Chapter 8 Jesse
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jesse
I roll up to Ivy’s place just as I always do after a long week. Ready to unwind with my sister and her husbands for our weekly dinner session.
The twins, Mitchell and Timothy, are already inside, probably bickering over who screwed up last week’s tattoo appointments.
Freddie is there too, leaning back with that cocky grin of his, observing everything as he always does.
Ivy is in her element, of course, playing the unofficial hostess and keeping everyone in line. All while parenting Penny and her triplets as well.
She really is Wonder Woman. I did not think this would all happen when she first came to stay with me after her life fell apart. But I’m glad it all did, because it means my sister, nieces, and nephew are here.
“Hey, you’re late,” Mitchell calls out the second I step in. “The food smells delicious, and I am starving.”
Timothy rolls his eyes as he continues to cook.
I don’t bother with explanations. “Work’s been hell.”
Freddie raises an eyebrow. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“Yeah, well, try putting out fires for a living. It’ll kill your vibe.” I smirk, but the truth is I’m wiped.
Ivy catches my eye and smirks. “Well, you need to be pleasant tonight, Jesse.”
I roll my eyes. “What now?”
I grab a beer from the counter and pop it open as I follow Ivy toward the dining room. The twins stop arguing, and Freddie pauses mid-sentence, their attention snapping to the same spot.
And there she is. Olivia Quinn. Sitting at the table with the stiffest spine I have ever seen.
My stomach clenches. I’m not ready for this. Not here. Not now.
Livvy looks calm, almost too calm, nearly daring me to react. My sister’s best friend, I remind myself, but that doesn’t stop the heat rising in my chest or the sudden tightness in my throat.
I’m guessing Ivy doesn’t know, or she might have killed me by now. Plus, we agreed not to talk about it, so I think awkward silences it is.
“Hey,” Livvy says with a small smile. “Good to see you.”
I try to play it cool, but inside I’m reeling. What the hell is Livvy doing here, crashing our family dinner? And more importantly, how the hell am I supposed to act now?
The room feels smaller, louder. Everyone’s watching, waiting for my move. I take a sip of my beer, trying to find my footing.
Livvy is amazing, and this isn’t just a dinner anymore. It’s a test. One, I’m not sure I’m ready to pass.
I pull out the chair across from her, not too close but not too far, as if the physical distance could ease the pressure building between us.
I can feel her eyes on me, not with judgment, but with a quiet understanding that only makes it worse. I swear, she knows exactly how to make me feel under a microscope.
“Glad you could make it,” I manage, the words stiff in my mouth.
Too formal, too rehearsed-sounding. But I need something to anchor myself, to keep my mind from spiraling out of control.
Livvy nods, her gaze flickering briefly to my beer bottle. “Wasn’t sure if I should come. But Ivy insisted, and she’s a tough one to say no to.”
I chuckle, but it’s forced. “Yeah, she’s got that big sister vibe down. Even though I’m older than her, she’s always been the boss.”
She laughs softly, and it’s a balm to my nerves, even though I can feel the heat between us simmering beneath the surface. “I can imagine.”
The rest of the group falls into some comfortable banter. Ivy and Mitchell start arguing over who had the worst week, while Timothy and Freddie engage in a debate about a random subject they’re into this week.
All this is happening with the babies crying every so often, and Penny bouncing around the living room, wild as a small tornado.
But me? I’m hyper aware of Livvy. Her every movement, the way her hair catches the light, the way she seems to fit in here despite everything.
I can’t escape the undeniable tension in the air, no matter how hard I try to focus on the conversation around me.
I grab another beer, needing something to dull the edge of the moment, and keep my eyes on the table.
As we eat, I focus on the conversation around the table. Ivy’s discussing the latest antics of the triplets, Mitchell is harassing Timothy about his tattoo failures, and Freddie’s giving his usual funny commentary on everything, including the food.
Yet, all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears and the occasional laugh from Livvy that makes my skin feel too tight.
I take a long gulp from my beer, hoping it’ll help, but the buzzing in my brain only intensifies. Every time I glance up, Livvy’s there. Her lips curving into that small, knowing smile.
She might as well be reading my mind. And I know, without a doubt, she knows what’s going on.
The way her eyes flicker to me when the conversation shifts, the way she holds my gaze for a beat too long. It’s driving me insane.
“So,” Freddie says, breaking the unbearable silence that’s started to creep in between me and Livvy. “Jesse, has it really been that shitty at work?”
I can just about manage an eye roll. “Same as usual. Lots of paperwork, you know?”
