Chapter Eleven #2
Taking a deep breath, the effort pulls at my lungs, and I realize my hands really are on fire.
I’m feeling too many emotions to look him in the eye; instead, I focus on the Christmas lights strung on the front windows.
They seem to project warmth into the darkness outside, hovering only a glass pane and a few thoughts away.
If not for the streetlamps glowing with warmth along the sidewalk, the windows would be an impenetrable wall of night.
“What are you going to do about the job offer?” Edgar broaches a new subject.
He’s referring to the call I got this morning from a well-known furniture company in Lakeland, Florida.
They’ve seen the pieces I’ve sold online and are interested in having me add artisan pieces to their collection.
If my designs are accepted, the deal could reach national distribution.
It’s the recognition a woodworker like me could only dream of.
But the offer requires that I relocate to design in-house, as the company hopes to utilize my skills for other ongoing projects.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you’d better find out. The woman who got away is just around the corner. She’s single. You’re single. Maybe this is your chance at happiness.”
“I have Emmy.”
“Yes, you do. And she’s the best thing that ever happened to you. But she’s going to grow up. And you . . .” Edgar clears his throat.
Reaching up, I clasp my brother’s shoulder, gripping it tightly through the swelling that’s beginning to rise near my knuckles.
Edgar and Angie have been my support since we arrived in Birch Borough.
There have been times recently when they’ve stepped in with Emmy when I needed the help, yet they’ve also given me space as we move through the holidays. I’ll always be grateful to them.
“You deserve to be loved,” Edgar says with factual emphasis. “Stop being scared to lose again.”
What would happen if I believed him? I hum, my eyes drifting to the snow that’s begun to fall outside. It’s only visible because of the lights on the street. It’s been snowing on and off for days, each fresh, untouched blanket of snow a sign that the world can keep being made new.
“Thanks, man,” I mutter.
He rises, the emotional weight of what he’s passed to me easing away from his features with a grin. “Let’s go before we’re snowed in.”
I grunt as I put weight on my arms to stand.
The pummeling I gave the punching bag is going to hurt tomorrow, especially since I’m due to put together sets for the upcoming show.
Ripping off my sweat-soaked shirt, I throw on a clean hoodie and struggle with my jacket, preparing for the layer of ice that will feel as if it’s made a home against my skin in the next thirty seconds.
“Aren’t you going to see her tomorrow since you agreed to help her with Emmy’s performance?” Edgar flips off the light switch, the overcast sky and the dim glow of the Christmas lights outside our only guide to the exit.
“Yep, she’ll be there.”
He laughs, knowing I’ll also be surrounded by a dozen or so kids as I work. “And what are you going to say to her? That is, assuming you can even lift a hammer tomorrow after what it seems you put your arms through tonight. Are you going to tell her about potentially taking a job in Florida?”
I grin, not because of his brotherly banter but at the thought of seeing Ivy again. My heart picks up speed. Even if being near her is temporary, I’ll take it. “I’ll tell her about the job,” I reassure him. “You know I’ll always tell her the truth.”
“Hey! Or maybe you could just tell her now,” Edgar suggests with a smile.
I tense as I look toward the front door.
It’s just flung open, and Ivy rushes in, her cheeks reddened by the frigid air.
The sky is dark with the snowstorm, but the blush on her face is enticing, the glow of the streetlamps and the Christmas lights reflecting on her face.
A scarf is wrapped haphazardly around her neck, its color mixing with her golden hair, and her hands are covered by mittens, per usual.
She’s adorable. The sight of her gives me an irresistible urge to pick her up and hold her close.
Or perhaps, I’d rather kiss her again. The aftermath of the winter chill through the open door wakes me up from my thoughts and adds some temporary relief to the heat radiating from my hands.
I clear my throat as Ivy approaches.
“Hi, Edgar,” Ivy says with a tentative smile. Her eyes drift to me.
Before this month, I hadn’t seen her in ages. Even after all that time, I know in my bones that looking at Ivy is never going to get old for me. “Jace.” My name on her tongue sends my heart racing, even though she is standing far away.
