Chapter Fourteen
Once her joints had thawed enough to move off the couch after Grant left, Ivy took a nice, hot shower, chasing the final remnants of cold from her body.
Hastings was sitting on the bath mat when she stepped out.
“I’m still mad at you,” she told the cat, maneuvering around him to apply her hair products. The cat rubbed against her legs while she scrunched in mousse and gel, little cat hairs sticking to her damp legs. It was the worst “sorry” she’d ever gotten in her life.
Unlike Grant’s. His apology had been something else. She’d been replaying bits and pieces of it all morning, letting the glow of their old connection warm her up from the inside out.
Ivy put on her coziest pajamas, topped by her old Coeur-de-Lac High School Theater Department Crew sweatshirt for good measure. In the kitchen, she filled the electric kettle and pushed the start button. Another cup of peppermint tea sounded heavenly.
The doorbell rang, followed three seconds later by a knock.
Who rang the doorbell and knocked? Ivy picked up Hastings before she opened the front door, refusing to have a repeat rescue mission.
“Austin?” She’d have been less surprised to find trick-or-treaters at the door. It wasn’t like he’d been trying relentlessly to get ahold of her since their mediocre date the night before.
Austin had his hands in his pockets, arms held close to his body. “Hey.” His eyes fell to her chest and he frowned. “You were in theater?”
“Only took you ten years to notice.” Ivy snapped her mouth shut too late. The inside thoughts had, once again, become outside thoughts. “I mean, yeah, I was part of the crew.”
Color rose to his cheeks and Austin shook his head a little. “Wow. Piper was really, really right. I literally had no idea you were there the whole time.”
Hastings wiggled in her arms, and Ivy scratched under his chin to settle him. “I don’t know how you missed me. I was right behind you. Literally.”
“Apparently I’m the only one who didn’t know that.” He shuffled his feet, looking appropriately sheepish. “Piper also pointed out that women who have a good time on a date do not immediately disappear after a goodnight kiss. So, I’ve got to know…how was the date for you? Honestly.”
“Honestly?” Ivy took a deep breath and forced down her impulse to protect his feelings. “It wasn’t great. You talked the entire time and managed not to ask me a single question about myself.”
Austin winced. “Did I really do that?”
“If it hadn’t been so awkward, it would have been impressive.”
“Can we pretend you got a surprise preview of my future one-man show and try again?”
Ivy raised a dubious eyebrow. “I don’t know, Austin…”
Maybe if he’d begged, cajoled, or harassed her to change her mind, she’d have remained resolute.
But his resigned “That’s fair” cracked her steeled reserves.
It wasn’t like she’d never put her worst foot forward on a first date.
And it was charming, probably, that he wanted a chance to try again.
Austin Underwood likely hadn’t had to do much trying with women in his lifetime.
She should be flattered. She could be flattered.
“Okay, fine,” she said, and had to fight a smile when Austin lit up. “But if you act like a self-absorbed jackass again, I’m leaving.”
“You have my permission to smack me upside the head if I deliver an encore performance.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “If you fail, your forfeit will be…dropping snow down your pants.”
“Oh, that’s cold.”
She grinned. “Head smacks last a moment, but frozen balls last a lifetime.”
He laughed, the kind of big, barking laugh that couldn’t be faked. When it settled into a more dignified chuckle, he asked, “Have you always been this funny?”
“Maybe you’d know if you ever asked me anything but what the answer to number fourteen was.”
He frowned like he was searching the dusty, cobwebbed corners of his brain. “Which class was that?”
“All of them.”
He winced. “Dear god, why did you like me?”
“Did Piper tell you that, too?” When he nodded, Ivy shrugged. “You were cute?”
“Speaking of second chances,” Austin began, taking a small step toward her. “The mistletoe is still there. Could we try that goodnight kiss again?”
Ivy could still feel Grant’s strong hands massaging life back into her frozen feet, the pressure lingering in her arches.
“Austin! What are you doing here?”
Her mom’s cheery greeting made Austin jump backward, like their welcome mat had developed an electric current.
“Mrs. Weaver!” Austin smiled big and hugged Sophie like a favorite aunt.
Sophie smiled at him warmly. “We are all so proud of you. Paul and I haven’t gotten a chance to watch your show—”
“You don’t have to,” Austin interjected quickly.
“But we think it’s so great that you’re out there in Hollywood making your dreams come true. I remember watching you in those plays when you and Ivy were in high school, thinking, gosh that boy had better go do something or I’m going to be mad.”
“You came to my plays?”
