Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Ivy
I’m still trying to get used to Freddie’s infuriatingly charming smirk when the doorbell rings.
He mutters something about his ride and pushes off the couch. Penny doesn’t look up from her crayon lineup, but I do. My stomach flips for no good reason… just nerves, maybe. New town, new job, new set of expectations I didn’t realize I was walking into.
What I don’t expect is for the door to open and for my entire damn soul to evacuate my body.
Because he walks in.
Him.
My one night stand.
Tall, cocky, unfairly hot tattoo artist with hands like sin and a mouth I still dream about even though I swore I’d never think about that night again. The man who ruined me, beautifully, recklessly, against cold leather and heat thick silence.
He was a moment of madness. A gorgeous, anonymous mistake I never intended to repeat.
And yet here he is.
In Freddie’s doorway.
Does he work with Freddie?
Why did I not think to ask Freddie for the details about his job?
My mouth goes dry. My spine locks. The mug in my hand doesn’t shatter, but it could. I’ve got white knuckle grip on it, and my brain is already short circuiting.
He looks the same. Exactly the same. Same jawline carved by a spiteful god. Same forest green eyes that turned molten under low light. Same sharp edge that made me forget who I was for a few reckless hours in a brand new town.
No.
No, no, no.
This can’t be happening.
I drop my eyes, praying he somehow won’t see me, or worse, recognize me, but before I can pull off the disappearing act I desperately want to try, another man steps through the door.
Same face.
Almost.
The second one’s got softer edges. His mouth is gentler. His expression open, curious. Less wolf, more golden retriever. Still gorgeous, but in that approachable "your friend's hot older brother who plays guitar at bonfires" kind of way.
He offers a warm smile and a hand. "Hey. You must be Ivy. I’m Timothy."
It’s not him.
But it is.
Because right behind him, in the doorway, stands the real one. The man who does know me. The man who saw me naked. The man who made me come so hard I forgot my own name… and then watched me run out before either of us had to acknowledge how messy it was.
What the…?
His eyes catch mine and go wide. Recognition slams into both of us like a car crash.
He looks just as floored as I feel. Like neither of us expected to see each other again, especially not here. Not in the bright light of Freddie’s very domestic kitchen, with crayons and cartoons and a sticky fingered three-year-old between us.
Freddie steps in, glancing between us like maybe he felt the voltage shift.
"So, this is Timothy," he says, motioning to the kinder twin. "And that’s Mitchell."
Mitchell.
I say nothing. Can’t.
Because Mitchell’s still staring. His jaw clenches. His hands are fists in his jacket pockets. He looks like he’s trying to figure out if he’s hallucinating.
Join the club, buddy.
"Ivy’s Jesse’s sister," Freddie says, clearly trying to smooth the mood. "She’s helping out with Penny."
Timothy grins, but his eyes squint just slightly. "Right, yeah, Jesse’s mentioned you. We, uh…" He gestures vaguely between himself and Mitchell. "We wanted to stop by. Y’know, meet the new nanny."
My spine snaps a little straighter. "Oh."
"Just to… you know." Timothy shrugs. "Get a feel for who’s hanging around the kid."
My cheeks burn. "Sure. Of course."
Mitchell is still silent. His eyes haven’t left me.
Timothy, oblivious, continues: "So, Ivy… What brings you to town?"
I blink. "Just moved."
Freddie coughs. "She’s, uh… come to stay with her brother for a while. Sort some stuff out, you know?"
Mitchell knows.
Or at least, he knows I’ve left a “Luca” behind.
But he doesn’t let that show.
Timothy nods slowly like that answers nothing at all. "Cool, cool. You like kids?"
I almost laugh. Almost. "Yeah. I do."
Then Penny, sweet, darling Penny, who’s been quiet this whole time, pops up with a crayon in each hand and runs directly at Mitchell.
"Mitchy!"
She hugs his legs like she’s a koala and he’s a eucalyptus tree.
Timothy laughs, fond and surprised. "Well, someone’s got a favorite."
Mitchell finally speaks. His voice is gravel. "Hey, little monster."
He scoops her up automatically, and it’s heartbreakingly effortless. She giggles and rests her head on his shoulder like she’s known him forever. My stomach twists so hard it might implode.
Timothy glances at me, amused. "Hope you don’t mind, Penny’s pretty attached to Mitchell. He’s like toddler catnip."
I try to smile, but it hurts. "She’s got good taste."
Freddie slings his bag over his shoulder. "I’ll be back in a couple hours. You good?"
I nod. Too fast. Way too fast.
"Cool." He claps his friends on the shoulder, says something about the shop, and then, mercifully, they leave.
The door shuts.
I exhale like I’ve been underwater.
Then I bolt for my phone.
Ivy: OMG, Olivia… So you know how I said I had a dumb one night stand when I got to town?
Her response is almost immediate.
Olivia: Yes, the tattoo chair guy??
Ivy: Yeah. HE JUST WALKED INTO FREDDIE’S HOUSE. With his TWIN.
Olivia: WAIT. WHAT. Tattoo Chair Guy has a twin????
Ivy: YES. Identical. One is hot dangerous. One is hot wholesome. Like if lust and emotional stability split into two people.
Olivia: You slept with the dangerous one, didn’t you.
Ivy: OF COURSE I DID! He hasn’t smiled once. He looks like he’s seen war. Or like he’s remembering exactly what I sound like begging for it.
Olivia: God, I love that. Was it hilarious?
Ivy: What? "Hi, I’m your boss’s coworker and I saw you naked and also now you’re watching his kid" Does that sound funny to you?
Olivia: I AM SCREAMING. Did he recognize you??
Ivy: YES. It was mutual horror.
Olivia: On a scale of 1 to total internal meltdown?
Ivy: Eleven. I need to move countries.
Olivia: Okay but be honest. Scale of 1 to "accidentally trip and land on his lap," how likely is this to happen again?
Before I can even consider that and spiral further, Penny tugs on my sleeve. "Do you wanna see the big blanket fort I made last week? It’s got lights."
I nod, swallowing whatever the hell is happening in my throat. "Absolutely."
She grabs my hand without hesitation, leading me toward her bedroom, talking the whole way about fairy lights and dragon pillows and the very serious rules of pillow fort etiquette.
And weirdly? It helps.
Because she’s light. And chaos. And honesty wrapped in tiny limbs and sparkly leggings.
Because maybe I’m not totally alone in this house of gorgeous, charming, emotionally complicated men.
Maybe Penny Brooks will keep me grounded.
For now.