Chapter 6 #2
“Look,” I say, jaw tight. “If you need something, you ask me. This is my shop, not Finn’s. If you keep overstepping, you’re fired.”
“Understood.” She nods. “So do I have approval to make it not a fire hazard?”
Finn glares at me and shakes his head.
I exhale and rub a thumb over the edge of the counter. The new layout works. I know it. She did in one pass what I put off for months, and pride stings.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But stop subcontracting my family for repairs.”
“Your family is great,” she says, light again, giving Finn a hug. “Thanks for helping, Finn.”
I stand there watching this like I’m going to crash out watching him touch her. Finn smirks at me over Ivy’s shoulder and wiggles his eyebrows. I narrow my eyes at him.
She brushes past me to hang a strand of lights under the shelf. The scent of her shampoo hits me. Orange and something sweet, I can't figure out. I step back and close my eyes as if the smell is dangerous.
“Careful,” I grumble. “That ladder isn’t very solid.”
“Don't worry,” she says, climbing anyway. “Finn is spotting me.”
Finn grins up at her. “I am the best spotter on this side of Wisteria Cove.”
I’m going to murder him if he keeps grinning at her like that. I don’t want him spotting her. I don’t want him to do anything with her.
I hate how quickly they get along. She did not ask me to help.
She did not even look to see if I would help.
And she’s barely glanced at me. It’s like I’m not even here.
She made that comment the other day about my not liking her.
Why would she even think that? Maybe it's her who doesn't like me. And I get that. Hell, sometimes I don’t even like me.
I grumble and head to the back to grab more twine, so I have something to do.
Then, I circle out the side door and come back in, as if it was always my plan.
Ivy is down from the ladder, taping the cocoa flavors to the front of the counter.
Her eyes are bright, and she hums along to music she has playing.
“You know this is temporary,” I say. It sounds like a reminder to her, but really…it’s a warning for me.
“I know,” she says in a singsong voice, still not looking at me. “Through the holidays.”
“Through the holidays,” I repeat dryly.
She lifts her chin. “Plenty of time to make it magical for Junie.”
I want to say something, but she’s right. This is about Junie. Not about me. Not about me wanting her. Junie deserves this. And I can’t mess it up for her. Junie’s had enough people let her down in her life. Especially her own mother.
Ivy climbs back up, moving too fast, her hands too loose on the wrung of the ladder. The legs wobble, tilting the whole frame. She stumbles. Her gasp is soft but loud.
I move without thinking.
One second she’s flailing, and the next, she’s in my arms.
Her body collides with mine, so soft, warm, and real, that I freeze, my hands instinctively tightening around her waist. She smells like cinnamon and cold air and whatever lotion she uses that’s been driving me quietly insane for days.
My heart kicks hard in my chest. She looks up at me, startled, cheeks flushed, and for a beat too long, neither of us moves. Or speaks.
I blink, like that’ll shake it off. “You are a walking red flag, Ivy,” I mutter, shaking my head as I set her gently back on her feet.
My palms are still burning. I wipe them on my jeans, trying to play it cool, but I curl my hands in on themselves.
I’m not sure if I’m trying to keep hold of the sensation of her warmth in the center of my palms, or I’m trying desperately not to reach for her again. But God help me, I am so screwed.
I set her down and step back, giving her room to stand on her own. Her mouth opens. Then she smiles slowly and surely. “You call them red flags. I call them ten fun facts you did not know about me.”
Finn, fixing the outlet, laughs.
I should shut this down and send her back to the house. Instead, I hear myself say, “Name three.”
She taps the marker against her lips as if she’s thinking. I should not watch her mouth. I do anyway, wishing I were that pen.
“One. I can parallel park a truck and trailer in one try,” she says with a confident smile. “Two. I can make homemade marshmallows that taste like a campfire and a fluffy cloud had a baby. Three. I can get your kid to brush her teeth and go to bed without a fight.”
My reply dies somewhere behind my teeth. I set the twine on the counter and look anywhere except at her. “Good, she needs extra brushing if you’re making marshmallows with her.”