“Of course! You were there, and Ivy was in the crew. We wanted to support you both, even if she wasn’t onstage.”
“They brought you flowers,” Ivy reminded him, handing Hastings to her mother like the cat was made of rotten garbage. “Your son tried to run away today.”
“Sweet baby is probably sick of being cooped up.” Sophie kissed Hastings’s empty orange head. “He’s allowed outside in the summer. Austin, did you want to come in?”
“I should head home. Mom asked me to unload the dishwasher before she gets back, and I’m cutting that real close.”
“Some things never change. It was great to see you,” Sophie said, giving him a one-armed hug. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Of course.” He winked at Ivy. “I’ll text you later.”
She gave him a close-lipped smile, her focus trained inward. But still, no butterflies.
Sophie waited until Austin was at the end of their walkway before grinning at Ivy. “So the date went well? He’s coming by in person to follow up…”
“It went,” Ivy answered with fake enthusiasm.
She was under no illusions that her mother hadn’t found and read the numerous journals and poorly locked diaries that had Mrs. Austin Underwood scribbled all over them.
But she and Grace had made no secret of how convenient it would be if Ivy ended up with one of the Underwood siblings.
The mothers weren’t picky about who—they just thought it would be fun to validate their soul-mate-level friendship with a legal union.
“Can we talk about Dad’s retirement party? ”
“What about it?” Sophie wiggled out of her coat without putting Hastings down. The cat had his head nestled directly under her chin. “I haven’t been able to narrow down the guest list, but I really don’t think everyone will come.”
Ivy had been expecting that response. “I’ve given up on that. The problem is catering. Everyone is booked out already, Mom. It’s the holiday season. The best I can do is premade charcuterie and sandwich platters. If you want anything hot, we’ll have to do it ourselves.”
“Is that all?” Sophie wandered into the kitchen. “That’s perfect, honestly. No one ever really eats at these things anyway. Did you make me tea? That’s so sweet of you.”
In the time it took Ivy to open her mouth to protest, Sophie had picked up the mug and taken a sip. “Mmm…peppermint was a good choice. If I have any caffeine after two, I’m up all night.”
“You’re welcome,” Ivy said, mustering the impression of sincerity from the depths of her customer-service training. “So should I put in the platter orders for Dad’s party? We’re for sure doing this?”
“Absolutely.” Sophie kissed Ivy’s forehead. “Thank you so much, lovebug. End of semester is so busy for me, and having you home has taken such a weight off my shoulders.”
“I will print and mail invitations tomorrow,” Ivy promised.
“Could you, by any chance, hand deliver them? I worry about them getting lost in the mail. I can take the ones for the university to work, but if you could deliver the ones in town…” Her mother gave her a hopeful smile.
“I can do that.”
Maybe she could get Austin to join her. Nothing said Punishment Second Date like running errands for someone else’s mom.
After dinner, they settled in front of the TV for some quality PBS programming. They’d been deep in debate about whether the painting on Antiques Roadshow was going to be worth anything when the doorbell rang. All three Weavers jumped.
“I’ll get it,” Ivy offered, hopping up before either of her parents could argue. It had been a day for Underwoods to show up at the door, so maybe this time it was Piper.
The doorbell rang again just as she reached the front entrance. If it was a door-to-door salesman, she was going to—
“Brad!”
Her beanpole best friend had gained another twenty pounds in outerwear. When she hugged him, it was all puffy coat and tightly wrapped scarf.
“God, no wonder Boston doesn’t bother you. What kind of arctic tundra did you grow up in?”
She was so happy she could have burst. “What are you doing here?”
“You texted me SOS, get your ass to Wisconsin. Twice. What else was I supposed to do?”
“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” Ivy said, dragging Brad inside before Hastings got any ideas about mounting another escape. “Aren’t you supposed to be flying?”
Brad scoffed dismissively. “Ugh. Marcia Cheney swapped in to my trip, so I dropped it like a hot potato. There is not enough money in the world to make me want four days of that… Plus, I got to come see you!” He began divesting himself of his layers. “So the date didn’t go well?”
“It was awful,” Ivy said, hanging up his clothes as he took them off. “But he showed up today, apologized, and asked me out again.”
Brad gasped. “No way.”
“Yes way.”
“This is great! Why aren’t you more excited?”
Ivy folded his scarf a few times and tucked it into the pocket of his big coat. “Because he kissed me and I felt…nothing. That can’t be a good sign, right?”
“I mean, if the date was lackluster, I can see how you weren’t in the right headspace to appreciate the kiss,” he reasoned, taking off his shoes. “Plus, all those years of pining… No one can compete with the fantasy you built up in your head.”