When she takes a tentative step forward, I move across from her in three strides and then stop short.
I’m still not close enough to her, but my body is frozen.
My nerves are ridiculous. I’ve been around women before.
I have a daughter, for crying out loud. But Ivy causes something in me to malfunction . . . or reignite.
“I’m sorry to just stop in,” she says quickly.
“But I was in the area—well, of course I was in the area; I live here.” The words come out in a muttered rush, a nervous laugh accompanying them.
“I realized I needed to ask if you still planned to come by tomorrow. You know . . . to help with the sets. Because we need to get them started. But I don’t have your number.
That’s so weird, right? But it’s true. I don’t.
I don’t even have your email. So, I decided to just, you know, stop by. ”
I tighten my lips to hold back a smile. She’s nervous. I find myself enjoying the sight way too much.
“Stop by anytime, Ivy,” Edgar says kindly, and I give him a nod of thanks while I take a deep breath. He’s giving me an out from overthinking.
“Star—Of course you can, Ivy.” I shake my head. “Always feel free to stop by.”
“Good, that’s good.” Her mittened hands lift, attempting to take off the scarf, but somehow, it gets stuck around her neck even more. “If you guys are leaving, I can just walk out with you, Jace.”
She’s adorable. Did I say that already? Once again, I have to clench my jaw to hold myself back from blurting aloud how attractive she is, even when she’s trapped by yarn.
Stepping up next to her, I zip up my jacket as Ivy swings back toward the door.
Our hands brush. The feeling is electric, even through her gloves.
She gasps, going perfectly still, and I growl faintly.
Thankfully, if she catches my instinctive sound, she doesn’t mention it.
But Edgar chuckles just as his watch chimes, signaling a new hour.
My brother turns away. “I forgot I needed to take care of something before I lock up. I’ll give the two of you a couple of minutes to chat.” He walks toward the back of the gym.
I lift my hand to indicate that I’ve heard him, and Ivy’s eyes narrow in on my knuckles.
Within seconds, she’s clumsily pulled off her mittens and thrown them in a pile on the ground.
Her warm hands wrap around my own. My fears urge me to pull back, but I force myself to be still and leave them to be held by the woman before me.
“What happened to you?” Ivy says softly, her touch gentle as the edges of her fingers hover around my still-reddened knuckles.
The concern in her eyes and her willingness to touch me without hesitation nearly knock me over.
I use the last bit of my strength to fight to keep my hand still.
Forget sparring in the ring (the irony is real since we’re at In the Ring); all Ivy would need to do to wipe me out is, apparently . . . question me about this.
“Training,” I grit out.
Her brow furrows, her eyes searching mine.
For the first time in years—maybe since we first met—I try not to hide.
I let her gaze scan my soul. I don’t answer her questions but just let her observe.
Maybe I’m simply too tired, or the exertion wiped out all my defenses, or maybe it’s because she’s helping me forget the throbbing in my hands, but I don’t put up my guard.
Edgar, God bless him, has busied himself with reorganizing the equipment on the other side of the room to make it less awkward. I owe him a drink.
Ivy’s eyes shift noticeably from amusement to attraction, her pupils dilating and then returning to their usual state, and my heart is following along for the ride.
I let myself look at her, really taking her in for the first time after all these years.
Even though we almost kissed the other day, I didn’t get the chance to fully enjoy her without my brain on overdrive.
I study the little creases around her mouth as she concentrates on massaging my hands.
Her eyes still remind me of hot chocolate, the slope of her nose is still charming, and the wisps of hair around her face are still alluring.
But when her expression turns to sadness, I catch tears brimming at the edges.
Suddenly, they’re swimming, but the tears don’t spill over when she gives my hand a light, final squeeze and releases it.
“You’re okay,” she says quietly.
Not a “you’ll be okay.” Just a simple “you’re okay.” Present tense.
The words fill me with relief, and I realize I didn’t know how much I needed them until now. She swallows. My hands want to reach out to pull her close. Instead, she gathers herself. “So, tomorrow, when you drop off Emmy at the studio, I thought I could show you a few more mockups for the sets?”
“Of course.”