“This looks so much better than the shitshow you had going on in here,” Finn says, helpful as a shovel to the face.
“I noticed,” I say.
We fall into work, and Ivy keeps moving. She loops ribbon through the wreath display, then shifts a crate three inches and somehow makes the entire wall look better.
Ivy goes to get Junie from the bus and brings her back to show off the farm stand with a snack she prepared for her.
Junie is holding Ivy’s hand and talking her ear off, and Ivy is listening intently.
She immediately runs to me and wraps me in a big hug when she sees me.
“Hi, Dad. Ivy says I can help out in the store with her, but then we have to go do dinner and take my bath.”
“Hey Juniebug. She did, did she?” I say as I glance over at Ivy, who is already chatting up customers and helping them. Great. More smiles for everyone but me.
Customers trickle in. A dad with two kids who want the tallest tree on earth.
A couple arguing about Balsam versus Frasers.
Ivy sells cocoa to all of them, listens, laughs, then sends them to me with a nod that says, trust him.
It puts people at ease. It puts me on edge.
She’s in my space, and I hate it. Okay, I hate how I turn into an even bigger doofus when she’s around.
Like I forget how to talk and walk. And everything comes out of my mouth sharper than intended.
Junie hands out coloring sheets to all the kids with Christmas trees on them and upsells all the treats and toys alongside Ivy. I’ll admit, everything is going great. And it feels great having Ivy and Junie around.
When the rush dips, Ivy slides a cup across the counter toward me. “Taste test.”
I fold my arms. “I don’t have time for taste tests.”
“You have time for this one,” she says with a grin and meets my eyes. “Peppermint. With the marshmallows that taste like an ice cream blizzard.”
Tate shows up and takes one and moans like a dramatic idiot. “Holy. That should be illegal.”
I lift mine and take a sip. It is stupid-good. I don’t give her the satisfaction of a full reaction. She sees through me, anyway. Her smile is small. Pleased, but not gloating.
“Stop improving things,” I say under my breath.
“Why,” she says softly, giving me a look like she’s challenging me. “Are you going to fire me?”
Oh, there are a lot of things I’d like to do to Ivy. Firing her is not one of them.
“You should sell more of these marshmallows. They’re amazing,” Tate tells her, and I give him a dirty look that tells him not to encourage her.
I look through the front window instead. Snow flurries drift across the lot. The tree rows blur into a watercolor of green and white. For a second, I imagine this whole place the way she sees it. A place of happiness and traditions.
Junie pulls papers out of her backpack. “We made a star map in class,” she tells her, breathless. “It looks like our treasure map, but in the sky.”
Ivy crouches to her level. “Then we need star cookies tonight. With extra edible glitter.”
Junie spins. “Daddy, can Ivy sleep over forever?”
The room tilts. I tug my cap low to hide whatever crosses my face. “We’ll talk about it later, bug.”
Ivy stands and smooths Junie’s hat. She moves back into the flow of customers as if she has been here for years, and it’s her personal farm store.
She is everywhere at once. Handing out napkins, ringing up a wreath, and telling a story that makes an old man linger to hear the end.
She is bright enough to make people gather.
She's captivating enough to make them stay.
It is good for the farm. It is good for my kid, and that terrifies me. Because when she leaves, we’re left without the brightness. We’re left in the cold.
Tate nudges my shoulder. “You gonna keep pretending she’s not doing you a favor and turning this place completely around?”
“I know she is,” I snap. The words taste like surrender. “That’s the problem.”
He laughs softly. “Finn called it when he said you were allergic to help.”
I watch Ivy tie a candy cane to a bag with a neat red bow. She catches me looking. For a heartbeat, we hold our gazes. Something flickers, and I look away first.
Through the holidays. That is what I told my mom and me. We can’t get used to this. Ivy will leave us, too.
But as Ivy flits through the farm like a Christmas fairy, Junie orbiting her like a planet that has finally found its sun, I cannot shake the thought that letting her in might be the biggest mistake I make.
Or it might possibly be the only thing that saves us.