She frowned. “I guess you’re right…”
Brad took her by the shoulders and bent his long frame to look her in the eyes. “Babe. You kissed Austin Underwood.”
“He kissed me,” she corrected, like it mattered.
“Ivy?” Sophie called, her voice growing closer. “Who’s at the door?”
“Say it’s carol singers,” Brad suggested with a cheeky grin. Ivy rolled her eyes.
“Brad!” Sophie squealed with delight. Her parents loved Brad. He’d sung off-key karaoke with her mom in Miami and toured the national museums in DC with her dad. They were completely sincere when they told him he was the son they never had.
“Sophie!” Brad hugged her with the same enthusiasm he’d used to embrace Ivy. “I missed you, Mama Weaver!”
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, first, I have a semi-codependent relationship with your daughter and you stealing her from me for weeks on end was not working for me. Second, since you’re selling this gorgeous house, this is my last chance to see where Ivy’s origin story took place.”
“How long are you staying?”
“I have to head back Tuesday, unless flight loads turn to shit over the weekend. No rest for the wicked.”
Hastings trotted out to investigate the commotion, sniffing Brad’s socked feet.
“Kitty!” he shouted, delighted.
“You can have him,” Ivy said with thinly veiled disdain.
“Do I hear my favorite Brad?” Paul shouted from the other room.
“I’m so glad your parents love me,” Brad said while he helped Ivy change the sheets on the guest bed. “Not every family is so cool about a man showing up on their doorstep unannounced, demanding food and lodgings.”
“Until the cat came along, you were the favorite son,” she pointed out, bouncing a pillow into its case.
Brad looked around the guest room. “I thought you were here to help them pack. Are the boxes stacked in the garage or something?”
“I keep trying to pack, but my parents find other chores for me to do. Before I start boxing up their worldly goods, I’m supposed to catalog my dad’s books so he knows what he has and can give me a ‘packing plan.’”
Brad blinked at her like she’d spoken in tongues. “But your dad is an English professor. Books are his life. He has so many books.”
“I know. And he wants it done like I have a masters in library sciences.” Ivy tossed the pillow toward the bed’s headboard.
“Meanwhile, Mom has me planning a surprise retirement party for my dad. The guest list is unreasonably long and she sent me a list of caterers to run down, only to tell me today that a party sub from the supermarket would be fine.” She flopped onto the mattress, bouncing when she landed.
“I’m going to kill them, I swear to God. ”
Brad sat next to her, crossing his long legs under each other. “Daddy Braddy is here now, and we can make this happen. We can plan this party, organize your dad’s library, and get you hooked up with a Hollywood heartthrob. We can do all the things.”
Ivy stared at the ceiling, searching for shapes in the popcorn texture like it was made of clouds. Grant’s face kept forming in her mind, and she felt the pressure of his fingers on her thigh and around her waist. They were going to be friends again.
“I talked to Grant today.”
“Did you tell him to go to hell?”
Ivy shook her head minutely. “No. He rescued me from a tree.”
“A tree?” Brad’s voice pitched into an octave akin to shrill. “Why did you need to be rescued from a tree?”
She sighed. “Hastings got out, I chased him, we ended up a tree, and Grant rescued us. Carried me Bodyguard style back to the house and everything.”
Brad leaned forward, eyes sparkling with interest. “Wait…so…” The air was thick with insinuation.
“No! No…he did apologize, though, and asked if I wanted his extra ticket to The Muppet Christmas Carol.”
“He asked you out!” Brad fell to his side, overcome by the information. “I can’t handle this. You’re dating brothers.”
“I’m not dating anyone!” Her voice was so much louder than she’d intended that she whisper-yelled the rest. “I have been on one mediocre date with Austin, and Grant asked me to the movie as a friend. He literally called it an olive branch. No one calls a date an olive branch.”
Brad cackled, laughing so hard he could barely breathe, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Oh, my sweet, beautiful dewdrop.”
“What is so funny? I’m serious! Grant has never seen me as anything other than a friend. We are not even a possibility because he is—and I cannot emphasize this enough—so far out of my league, I might as well be from Mars.”
“Let me get this straight.” He propped himself up on his forearm. “The rising Hollywood star asked you out on a date and that seemed reasonable, but the good boy who stayed in his hometown to work for his dad asked you to a movie and there’s no way it could possibly be a date?”
“He called it an olive branch!” Ivy insisted.
Brad patted her hand. “Okay, precious.”