on in. But if you tell me my pizza is trash, you’re never allowed back.”
He just grins. “I would not dare.”
It turns into the best kind of chaos. Marco jumps in like he has been part of pizza night forever, tossing dough in the air to show Junie, who squeals every time it lands without falling.
We talk shop, dough fermentation, oven temperature, hydration percentage.
He teaches me a new trick for stretching dough without tearing it, and I have to admit, the man knows his craft.
“If you ever get tired of your tree farm,” he says, “come partner with me. We will be the best!”
“Tempting,” I say, laughing. “But I think I’m where I belong. And you’re already the best, Marco.”
“Good answer,” Ivy calls from the couch, smiling at us.
By the time the pizzas come out, the house smells like heaven. We line them up on the island with pepperoni, margherita, white pizza with roasted garlic and spinach and everyone piles plates high.
Ivy and Rowan sit together, Rowan flipping through Ivy’s new books.
“You’ve got good taste,” Rowan says. “Where’d you get these?”
“Willa set them aside for me,” Ivy says.
Rowan sighs dramatically. “Lucky. I wish I had time to read. I’m trying to fight to get my permits so I can open. It’s been delayed and delayed again.”
I look up from slicing pizza. “What’s going on with your permits?”
Rowan’s mouth twists. “Vanessa and Marilyn are holding them up at the town office.”
I frown. “Why?”
Rowan says. “They’re trying to open a rival Pilates studio, so they’re stalling me so they can launch first.”
“But you’ve got an apothecary. Yoga is just in the evenings and early mornings,” Ivy says. “Why do they care?”
“Because Marilyn has a thing for Finn,” Rowan says. “And she’s mad that we’re friends.”
“I thought they both had a thing for Remy,” Ivy says, then shoots me a sheepish look. “Tell you later,” she mouths.
I glance at Finn, who is very focused on his plate. “Oh, yeah?”
His ears turn red. “I don’t like Marilyn like that.”
“Mm-hmm,” Rowan says, smirking. But she does not look happy at all.
“I don’t,” Finn says again, more forceful this time. “And I definitely don’t like that she’s messing with your permits. This is personal now.”
Rowan looks pleased. “Good. Let’s burn them to the ground. Metaphorically.”
“Metaphorically,” Finn echoes, but there’s a gleam in his eye that says he is already plotting something.
I glance at Ivy. She’s watching them with interest that tells me she knows something is happening here, whether Rowan and Finn know it yet or not.
After dinner, Marco pulls out the tiramisu, and we eat until we can’t move. He insists we all take extra garlic bulbs as a parting gift. When he leaves, he claps me on the shoulder and says, “You have my approval, Remy. You make pizza like you do everything, with heart.”
It’s a silly thing to feel proud about, but I do.
“Thanks, Marco. You’re welcome anytime.”
“It’s not always I get to be the guest. Thank you.”
When the door shuts and the house goes quiet again, Ivy leans into me, warm and soft. “You had fun,” she says.
“I did,” I admit. “Even if I’m never forgiving Finn.”
She grins. “It was worth it. And hey, you impressed Marco. That’s basically a Wisteria Cove culinary endorsement.”
I laugh and kiss her, because she’s right, and because her hair smells like garlic and rosemary and home.
Junie yawns wide and announces that pizza night is the best night of the week. I carry her to bed while Ivy tidies the kitchen, and when I come back, Rowan and Finn are by the door pulling on their coats, still bickering about Marilyn and Vanessa and what to do about the permits.
“We could stage a protest,” Rowan is saying.
Finn snorts. “We could just go talk to Jace at the permit office like sane people.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” she fires back.
I shake my head and grin, already knowing this is just the beginning of whatever storm those two are about to cause.
Later, when the house is quiet and the dishes are done, I find Ivy curled up on the couch with her notebook again.
“Back to the business plan?” I ask, sinking down beside her.
“Yeah,” she says. “But I’m adding something new.”
“Oh?”
She turns the notebook toward me, her handwriting looping across the page. “I want to add another summer retreat series for kids. Camps, crafts, maybe even music nights in the barn.”
I feel my chest go warm again. “Do it. Whatever you want, Ivy. I’m here for you.”
She smiles, slow and sure. “I know.”
And I do what I’ve been wanting to do since she sat down at the island earlier. I kiss her until she laughs against my mouth.
Life feels steady. Good. Like we are building something we can keep.
Tonight, the house is warm, Ivy is in my arms, and there’s still a slice of pizza left on the counter with my name on it.