Chapter Seventeen
He could relax. Ivy was having a good time.
There had been a few moments, especially at the beginning, when Grant had worried that she wasn’t into the date or, like Tony had suggested, didn’t know it was a date.
But she hadn’t used the word “friend” once, and anything concerning could be chalked up to her being as nervous as he was.
She’d loved her Diet Coke with Sprite, been delighted about her Junior Mints, and—this seemed the most important—had worn the locket. He hadn’t thought about that necklace in years, but as soon as he’d seen it, it had all come rushing back to him.
Maybe he’d had feelings for Ivy for a little longer than he’d thought.
The problem with a movie date was that they couldn’t talk.
Especially not with Kurt Clarkson sitting next to them, doing his part for the shushing police.
Could Grant talk the group into going somewhere after?
Curly’s would be open. It wasn’t his first choice for romance, but beggars couldn’t be choosers when they sucked at planning more than a step at a time.
Grant reached for another handful of popcorn, and his fingers brushed against Ivy’s.
When she didn’t snatch her hand away, he tentatively traced the graceful line of her index finger, scarcely daring to breathe in case it scared her.
When his fingertip reached hers again, she turned her finger so their pads rubbed together.
How desperate was he for this woman that their fingertips rubbing together was making his heart race? Pretty fucking desperate. He didn’t feel a single ounce of shame about it, either.
“Excuse us. Sorry. Excuse us.” The loud whisper came down the row as a mother and her young child stepped around people on their way toward the aisle. Ivy pulled her hand away.
“Sorry,” the mom whispered as she passed them. “They always have to use the bathroom at the worst time.”
Grant wanted to yell that yes, this was the worst time her kid could have picked because he’d been this close to holding Ivy’s hand.
He’d had one finger, and only another four to get through.
Scrooge was bargaining with the Ghost of Christmas Future.
The kid couldn’t have made it another ten minutes?
Then the shadow of Tony’s voice, like a snarky angel on his shoulder, asked if he could have gotten the last four fingers in the final ten minutes when it had taken him more than an hour to get the first one.
The last ten minutes of the movie, even without holding Ivy’s hand, were pure joy. It was the greatest part of any adaptation of A Christmas Carol because everyone, including Tiny Tim, was happy at the end. That joy was reflected on Ivy’s face.
As the cast began the final song, Grant leaned close to her and whispered, “This song is the counterpoint to the love song they cut from the Ghost of Christmas Past’s section.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re right! That’s the same tune.”
“Shh!” Kurt scolded, even though the credits were supposed to roll at any moment.
As the lights went up, Grant felt safe saying, “They cut it from the theatrical release but added it back to the VHS.”
“I was so confused when we played it that summer. I seriously thought I hallucinated that song.” She laughed. “Nothing like being gaslit by the Muppets.”
Their place on the aisle gave them an easy exit.
In the lobby, theater employees were passing out candy canes as patrons exited, thanking them for coming to the show.
In the middle, leaning heavily on his cane and passing out candy canes at the speed of a sloth, was the owner of the theater—and Grant and Ivy’s former boss.
“Mr. Donaldson!” Ivy shouted. She weaved through the crowd with no regard for Grant’s ability to keep up.
“Ivy Weaver?” Mr. Donaldson was pleasantly surprised. The wrinkles on his light-brown face multiplied as his smile grew. “I haven’t seen you in ages. You’re as pretty as a picture. Come here and give an old man a hug.”
She gave him a hug long enough to make up for all her time away from home. “I can’t believe you’re still working,” she said when she finally let go.
“Can’t seem to stop,” he said with a barking laugh that transformed into a muffled cough. “This is likely my last year, though. Ninety seems like a nice, round number to retire on.” He looked around the lobby wistfully. “It’ll be a shame to shut this place down.”
Ivy frowned. “Shut it down? Why?”
“No one to take over—well, no one who wants to keep it a movie theater. I’ve held out as long as I can, but I’ve run out of gas. I think it’s finally time to talk to one of those fancy developers who’s been knocking on my door.”
“When?” she asked, her heart breaking in her voice.
“I’ll see if I can make it through the summer,” Mr. Donaldson said, “but with my health the way it is, I don’t know.” He fished a candy cane from his basket and handed it to her. “Merry Christmas, Ivy.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Donaldson,” she mumbled and walked in a daze across the lobby. Grant followed a few feet behind.