Relief relaxes her taut posture. “That’s perfect.
I’m hoping we can get these backdrops done before Christmas.
The performance is right after, you know.
Birch Borough may be generous, but a good turnout and an excellent-looking production really make a difference with those donations.
I just want these scholarships for my students so badly. ”
“I’ll be there. We’ll crush it,” I repeat, admiration lacing my tone.
She’s so selfless with her talent, pouring it into others faithfully.
“Emmy will be thrilled to spend some extra time at the studio anyway. She’ll show you the “Waltz of the Snowflakes” dance,” I add in case she needed another reminder that my presence is a package deal.
A bright smile breaks across her face. “Can’t wait. I mean, I love all my students, but Emmy really does have something . . .” she says with a laugh.
Her assessment of my daughter makes my posture rise a little higher in pride. “She does, doesn’t she? And she already loves dancing with you, so thank you again, for taking her in and letting her be a part of the Christmas production.”
Seeing that our conversation has turned to less personal things, Edgar wanders over. It’s getting late, and the snowflakes have increased outside the window. We need to head out if we don’t want to drive on icy roads.
Ivy gives us both a smile and shrugs. “Of course. She deserves to dance if she wants to. Everyone does.” She walks toward the door.
I bend to pick up her mittens, then hurry after her, hand outstretched.
She turns back to me at the door, her head tilted.
“Thank you.” She takes the mittens. “And get some ice,” she says with a sudden emergence of sass.
“I need your hands.” Her eyes widen in instant horror.
“For the show! I meant—mean—for the show. Okay, bye!” With that, she’s through the door onto the street, and I can’t help but smile freely into the brisk air, my heart warming like mulled cider on a stove.
Edgar’s laugh is enough to ground me back to reality, because there’s something about the way Ivy gets flustered around me that sends hope pounding into my heart.
“You still didn’t get her number,” he reminds annoyingly.
We exit after Ivy, and I watch her retreating red coat walk down the street through the snow.
Edgar locks the door and waves to a family walking past with to-go cups of warm beverages in their hands.
I look at my brother, in too good a mood to give in to his teasing.
I inhale the frozen air and pull out my own keys.
“Yeah, well, I’ll get that tomorrow.”
A genuine smile is his only reply as we walk to our cars.
Determination settles into my tendons and bones.
It’s a struggle these days to trust, especially when it comes to a one-of-a-kind woman like Ivy.
But I think being torn out of her life again right now would feel like breathing stale air after finally having a hit of real oxygen.
I’ve been living for my daughter, but I forgot that I’m also a man.
One who is desperately trying to believe that if Ivy’s kindness toward me is any indication, maybe I’ll be able to reframe my perspective and find my worth again.
I walk down the street, something nagging at my subconscious. And then it hits me just as I reach my Jeep. The clock. The moment we met and just before we kissed, a clock signaled the time. And tonight, Edgar’s watch chimed soon after Ivy walked in the door.
“Christmas magic?” I whisper to myself as I look up to the sky.
The lights and decorations strung around town make it feel like a movie set.
“It can’t be magic. I know it can’t be.” I close my eyes and clench my hands, which welcome the cold air with relief.
Opening the door and sliding into my car, I take a moment to lean back against the headrest and close my eyes.
“God, if it’s possible to make it happen within the time I have left here, please help me find my home again this Christmas. ”
The quiet and isolation in my vehicle is the balm my soul has needed.
I’m ready to see Emmy, eat dinner with her, and tuck her into bed.
But sometimes, we just need a moment of quiet to remind us how loud things in our lives have really been.
As I start the Jeep and head to Angie’s, the thought of her famous lasagna already giving me something to look forward to, an idea hits me.
It’s an idea that could put my heart in more danger than it’s ever been.
Yet, I’m not doing so well working this problem out on my own if my burning knuckles are any indication.
The idea works its way into my brain. Could this year mark a change I’ve needed for years?
Perhaps instead of believing the negative words Jenna spoke over me in the past or focusing on what I currently can’t give Ivy, I can dare to believe there’s a better version of myself out there, and if I look hard enough, I can find him once more.