Chapter 7 Ivy
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ivy
It’s been a couple of weeks now, and I’m not saying Penny Fletcher is a demon disguised as a child… but I’m also not not saying that.
Only a crazy person would try to jump off a kitchen stool using a dish towel as a cape while shouting "I am a warlock!" Or negotiate bedtime with the tenacity of a hostage negotiator on their third divorce.
And only a sweetheart like Penny could melt my sarcasm lined heart with a sticky grin and the quiet, "I like your tattoos. You look like a superhero."
God help me. I’m going soft.
I’ve been in Coyote Glen long enough to know the morning air smells like pine and burnt coffee, that Penny is committed to her princess spy veterinarian bit, and that no matter how hard I try to stay detached… it’s not working.
Penny’s warm little hand in mine. The way she leans against me when she’s tired. The way she lights up when Freddie walks in.
It gets me.
Even when I tell myself this isn’t my life. That I’m just here to help, earn a paycheck, and breathe.
And yet…
This morning, she makes me pinky swear I won’t let the "evil laundry dragon" steal her socks. And when I laugh and tell her she’s ridiculous, she beams like I just handed her the moon.
And I know.
I’m in trouble.
But my peace is short lived.
It’s late afternoon when Penny begs to go to the park. Not asks… begs. Full puppy eyes. Whimpering. Dramatic collapsing to the floor like she’s been personally victimized by gravity. I don’t stand a chance.
The air is warm, late spring turning toward summer, and the light has that golden, cinematic quality that makes everything look nostalgic in real time. I let her race ahead, her tiny jelly sandals slapping the pavement as she barrels toward the jungle gym like it owes her money.
I’m halfway through calculating the most likely ways she could get a concussion when she screeches and veers toward a bench near the swings.
"Oh no," I mutter.
Because it’s him.
Mitchell.
Of course it is.
He’s halfway through a sandwich, one hand holding a book, sunglasses low on his nose. His boots are stretched out in front of him like he’s got nowhere else to be, like he owns the whole damn bench. Which, knowing him, he probably does.
Penny launches herself onto the bench beside him. "Mitchell! I found a sparkly rock! Wanna see it?!"
He doesn’t flinch. Just shifts his sandwich out of her trajectory like he’s used to getting ambushed by chaotic toddlers in the wild.
"Let’s see it, then," he says, his voice that same deep, slow drawl that I still hear in dreams I pretend I don’t have.
I freeze. For just a second. My body goes still like it’s trying to weigh the pros and cons of bolting into the woods. Maybe faking a medical emergency. Anything to not walk over there.
He looks up.
Our eyes meet.
His face? Blank.
No flicker of recognition. No smirk. No tension. Just unreadable calm. Like I’m a stranger.
Like I’m not someone he’s seen naked.
Again.
I force myself forward, each step weirdly heavy, until I drop down on the other side of Penny with all the grace of a malfunctioning marionette.
"Mitchell," I say, cool as I can manage.
He nods. "Ivy."
He goes back to his sandwich. I pretend to look relaxed and unaffected, like I’m not hyper aware of the way he flips a page in his book, or the flex of his forearms as he does it.
Penny is now narrating the sparkly rock’s entire life story with the seriousness of a documentary filmmaker.
I should move. Take her to the swings. Let him eat in peace.
But instead I open my mouth.
"So… this park always this quiet?"
He raises an eyebrow like he wasn’t expecting me to make conversation. "Usually. Gets busier on the weekends. There’s a little farmers market sometimes, if you’re into that."
"Oh." I nod like I’m definitely not cataloguing that for later. "I’ve mostly just seen the walk from Jesse’s to Freddie’s house and the grocery store."
I really haven’t been out much.
Well… aside from my wild first night out of course…
"Yeah," he says, voice more even now. "But there’s more than you’d think. Trails up in the hills, live music at The Hollow on Fridays, good food if you know where to look."
I let out a short laugh. "Yeah… I guess I just need to get used to it."
He shrugs. "It’s quiet. People talk too much. But it’s not a bad place to land."
That last part makes my stomach do something weird. Land. Like he knows I’m between lives.
I don’t know why, but I feel the need to change the direction of this conversation.
So I say anything…
"So, is it always this… friendly?" I ask, motioning loosely at the park, the mountains, the endless sunshine. "Or am I just in the honeymoon phase before the townsfolk turn on the outsider?"
Mitchell finally looks at me, and there’s something behind his sunglasses I can’t quite name. Not warmth exactly. But not cold either.
"Everyone is great. And you’ll get used to the friendliness," he says. "Especially if Penny keeps dragging you around like a new favorite toy."
I glance down at her. She’s crouched by the bench now, narrating her sparkly rock’s heroic journey through the jungle, grass clippings, to reach the mystical volcano, trash can. Her entire face is scrunched in concentration.
"She’s kind of hard to resist," I murmur.
"Yeah," he says softly, almost too quiet to hear. "She is."
I look back at him, surprised by the flicker of something in his voice. But then it’s gone, replaced by the same stoic calm he wore when I walked up. He stands, brushing crumbs from his jeans.
