Chapter 19 - Mitchell
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mitchell
I never do this.
Never.
Main Street on a Saturday?
A nightmare.
Too many people. Too many damn smiles that make you feel like you’ve been trapped in a room with an overenthusiastic tourist who’s trying to make small talk about the weather and the latest gossip.
But I’m here.
Granger’s Groceries.
And not because I want to be. I just need coffee. My head’s been pounding since the morning, and I’m down to the last few sad scoops in my bag at home.
So, of course, I’m standing in line behind a group of tourists and pretending like the guy behind the counter isn’t giving me the same tired "how’s your day going?" look that everyone else in this town knows how to give. I should be used to it by now.
But then I hear it.
A laugh.
Light, easy, the kind of laugh that makes the space around it feel warmer, softer, like it’s welcoming you into something you didn’t even know you needed.
I turn. Just enough to catch a glimpse of her.
Ivy.
I knew it before I even saw her face. Something about the way the air shifted, like it knew I was about to run into her.
She’s standing near the dog section with a mason jar in her hand, and she’s inspecting the treats like they’re going to change her life.
Pickle’s at her feet, looking like he’s the one who needs to pick out his next snack. The little shit’s got better taste than most people around here.
I should walk away.
I should turn around, pay for my damn coffee, and just leave.
There’s nothing good that can come from standing here, watching her like an idiot. This whole thing with Ivy? It’s been nothing but a mess since she showed up.
But here I am, rooted to the spot.
She’s laughing again, this time at something Pickle’s doing. Some little quirk of his that has her amused.
That laugh.
I can’t escape it.
And then I feel it.
A tug.
That old pull that’s never quite left. It’s like gravity. It keeps dragging me in, no matter how much I try to fight it.
I don’t know why I do it, but before I can stop myself, I’m walking toward her.
"Hey," I say, sounding a little rougher than I mean to. But fuck it, I’ve been holding it together for too long.
She looks up, and I swear, the moment her eyes meet mine, everything slows down. She doesn’t look shocked, like she didn’t expect me to be here. No, she just gives me that small, guarded smile, like she’s trying to keep her distance but still feels something too.
"Hey," she replies, voice lighter than I expect. Like maybe she’s relieved I’m not starting some bullshit confrontation.
I look at the mason jar in her hand, trying to focus on anything but how much I want to reach out and pull her closer.
"Pickle’s getting spoiled, huh?" I gesture to the jar. It’s one of those overpriced, artisanal dog treats that only a dog with a better life than mine would need.
She gives me a little shrug. "He deserves it."
Damn it.
I can’t even think straight when I look at her. She’s been on my mind since the moment she came into town. Since the moment we had that burning hot night together.
"Yeah, I bet."
Pickle sniffs at me, like he’s judging me, and I let out a breath that’s probably too heavy for just a casual run in.
Ivy notices. I can see it in the way her eyebrows furrow slightly.
The silence between us is thick. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that feels like it’s about to snap any second.
"So, uh, how’ve you been?" she asks, but there’s something in her tone that says she’s just trying to make the conversation feel normal. Like nothing’s changed.
I chuckle darkly, because everything’s changed. "Same old. Work, you know."
"Being the same mysterious, broody artist type, right?"
The last time she said that to me…
Well, things got out of hand.
"I’ve been busy," I say, keeping my tone flat. "Real busy."
The silence sits heavy between us. Too heavy. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. I don’t know why I’m standing in the middle of this damn grocery store like an idiot, but I can’t bring myself to walk away.
And then, without even thinking about it, I blurt it out.
"Hey, you wanna go for a walk?" I ask, the words rushing out before I can stop them.
She looks at me, eyebrows knitting together for a second, like she’s not sure what to make of the offer. But then, she just nods, giving me that small, hesitant smile that makes my stomach twist.
"Sure," she says, her voice almost too light.
And just like that, we’re walking. I don’t know why I asked, but here we are, side by side, heading out of the store and into the quiet of the outskirts of town.
Thank God for Pickle, he’s a great distraction, especially now that he’s just stopped, dead.