“Maybe you should give it all up and come and make coffee for us at the tattoo studio full-time,” Freddie chuckles.
I snort into my beer, caught off guard. “You’re kidding me, right? You want me to serve coffee to you guys while you work? I can barely handle a coffee machine.”
Mitchell laughs, elbowing me. “That’s true. I’ve seen you try to make coffee at the firehouse. It was a disaster.”
I grimace. “One time, okay? One time. And it was fine! It just… needed a little more sugar and less 'accidentally on purpose' burnt flavor.”
Freddie smirks, clearly enjoying this. “Practice makes perfect, though, right?”
Just as I’m about to respond, a loud crash from the living room cuts through the conversation, making us all jump.
Everyone at the table freezes, and for a split second, I think it’s just Penny bouncing off something, but then the unmistakable sound of a baby crying fills the room.
Not just one baby, but all three.
“Uh oh,” Ivy mutters under her breath, pushing her chair back quickly.
“Here we go,” Mitchell grumbles, in a playful tone. “What now?”
Timothy and Freddie both exchange looks, but they don’t budge. They’ve already accepted that this is just part of the gig now.
Livvy and I exchange a glance, and I can tell she’s trying not to smile at the chaos. But I can see it in her eyes, she’s a little thrown off by the sudden change in the atmosphere, too.
Ivy rushes out, and just as she’s disappearing into the hallway, Pickle, her unrelenting, overenthusiastic Frenchie, comes charging into the dining room as a hurricane. His tiny paws skitter across the floor as he barks up at Timothy, who groans.
I told Ivy it was going to be hard being a parent with that little wrecking ball in tow.
“Pickle, seriously?” Ivy calls out from the other room, followed by more frantic baby cries. “What did I tell you about the toys?”
Pickle takes this as an invitation to jump up on the table, his tail wagging furiously. I barely manage to catch him by the collar before he knocks over the pitcher of water.
The little guy looks at me with irritation in his eyes, growling in protest.
“Come on, Pickle. Not now,” I mutter, trying to tug him off the table without causing more chaos.
Meanwhile, across the room, I can hear the unmistakable sound of one of the triplets really starting to wail. Max, I think. Then a second cry follows. And a third. The sound of them all crying in unison is enough to make my head spin.
Mitchell’s face falls. “Oh, hell. They really are all awake now.”
“Oh boy,” Timothy says, rubbing his eyes.
I watch as Ivy, Timothy, and Freddie spring into action, a well-oiled machine. I can see that they've done this a thousand times, probably every day.
Ivy’s already juggling the babies, her arms a blur as she calms Max, Mia, and Lily one by one, all while keeping one eye on Pickle, who’s now zooming around the living room on a caffeine high.
Timothy moves to intercept Pickle, grabbing the dog mid-sprint. “Pickle, you little menace. How the heck do you have this much energy?”
Pickle wriggles harder, somehow managing to squirm free and dart back toward the table, knocking over a stack of plates in the process.
“Not the plates!” Mitchell exclaims, laughing, but there's an edge of frustration.
Meanwhile, Freddie grabs a bottle of milk from the fridge and starts making funny faces at one of the triplets to distract him.
Yeah, I’m not gonna lie. Ivy and her harem? They’re practically superheroes.
I chuckle, unable to stop myself, even though I'm secretly amazed by the calm under pressure. Ivy's a whirlwind, gracefully moving from one task to the next without breaking a sweat.
Timothy is her anchor, focused and steady, even if he’s slightly dead inside from lack of sleep. And Freddie? Well, he's the one trying to make the kids laugh without a care in the world.
Livvy, standing beside me, watches it all unfold with a smile, her hands tucked into her pockets, trying to stay out of the way. But I can tell she’s not just observing; she’s taking it all in.
There’s a look on her face… she seems reflective. Maybe she’s seeing a future she never thought possible.
I can’t help but feel the pang in my chest.
I’ve never really thought about having a family before, at least not in any serious way. But watching this, watching Ivy and her husbands work together, effortlessly handling the chaos with love and patience… It stirs something in me. A yearning I didn’t know existed.
Livvy catches my eye in a moment of shared understanding, of silent recognition, and for just a beat, everything else falls away. The noise, the mess, the chaos, it doesn’t matter. It’s just her and me, looking at each other, both of us caught in the exact moment.
She blinks first, her lips curving into that smile that drives me crazy.
“They’re a good team, aren’t they?” she comments softly.
I nod, unable to tear my gaze away from her. “Yeah… they really are.”