"Lunch break’s over."
He salutes Penny with two fingers. "Take care of that rock, kid."
Then he’s gone, just like that. Down the path. Not even a glance over his shoulder.
I exhale slowly, like I’ve been holding my breath.
I really don’t know how to get used to Mitchell if I’m going to keep crossing him.
I lean back against the bench, Penny climbing into my lap, her rock now apparently "glowing with magical glitter energy."
My gaze drifts after Mitchell even though he’s already long gone, like I’m hoping he might double back, say something else. Something… different.
But he doesn’t.
I run a hand through my hair and let out a breath.
What the hell was that?
He’s polite. Civil. Nothing technically wrong with how he acted. But it’s the nothing that gets me. The way he talks to me like we’re acquaintances at best. Like that night didn’t happen. Like it didn’t mean anything.
And maybe it didn’t. For him.
But my body remembers every detail. Every look. Every sound. The way he made me feel after the last few months of my life…
Now he won’t even meet my eye for more than a second.
I don’t know what I expected. A wink? A joke? Some kind of acknowledgment that we’ve been naked together?
Instead, I get… pleasant small talk and a swift exit.
I wrap my arms around Penny, who’s now snuggled against me, humming a made up theme song for her magic rock. She feels safe here, tucked in my lap like I’m solid. Like I make sense.
I envy her for that.
Because I don’t feel solid at all.
I close my eyes and rest my head back.
I’m just here to help. To keep my head down. To get through this.
Whatever this thing is with Mitchell?
I push it to the back of my mind.
At least, I try.
Later, at Jesse’s place, I’m curled up on his beat up old couch with Pickle snoring at my feet and a half eaten bowl of popcorn in my lap.
The sun’s starting to dip below the treeline outside the big front windows, and the house smells like woodsmoke and whatever candle Jesse’s been burning nonstop that smells vaguely like pine and whiskey.
He’s flipping through channels with a scowl like he’s personally offended by the entire concept of television.
"Did you know there are six different shows about competitive forging?" he mutters.
"No, but that feels like something you’d watch," I say, tossing a kernel at him.
He catches it midair, smug. "Because I’m a man of culture."
"Sure," I say dryly. "Nothing screams culture like swords and screaming."
We fall into silence for a beat, and I roll the popcorn bowl between my palms. My brain’s still tangled from earlier, from Mitchell’s flat expression and the way he just walked away like I wasn’t even worth a second glance.
I hesitate, then blurt it out before I can talk myself out of it.
"What’s the story with Freddie?"
Jesse glances over at me. "What do you mean?"
I shrug like it’s no big deal. "I mean… he’s a single dad, right? Penny’s mom… did they split up or…?"
Jesse’s face shifts, not exactly guarded, but something flickers there. He sets the remote down and leans back, folding his arms across his chest.
"She just… left," he says, voice even. "Didn’t want to be a mom. One day she was there, the next she wasn’t. Freddie woke up to a note and an empty dresser."
"Seriously?" I ask, stunned.
"Yup."
"No warning? No custody battle or…?"
"She didn’t fight him on it," he says, jaw tight now. "Didn’t want custody, didn’t want anything. Said she was too young, not ready. That being someone’s mom felt like a prison sentence."
Something twists in my chest. "Damn."
"Yeah," he mutters. "Freddie tried to keep things stable for Penny, but it was rough. I don’t think he slept more than three hours a night for the first year. Built his whole world around her after that. Still is."
I stare at the popcorn, suddenly not hungry. "That’s… a lot."
"Yeah," Jesse says again, softer now. "It is."
I think about the way Penny lights up around him. How safe she always seems, even when she’s leaping off couches and inventing disasters. And I think about how he looked at me when I dropped her off the other day, half exhausted, half grateful. Like he doesn’t take any of it for granted.
And then I think about Mitchell again.
I don’t know why that part won’t let me go.
"So what about the tattoo guys?" I ask, aiming for casual, though my stomach’s already in knots. "Mitchell and Timothy. You’re friends with them, right?"
Jesse shrugs, reaching for his beer. "Yeah. I mean, I know them. We’re friendly. Tim’s easier to talk to. Mitchell’s... Mitchell."
That tracks.
"But Freddie’s your actual friend?" I ask.
Jesse nods. "Yeah. We go back farther. He’s more my speed. Steady. The twins are good guys, but they’ve got their own thing going on. Intense, kind of closed off. Especially Mitch. He’s not the kind of guy you just get to know overnight."
My fingers fidget with a loose thread on the throw blanket. "Yeah. I noticed."
Jesse glances at me, like he’s trying to read between the lines, but he doesn’t push. Just says, "Freddie trusts them, though. That counts for something."
I nod like I get it. Like it doesn’t sting more than it should.
Like I didn’t once trust Mitchell with my entire body, and now I can’t even get a real sentence out of him.
The popcorn’s gone cold in my lap, and I don’t know if I’m imagining the silence or if it’s just settled around me like a weight.
And I still don’t know what any of this means.