Chapter Nine
Jace
Jace is your guy.
But am I?
My brother’s words to Ivy a few days ago simultaneously thrill and haunt me.
There was a time when I wanted to consider myself a contender for Ivy’s heart.
The fact that Mina knew about her isn’t lost on me.
It makes me want to both fight for her heart and insist she leave me alone.
When Ivy asked if I wanted to get reacquainted with each other, I refused.
And I know refusing to be friends with Ivy isn’t solving anything.
Not immediately agreeing to help her with her production isn’t looking good for me either.
I enrolled Emmy in kindergarten at Birch Borough Elementary until the holidays, and I take a walk around town while she is in school.
It wasn’t easy to get her enrolled so quickly, but her principal took one look at Emmy and caved (thankfully).
Moving to Florida seems more ominous the longer I’m here, though I did promise my parents I’d be there for Christmas morning.
I walk to keep myself away from Ivy’s studio, needing to keep myself moving during breaks from the boxing classes I teach.
Since I walked with Ivy around the Christmas Village, I’ve been trying to figure out how to keep my heart from hoping for more with her.
Friends, indeed. As if I could ever just be friends with her. I nearly roll my eyes at the thought.
My phone rings. I reach to answer just as I spot a man outside the music store across the street, a guitar case at his feet. His hands move expressively in a manner that seems distinctively French. I wonder if he’s Sparrow’s husband, Rafe. I recognize him from the stage at the Christmas Village.
I clear my throat but let it go to voicemail.
If we talk, my mom will absolutely know that something is changing in my life.
She’ll also comment on how I’m not sleeping well—which, I’m not.
How can I when I’m this close to Ivy and still so far away?
I never told Edgar or Angie much about Ivy.
It felt like a secret that Mina and I had shared.
But I finally told my mom one night when Emmy wouldn’t stop crying, and she had made me a hot chocolate. A man can only take so much.
I shove my phone back in my pocket as the man in vintage sneakers and a bomber jacket similar to the one I’m wearing approaches.
“What’s up, man? You’re Jace, right? I’m Rafe!”
His smile is best described as genuine. It seems like he’s actually happy to be here, introducing himself to me. He glances toward Sparrow’s Beret, and his smile gets even bigger. Ah, so I was right.
“My wife is Sparrow. Have you tried her croissants?” With a head tilt, he indicates the bakery’s direction.
I decide to be polite, especially because I know now that Ivy loves these people. “Yes, I have. Your wife gave me hot chocolate and cookies for my daughter on the house. She was kind.”
Rafe positively beams. “Yes, that sounds like her. She’s the best person I know. Now, tell me, how are you liking our town so far?”
I look about, the darkened mood I’ve been carrying lately shifting slightly. “It’s a good town.” So good that it has me questioning all my life choices.
He sighs with contentment. “It really is. We’re all pretty close-knit around here. And word on the partially cobblestoned streets is that you have a history with someone we all care about a lot.” His knowing grin is laced with both compassion and amusement.
“Yes,” is the only word I can get out. Something in me doesn’t want to lie to this man who radiates with the sense of just being a good human.
He reaches up and puts a hand on my shoulder, giving it a press. Our height difference clearly doesn’t bother him in the least. Usually, guys try to puff out their chest or do some sort of weird sizing up around me. Immediately, I notice there’s none of that with Rafe.
“Then fight for her,” he says simply. “Because there’s nothing better than being able to hold the one who already holds your heart.”
He grins, and I find that I envy him. Here is this man who seems to know exactly who he wants, and he’s vocal about it.
And I’ve been . . . avoiding. That’s the best word for how I’ve behaved the past week.
But I’m not sure how to fight for her when the rules of the ring have changed.
Emmy is certainly a fan of her new dance teacher.
My daughter’s passionate endorsement makes my mind spin.
If Ivy needs sets to be built, I am her guy.
It may be too late for me to have what Rafe and Sparrow seem to have cultivated, but can I give Ivy whatever I can, even if it feels like all I have to offer are the ransacked leftovers from the last eight years?
“Thank you for that,” I reply, clearing my throat and putting an arm around his shoulders. I underestimate my strength, and Rafe tips toward me with a laugh.
“Attention!” he exclaims, his accent pronounced. “I need my arms to play music!”
