Who Pissed Off Ivy Dell? (Ivydell Book 3)

1. Ivy

Ivy

I’m no expert on signs or omens, but I feel like finding a dead bird on your doorstep probably doesn’t mean anything good. It’s such a small bird, too. Is it a sparrow? Oh, please don’t let it be a sparrow. Shit, this feels personal. Intentional. Who have I crossed? And who in Ivydell would sacrifice a sparrow just to prove a point?

Don’t be an idiot. An animal did this. Probably that badger you scared off your back patio. Vengeful fucker.

I nudge it with the toe of my shoe to be sure it’s dead. Oh, yeah, this frail little birdie has flown for the last time. There’s a wound in its side, but its filthy feathers prove it didn’t go down without a struggle.

Wait a minute. Those feathers don’t look real. It’s a . . . it’s a toy? Like, a cat toy? It’s lifelike from a distance, but I don’t think it was ever alive. I toe it again to flip it over. Definitely a cat toy. Real birds don’t have tiny bells inside them. Not usually. But where would a cat have come from?

Myrna steps out of her casita and waves from across the street. “Morning, doll! Whatcha studying over there?”

“I thought it was a dead bird, but I think it’s just a cat toy.”

“Ah, Wizard left you a present.”

“A wizard?”

“April’s cat. Have you met April yet?”

“No.”

“Well, then it makes sense that you haven’t met Wizard either. You had coffee this morning?”

I shake my head and start walking toward her place, stepping over the gift from Wizard. Making coffee is normally high on my morning priorities, but I thought I heard thunder when I came out of the bathroom, so instead of going to the kitchen, I stepped outside to look at the sky, and then I got sidetracked by the dead cat toy, and now my whole day is off to a weird start.

At home, I’d never leave my house looking like I’d just stumbled out of bed. But this is Ivydell, and I do a lot of things differently here. I’m different here.

Me and my bedhead cross the dirt road to Myrna’s. She hugs me like she always does, her head barely coming to my shoulder. Unlike me, she doesn’t have a hair out of place. Her sleek, platinum hair swings over her shoulders as she goes up and down the stepstool she uses to reach the cups in her cabinet. Physically, she needs a boost, but her personality takes up space. Her voice, too.

“Who would let their cat wander around outside here?” I ask. “A hawk could carry it off.”

“That hawk would have to be on steroids,” she says, bringing our full cups to her small table. “Wizard is a Maine Coon. Purebred. Big guy.”

I look up from my dry cuticles that I’ve been inspecting as she sets our coffee on the table. Then she positions her arms as if she’s ready to cradle a toddler in them. That can’t possibly be an estimation of Wizard’s size.

“No domestic cat is that big, Myrna.”

“I’m telling you, he’s big. And talkative.”

“He can talk?”

“Don’t be a smartass. You know what I meant. Cat talk. Chirps and yowls and purrs. Noisy, but he’s sweet.” She takes a sip of her coffee.

“Hmm, Jensen says his owner can be difficult. Care to elaborate?”

“Oh, April’s a pain in the ass.”

“Did she know Gran?”

“No, she wasn’t around back then. She’s only been in Ivydell for five years. Patrice would’ve put her in her place right quick, though.”

“What does she do that bothers everyone so much?”

“She’s one of those people who likes to be heard, even when she doesn’t really have anything to say. Never knows when to shut up.”

“Like her cat.”

“You’ll see. Speaking of talk, how’s Stinger’s dirty talk game?”

I groan, but I do it with a smile. Myrna is always trying to get me to reveal intimate details about Jensen. I don’t think she really wants to know. She just wants to make me blush. And laugh. I’m really going to miss her when I’m gone.

“You know y’all are never going to get rid of me, right? I’m always going to come back.”

“Oh, yeah? As what?”

“No, not come back due to reincarnation. I mean here. In this life. I’ll come back to Ivydell. Even if Jensen and I decide not to try the long-distance thing. I’ll still come back to visit.”

My stomach burns after the words leave my mouth because I really want us to try for the long-distance relationship, but I know we can’t make a final decision until the time comes. Of course, we want it now, but there are realistic things to consider. It wouldn’t be easy, but I can’t imagine not trying. I don’t think my attraction to him is just because we met here. I think I would’ve fallen for him on the beach or in a bar or at the grocery store—anywhere.

I can’t think of a single place where I wouldn’t have been drawn to him. We’d still be us in the real world. It’s not just the magic of Ivydell.

Myrna’s concerned expression makes it clear she’s worried about me, probably thinks I’m going to get my fragile heart broken. Maybe I will, but I’d rather know we tried, even if prolonging the heartbreak makes it ten times worse when it ultimately happens. I have a pattern of sabotaging things whenever I start to feel attached, but it’s different with him. No part of me wants to wreck this.

“I’m going to be okay,” I say. “Even if it ends.”

“Everything ends, doll. That’s how new things begin.”

“To new things.” I lift my cup to her.

“To bold new horizons,” she says, which is such a Myrna thing to say.

When we finish our coffee, I ask if she needs anything from the store. She says no, says she went yesterday and stocked up because she’s going to do a little stress baking today. But she won’t give me a straight answer when I ask why she’s stressed.

Must be the festival. There’s a growing buzz in the air. Mostly, it feels exciting, but I’ve felt some unease in the wind lately, too.

Myrna walks me to her door, and I shriek when I step outside. “Look!”

“Yeah, I guess it’s about time for those adorable little shitheads to start coming around again.”

“My first chipmunk sighting.”

“I think those might actually be ground squirrels,” Myrna says. “But people around here insist on calling them chipmunks. I don’t guess the cute little rats care either way.”

“If Jensen calls it a chipmunk, it probably is one. He’s a stickler for animals being identified correctly.”

“Is that right?”

“Whatever you do, don’t call a bison a buffalo in his presence.”

“I’ll make a note of that.”

“But if he says it’s really a squirrel, I’m still going to call it a chipmunk because I like it.”

“And because it will agitate him, and you like that, too.”

“Why would I like agitating him?”

“I can’t imagine.” Her lashes flutter as she rolls her eyes.

I snap a picture of the chipmunks before I head back to my place, and text it to Jensen.

Is this technically a chipmunk or a ground squirrel?

You’re going to call it a chipmunk no matter what I say.

Aw, it’s like you know me or something. What are you doing?

About to head over to the community center for the meeting.

There’s a meeting?

Not for you. Just for the regular residents.

Oh, okay. I need to go to the store, anyway.

Drive safe.

I will.

I know what he meant about the meeting not being for me, but it still sucks to be reminded I’m technically an outsider. I pay rent. I’ve helped clean and plant, and I’ve repainted all the signs for the casitas. But I’m temporary, and everyone else is a regular resident. How many years will I have to come back temporarily before I’m seen as a regular part of this place? Will it ever happen?