Chapter Twelve #2
Ivy climbed down the tree like she’d never seen one in her entire life, much less spent her childhood summers trying to keep up with the more athletic Underwood kids as they scaled various neighborhood trunks.
There were a few close calls where her stiff, frozen fingers and toes didn’t want to live up to humankind’s evolutionary origins, but she made it to the lowest supportive branch.
There she paused, unsure how she was supposed to jump and have Grant catch her.
“Are you sure about this? I’m not small and portable like Hastings.”
“Do you think I’m too weak to catch you?”
“No! I think I’m too big!”
“You are the perfect size. Now jump, dammit.”
Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, pushed away from the tree, and screamed as she plummeted to the ground. She collided with Grant’s solid form, and he stumbled back a step but didn’t fall. Hastings yowled, loud and sharp, from inside the jacket, not happy about being squished between the humans.
“Ow!” Grant yelped, but held Ivy steady with one hand while he fished inside his jacket for Hastings, whose claws were hooked into his shirt. “I don’t think he liked that as much as I did.”
“Silly boy,” Ivy chastised the cat, helping Grant unhook his deceptively sharp claws. “I’m sorry. He’s very orange today.”
“It’s okay. I’d probably react the same way if someone jumped on me when I was snuggled up all nice and warm.” Grant chuckled, easygoing and good-natured for someone whose chest probably looked like Hastings had played tic-tac-toe on it…in blood.
Ivy tucked Hastings back into the robe, partly for the extra warmth from his body and partly so the bastard would have to try harder to run away.
“Thanks for helping us,” she said to Grant, taking two steps toward her parents’ house.
“What are you doing?”
She looked from Grant to her house and back. “I’m…going home?”
“You don’t have any shoes on.”
“I know, which is why I’m going home. Standing here talking to you about how I have no shoes on isn’t making any shoes appear.”
Grant closed the space between them. “Hold on to the cat.”
“What do you mea— Oh my god!” Grant had curled one arm around her back and hooked the other underneath her knees, swinging her up into his arms like they’d just gotten married and he was going to carry her over the threshold. “What are you doing?”
“Carrying you home,” he said, his first few steps a little wobbly as he got used to the added weight.
“I can walk!” she protested.
“You don’t have any shoes on,” he reminded her, “and your feet look so cold they’re making my feet hurt.”
She couldn’t argue with his logic. And even if she could, she wouldn’t want to.
Her feet were so cold they burned, and…it was nice to be taken care of for once.
So much of her life was spent taking care of other people with no one to return the favor, so she was going to sink into this feeling for the two minutes it would take him to carry her across their lawns and deposit her at her door.
Grant paused to readjust, bouncing her in his arms. Ivy became hyperaware of all ten of his fingers on her body, especially the five on her upper thigh. Hot, anticipatory tingles spread from his fingers along her skin, settling low in her belly.
Fuck. She was getting more excited by Grant carrying her than she had by Austin kissing her.
But that couldn’t be right. She was probably just touch-starved.
She wasn’t exaggerating when she’d told Brad she couldn’t remember when she’d last gone on a date.
Her memory grew even fuzzier when she tried to recall the last time she’d been naked in the presence of someone who wasn’t a medical professional. Recreationally naked.
If the multiverse theory presented in comic books and movies was true, there wasn’t a single reality where Grant saw her as anything other than the neighbor girl.
He had always been kind to her, making sure she felt included in the Underwood kids’ games, riding his bike slowly so she could keep up with the group.
The summer they’d worked together at the movie theater, he would drive her home on the nights they closed together, loading her bike into the bed of his truck so she wouldn’t get gear grease on her uniform. He would have done the same for Piper.
It was one of life’s great tragedies that Grant didn’t believe Austin could be interested in Ivy, because the unspoken truth behind his dismissal all those years ago was that he could never be interested in her, either.
As improbable as Austin’s affections had been throughout her life, Grant’s had been wholly impossible.
Which was probably why his honesty after her confession about Austin had hurt so much.
Why it still hurt, still swirled inside her like powder-light snow in a windstorm, all these years later.
Grant Underwood was a goddamn catch, and if he didn’t think she could land Austin, she had a less-than-zero chance with him.
“I can climb the stairs,” Ivy offered when they reached her front porch. Grant glared at her. “Or not.”
Grant’s jaw tightened as he carried her and Hastings up the porch steps. He awkwardly opened the front door, kicking it shut behind him to prevent any further feline jailbreaks, and made his way to the couch nearest the fireplace.
Lowering her to the couch was not the graceful deposit of a princess on a bed of flowers. It was more like…heaving the last log on a woodpile. Grant lost his balance and dropped her onto the soft cushions, but caught himself on the arm and back of the couch so he didn’t squash her.
Their eyes locked, big and round, and for a moment, Ivy’s rib cage was too small for her lungs. It didn’t help that every breath was filled with Grant’s scent: freshly cut wood, cold hair, and one of the spicy scents marketed toward men.
“Let’s get you warm,” Grant said, color spreading across his cheeks.
For the length of a heartbeat, Ivy hoped he’d use his body to keep her warm, but he righted himself and took a blanket from the basket by the couch instead.
He tucked her in like a child, nice and tight.
Hastings popped his head out from under the blanket, looked around, then darted away.
Grant moved through the living room like he’d been there a thousand times, lighting a fire in the fireplace.
The Midwestern part of Ivy that didn’t want to be a burden or a bother cried out to tell him that he didn’t have to do all this, that she’d be fine on her own, but the affection-starved-woman part of her wanted to see what he was going to do next.
What he did next was head toward the kitchen.
Ivy sat up and craned her neck, trying to see what he was doing.
She heard a cupboard close, the clink of porcelain on the stone counter, the faucet turn on and off, then the click of the electric kettle being turned on.
When she heard water filling the mug, Ivy laid back down quickly, like she’d never tried to spy on him.
“This needs to steep for a few minutes,” he said, holding out the steaming mug to her handle-first.
“Thanks,” Ivy said sheepishly as she took it. The heat hurt her hands as they thawed, but after a few moments, it was quite pleasant. She inhaled the steam. “Mmm…peppermint.”
How had he known where the tea was kept? And the mugs?
“Spend a lot of time here?” she asked.