I grin and release him. If first impressions are everything, I already like this guy and have a weird feeling of hoping to see him again. It’s a change from the hermit I’ve been of late. I clear my throat. Running a hand through my hair, I turn my attention back to him.
“You were good. At the Christmas Village.”
Rafe seems surprised by my compliment, and I think that I really need to be nicer to the people in this town. Have I really become such a Scrooge?
“Thanks, Jace. I appreciate that.” He grins again. “D’accord, I’m going to go get a croissant. And kiss my wife. Do you want to walk with me?”
Across the way, I catch sight of Ivy across the street with a golden retriever that is wearing padded snowshoes and reindeer antlers. My throat goes dry. Immediately, I shake my head at Rafe’s offer. “Thanks, but I think I’ll have to catch you next time.”
Rafe follows my gaze and gives a knowing nod. “Got it. Yes, c’est parti! See you around. And bonne chance!”
Dipping my chin, I step into the crosswalk, waving at the cars that stop for long enough to allow me to get to her.
Her face lifts to mine as I approach. “Hello,” she says, the smokiness in her voice sending a shot of energy to my heart.
“Starlight.” The name is a test, an experiment, a prayer.
She scrunches her nose in protest. I want to say it again and have her welcome it.
“You know,” she begins, “you probably shouldn’t use your nickname for me. I thought we called it after our walk through the Christmas Village.”
My stomach tenses. I don’t want to think about my behavior with Ivy the other day. The truth is that I want to be near her more than apart from her, so I focus on the individual I haven’t met yet. “And who’s this?”
Her eyebrow lifts, my attempt at distraction not lost on her, but she allows it. I exhale.
“This is Resin,” she says.
Hearing his name, the dog’s tail thumps against the sidewalk.
While some sections of the sidewalk have been set with cobblestones, we’re in a smooth part now.
I wonder if it’s a sign of my relationship with Ivy.
Maybe it can be smoother from this point forward, after we keep moving through the awkward.
“Hi, Resin.” I bend a knee to the ground, the cold seeping through my pants. I’m rewarded with the retriever’s affection and find my shoulders losing their tension. “He looks festive,” I observe with a touch of amusement.
“Yes, well, he just finished walking in the pet parade.”
I raise my eyes to hers to see if she’s kidding. “The what, now?”
“It’s a Christmas parade for pets.” The tiny lift of her chin dares me to make fun of it, even though her grin carries a hint of timid playfulness.
“Did he win?” I’m not sure how else to ask about this event.
“It’s not a winning or a losing event; it’s just about participating.”
Resin leans against me and nuzzles into my neck. The cold press of his nose against my skin causes me to release a surprised laugh.
Ivy stares at him. “Wow, he’s friendly but not usually this affectionate,” she states.
“Well, he knows that I—” I stop myself before blurting out how much Resin’s owner means to me.
Has meant to me. How can I say how much her dog and I both want to follow her anywhere without coming on too strong?
How can I explain that, besides Emmy, the woman before me might be the person I want to protect the most in the world?
Instead, I clear my throat. “He knows that he’s got the best mom,” I conclude.
To my alarm, Ivy’s eyes fill a bit at my words.
“Did I say something wrong?” I rise swiftly. “Clearly, I did, if it’s affecting you like this. I’m sorry. I meant well.”
She sniffles lightly, reaching up to wipe her eye with one of her mittens.
“No, I’m good. We’re okay—about that, at least.” She pauses.
“I just . . . sometimes, I realize he may be the only one to give me that title, even for a pet.” I watch her ballerina posture slump a little.
“But that’s more than you need to know, right?
Since we’re not friends and will never be. ”
I open my mouth and close it again. Ivy wants to have a family?
My pent-up affection draws me toward her like the moon to the tide.
Inconveniently, it also reminds me that one of the stupidest things I could’ve believed is that I would be able to stay away from her when I first discovered that we now share the same zip code.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she hastens to admit softly. “Can’t seem to stop saying things when it comes to you.”
Her somber grin nearly sends me to my knees. I decide to help ease her anxiousness by changing the topic.
“I should’ve said this earlier, but you’re not in New York,” I add quickly, knowing I’m stating the obvious like a fool who has clearly lost his game once more. Note to self: Carry a candy cane in my pocket for the rest of the season.
Ivy laughs incredulously. “No, I’m not.”