He’d had a similar reaction when Mr. Donaldson had confided in him that he was going to be shutting down the theater. Confusion, sadness, and a pain so deep in his soul, he had a hard time sleeping for weeks. There was a solution somewhere, but it was a mirage, always out of reach.
Grant caught up to Ivy at one of the ornate doors leading to the street.
He’d spent countless hours buffing fingerprints from the brass frames and push plates, but now he was ready to shellac a protective layer over the prints Ivy left behind, just to ensure a piece of her never left Coeur-de-Lac.
He reached out to open the door for her, but she turned before he could.
Her hand went to his biceps, bringing them halfway to a slow dance.
“He’s not really shutting down, right?” Ivy said, her voice small. “You won’t let him.” Ivy looked up at him with so much hope and trust that it was a dagger to the heart.
“I can’t stop him,” he said as gently as he could manage. “He’s more than earned his retirement.”
“I can’t imagine this place not being here anymore.” She looked around the lobby, her eyes trailing over everything slowly, like she was memorizing it. “This was our childhood.”
“I remember.”
“Besides babysitting Piper, this was my first job,” she continued.
“I know, and it’s sad, but—”
“That movie was a lot funnier than I remember.” Tony’s voice, somehow louder than all the kids leaving the theater, cut him off. By the time Tony and Brad joined them, Ivy had plastered a happy smile on her face.
“So I was thinking,” Tony began, “that we could introduce Brad to the Coeur-de-Lac nightlife. The night is young and so are we and all that jazz.”
“We have nightlife?” Grant asked. He shifted his hand to Ivy’s lower back, shepherding her and the guys away from the door so they weren’t blocking an exit.
He let his hand linger there, over layers of outerwear and clothes, and imagined what her skin would feel like beneath all that wool and cotton.
Tony shrugged. “We have Curly’s. It has life and it’s night.”
“Close enough!” Brad declared. “Where is it?”
“Not far. We could walk if you want.”
Grant didn’t want to walk. He had a perfectly good truck parked right outside the theater that wouldn’t even have time to warm up before they made the short drive to Curly’s. But everyone else seemed agreeable, so he went along with the plan.
The night felt extra chilly after being inside the crowded theater. Grant zipped his coat to his chin.
“Cold?” Ivy teased, even as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. The melancholy that seemed to plague her inside the theater had ironically melted away in the biting night air.
“You are, too,” he pointed out with a wink.
“I keep thinking about how much worse it would be if I didn’t live in Boston. At least I’m acclimated.”
“How do you like Boston?” Grant asked.
Ivy folded her arms and shrugged. “It’s a great city. Tons of history. Gorgeous buildings. I just…” She hesitated, then looked up at him, touches of worry around the edges of her features. “Can I be honest?”
“Always.”
That must have been the right answer, because the worry faded.
“I don’t know if it’s the right city for me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great town, but—you know when a pair of pants you like first comes out of the dryer and they’re too tight, but then after a few hours they feel perfect, but then a few hours after that they’re too big? It’s like that.”
In one short metaphor, she’d managed to sum up how he had been feeling about work. Sometimes it was good, but most of the time it was an awkward fit.
“I’ve never thought of it that way before.”
“Was that too much of a downer?”
“No, not at all. Are you going to move?”
Ivy frowned. “I don’t know. I feel like my parents and I are playing chicken right now. I’m waiting to see where they’ll go; they’re waiting to see where I’ll go. No one is making any decisions. One of us needs to throw a dart at a map and call it a day.”
“Your parents are moving?” Grant’s foot caught an edge on the sidewalk and he stumbled. “Since when?”
“We’ve been talking about it for a while,” Ivy said, “but they finally said the words ‘we want to move’ in October. I came home this week to help them pack. Why do you seem so surprised? Didn’t your mom tell you?”
He shook his head. “No. I heard Paul was retiring, but no one has mentioned anything about a move. I would have heard, too. My mom would have been scheming to get them to stay. Probably my dad, too, because he wouldn’t want to get used to new neighbors.”
“You’re saying Grace doesn’t know? But they tell each other everything.”