I glance over just in time to see him standing frozen, his eyes wide, locked onto a poor unsuspecting squirrel that’s darting across the path about five feet away. But instead of chasing it like he usually does, he just stands there, staring at it with the most intense look on his face.
"Pickle, what the hell are you doing?" Ivy mutters under her breath, trying to pull on the leash.
Pickle doesn’t budge.
I raise an eyebrow. "Your dog is in a standoff with a squirrel."
She looks down at him, exasperated but amused. "Pickle, c’mon, get over it."
But he doesn’t. He’s like a statue. Ivy sighs, rolling her eyes. "I swear, this dog’s got a mind of his own."
I can’t help but laugh. "I think he’s meditating, trying to reach enlightenment through his squirrel based standoff."
Ivy shoots me a look, but it’s a playful one. "He’s a weirdo, but he’s my weirdo."
I lean down, tapping my fingers against my thighs to try and get Pickle’s attention. "Alright, you little philosopher, the squirrel’s not gonna come back and give you a lifetime supply of treats. You can move now."
Finally, Pickle gives one last look at the squirrel, huffs like he’s been offended by its mere existence, and trots off with a wag of his tail, looking proudly accomplished.
Ivy lets out a laugh, shaking her head. "I swear, he’s got more personality than most people."
I chuckle, watching him happily bounce ahead of us, tail wagging. "Yeah, he’s definitely got more attitude than most of the people around here."
"Yeah, this place is definitely full of… people."
I laugh, kinda getting what she means. "You talking about the small town gossip?"
"Yeah, feels like everyone knows everyone’s business here."
"Not feels like," I say with a half smile. "It’s just a fact."
"Which means…"
I sense her getting serious.
She’s affected by people talking about her.
"I guess I don’t know how much I like the attention, Mitchell. I came here for an escape, not more drama."
Enter me, my twin, and Freddie, I guess.
I clear my throat, my voice softer than usual. "Hey."
She looks up, raising an eyebrow like she’s not sure where this is going.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
Everything in me says to keep my distance. That getting too close means getting burned. Again.
But then I look at her, really look at her, and I see it. That weight she’s carrying, the way she’s trying so hard to stay composed when I know she’s unraveling inside. And damn it, I know that feeling too well.
She’s not asking for much. Just something real. Something steady.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I want to give that to someone.
To her.
I reach for her chin, tilting her face up to mine. My thumb brushes against her skin as I push a loose strand of hair out of her face. It’s slow, deliberate, like I want to make sure she gets it.
That this isn’t a fluke.
That I’m choosing to show up.
"I know it’s hard, but I am here for you."
I see something flicker in her eyes. That tension she’s been holding tight to starts to loosen a little, but she doesn’t let it go completely.
"Yeah? You’re just going to swoop in and save me from all this?" she says, the sarcasm clear in her tone, but there’s a softness in her eyes too. "Good luck with that."
I can’t help but smirk. "I didn’t say I was saving you. I said I’ve got your back. There’s a difference."
She snorts, shaking her head. "Right. Like you’ve been doing such a great job of that so far."
Her voice is dry, and there’s that familiar bite in her words that’s so damn addictive. I can’t help but lean in a little closer. "You act like I’ve been ignoring you on purpose. You think I like staying away? I don’t."
Ivy’s eyes flicker with something I can’t quite read. She crosses her arms, a little defensively. "So what, now you’re a ‘feelings guy’ all of a sudden?"
I want to laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s easier than admitting how close to the truth she is.
No, I’m not a “feelings guy.” That’s the whole damn point.
I’ve spent years perfecting the art of staying closed off, keeping everything neat, controlled, inside the lines.
No mess, no pain. That’s how you survive places like this.
People in Coyote Glen eat feelings for breakfast and spit them out in whispers behind your back.
I’ve seen what happens when you let people in. I’ve lived it. And it doesn’t end well.
But Ivy, she’s something different. She doesn’t just crack the surface; she digs her way in without even trying. And I hate that I can’t stop it. I hate that some part of me doesn’t want to.
So when she throws that line at me, like it’s just a joke, like I’m still the guy who can brush everything off with a grunt and a glare, I realize I can’t pretend anymore.
"No," I say, shaking my head. "Definitely not that. But I know how to deal with Coyote Glen drama, don’t you worry."
She looks at me for a moment, her expression softer than usual. I can see the weight lifting just a little. Then she breaks the tension with a little laugh.
And damn it if that sound doesn’t hit me right in the chest.
"You know," she says, her voice teasing, "for someone who’s been so good at ignoring me since that night, you’re really bad at pretending you don’t care."
The jab stings more than I want to admit, and the guilt hits me all at once. I look away for a second, running a hand through my hair. "Ivy, I…"
She cuts me off with a smirk, her tone light but pointed. "Oh, don’t get all serious on me now. You’re the king of ‘I don’t do feelings,’ right?"
I let out a frustrated breath, leaning against a nearby post, staring at her like I’m trying to figure her out. "It’s not that. I just didn’t know how to handle all this. You. Us. It’s all been messy as hell."
She studies me for a second, a small smile creeping onto her face. "Yeah, no kidding."
I reach up without thinking, brushing a strand of hair from her face again. My fingers linger a little longer than I mean to, and I can feel the heat of her skin under my touch.
I can feel the heat between us, thick and undeniable. Her eyes are still locked on mine, and there’s that tension in the air, building. Her breath quickens, just enough to make my chest tighten, and before I can stop myself, my hand is on her chin, tilting her face up to mine.
And this is the part where I’d normally shut it all down. Turn away. Say something sarcastic or cold just to keep the wall up.
But I don’t.
Not this time.
Because I’m tired. Of pretending I don’t care.
Of acting like I didn’t feel something the second she walked into my life again.
Every part of me has been clawing to keep distance, to stay in control, but when she looks at me like this, like she sees all the chaos I try to hide… I can’t keep lying to either of us.
She deserves the truth. Even if I’m terrified of what she’ll do with it.
Before I can stop myself, my hand is on her chin, tilting her face up to mine. My thumb brushes her skin, slow, steady, like I’m trying to memorize the shape of this moment.
"I want you, Ivy," I say, the words coming out darker than I expect. "But it’s your choice. I know Freddie and Timothy want you too."
And it nearly kills me to say it. To name the other men I know she could turn to. But I’d rather give her the truth than try to trap her in something built on denial.
This isn’t about winning. It’s about standing still long enough for her to see me, finally see me, and decide for herself if I’m worth the risk.
Her lips part slightly, and the look in her eyes, this mixture of curiosity, hesitation, and something else, I see it all. She’s weighing me, this, the whole damn thing, and I want to scream out to her that I’m not going anywhere. That I’m here. But I’m not going to rush it.
I’m giving her space. Giving her the control.
She surprises me by stepping closer, a slow movement that has my pulse racing. She places a hand on my chest, the touch light at first, but there’s an unmistakable heat in her touch. Her fingers curl, digging into my shirt as she closes the space between us.
Then, she moves in.
The kiss is sudden, urgent. Her lips crash against mine with a force that has my head spinning. It’s not slow, not careful. This kiss is a demand, a silent plea that says she’s tired of the distance. Tired of pretending.
I meet her hunger with equal fire, my hand sliding to the back of her neck, pulling her in tighter.
Her body presses against mine, and I feel the heat of her, the way her chest rises and falls with every breath.
My thumb brushes against her jaw as I deepen the kiss, tasting her, feeling her mouth open under mine, like she’s giving me everything she’s been holding back.
I pull her closer, my lips moving against hers with an intensity that almost knocks the air out of me. But I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. My hand slides down to her waist, pulling her even closer, the friction between us making it impossible to think.
I feel her gasp against my mouth, the sound just enough to fuel the fire burning inside me.
I growl, low, in the back of my throat, the sound slipping out before I can stop it.
The grip I have on her tightens, pulling her even closer, if that’s possible, and I can feel her body shift, her fingers tightening around my shirt, tugging at me as if she wants more.
There’s a moment, just a second, where I pull back enough to breathe, my lips still brushing hers.
Her eyes are wild, lips parted, a challenge in them that makes everything in me snap.
This woman could destroy all the walls that I’ve spent so long building around myself.
And I actually think I might want her to.