Chapter 16
Remy
The tree farm is buzzing and humming with life. Couples, families, and kids run from tree to tree, arguing over which one is “the one.” The photographer is back, and families have come in from hours away to take part and pick out the perfect family tree. And Ivy? She’s in her element.
She’s standing by the big display wreath, talking to a couple about tree care, her hands gesturing animatedly as she explains how to keep their tree fresh until Christmas like I showed her.
She’s smiling so wide it hurts to look at her—not that I’ve been able to stop looking, anyway.
I’ve been smiling like a fool, and I’m practically floating around the place.
I hoist a fresh-cut tree onto my shoulder, carrying it toward a customer’s truck. Halfway across the lot, I glance back just in time to catch her staring at me. Really staring.
When our eyes meet, she gives me a sexy smirk, and I see the pink in her cheeks.
I grin, bigger than I mean to, and damn, if it doesn’t feel good.
By noon, we’re starving, so I pull her into the small office and shut the door behind us. The little heater hums as we sit across from each other at the desk, unwrapping sandwiches and brushing pine needles off the paperwork.
Ivy takes one bite of hers, then immediately leans over and snags a chip from my bag.
“Hey,” I protest.
She grins around the chip like she’s innocent.
“You don’t even like this kind,” I say. But really, she could have anything she wants.
“I changed my mind. Yours taste better,” she says with a shrug, popping another one in her mouth.
I lean back in my chair and just watch her for a beat, the way her hair is messy from the wind, her cheeks still pink from the cold, her lips curved in that smug little smile.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, voice low.
“Yeah.”
I push back from the desk and cross to her side before I think twice.
“Remy,” she laughs softly, but she’s already grinning when I lean down and kiss her, quick but firm.
She squeaks against my mouth, then laughs, swatting at my chest.
“That was for the chip,” I murmur against her lips.
She grabs another chip from the bag, eyes sparking with mischief. “Worth it.”
Ivy heads home to take care of Junie, and I get back to work. The day flies by with all of the things we have to get done. But thanks to Ivy helping, I’m able to get home sooner every night now.
By the time the sun sets, and the last tree is tied to the last roof rack, I’m bone tired but still riding on a high of happiness that I get to go home to them.
Inside, Ivy and Junie are settled at the kitchen table with the big wooden advent calendar box Finn built for Junie. They’re planning how to paint little numbers on the doors, and Ivy is patiently showing Junie the doors and how to number them.
I stand in the kitchen for a minute, just watching.
Junie is laughing so hard at a joke Ivy told her, she’s clutching her sides, and Ivy’s right there with her, hair falling into her face as she shakes her head.
She’s wearing one of my old sweatshirts, sleeves rolled up, and she looks like she’s been sitting at that table with us forever. Like she belonged here this whole time.
Something tightens in my chest, a sharp ache that’s not painful, just overwhelming.
I want this. Without a doubt in my body, I want this so badly.
I want Ivy in my kitchen, Junie laughing, the three of us making new memories instead of just holding on to what could have been.
But I’m afraid to want this.
Ivy looks up then, catching me staring, and her expression softens. Like she sees right through me and likes what she finds there.
“Come sit with us,” she says, patting the empty chair.
I cross the room, sit down next them, and Junie hands me a paintbrush to help paint the numbers.
“Help us, Dad,” she says excitedly.
I nod, but I’m not looking at the box.
I’m looking at Ivy, and the way her smile feels like a promise.
The house is quiet now after a long day.
I push Junie’s bedroom door open just enough to peek inside. She’s asleep, tangled in her blankets, Lola curled up at her feet, her tail swooshing across the covers when she sees me peeking in.
I pull the door closed, leaving it open a crack, and head down the hall.
The kitchen light is still on, casting a warm glow over everything. Ivy’s standing at the counter, making sandwiches for all our lunches tomorrow, her hair loose and falling around her shoulders.
She looks over her shoulder when she hears me, smiling that soft smile that does me in every time.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey. You don’t have to do that. I can make our lunches,” I tell her.
I cross the kitchen and lean against the counter beside her. For a second, we just stand there, not speaking, like neither of us wants to break the moment.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, meaning it. “Better than okay.”
I reach out and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. My fingers brush her cheek, and she tilts her face toward my hand, her breath catching just slightly.
“You were amazing today,” I tell her. “With the customers. With Junie.”
Her lips curve. “You were pretty great yourself.”
Something inside me loosens. I didn’t realize how tight I’d been holding everything until this moment with the farm, all the responsibility, the fear of letting someone into my space. I’ve been protecting this space for so long that letting my guard down hasn’t been easy.
I step closer, my hand sliding to the back of her neck.
“It feels like you’ve always been here,” I admit, my voice low. “Like this is how it was supposed to be.”
She swallows hard, her eyes shining. “Remy…”
I kiss her then, slow and deep, because there’s no way to say what I’m feeling without it.
She rises on her toes, pressing closer, and I can feel the smile against my mouth when I cup her face and kiss her again.
“I’m glad you’re here, and I’m sorry I was a dick to you at first,” I say when I finally pull back, breathing hard.
“Good,” she whispers and reminds me, “because I’m not going anywhere.”
That reminder hits me right in the chest. I rest my forehead against hers, just breathing her in, letting it sink in that she’s really here, that she wants this. I need the reminders.
“Come sit with me,” I say, nodding toward the couch.
We curl up together under the throw blanket, her head on my shoulder, my arm around her. The house is quiet except for the crackling of the fireplace.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like the future might actually look better than the past.
And with Ivy pressed against me, warm and soft, I can’t wait to find out what comes next.
Ivy is in my sweatshirt and soft leggings, bare feet on the bathroom tile, brushing her teeth at the sink.
Her hair is loose and wild from the shower, damp at the ends, a natural and careless kind of pretty that makes my chest feel tight.
She catches my reflection in the mirror over the sink and smiles with her eyes before she smiles with her mouth.
Toothpaste, foam and all. I don’t know why that undoes me, but it does.
“Hi,” she says around a mouthful, and it comes out like a laugh.
“Hi.” I lean on the doorframe with my arms crossed, pretending I am not staring. “You leave the cap off that toothpaste again, and we are going to need a serious talk.”
She pulls the toothbrush out, rinses, spits, and flicks a little water at me with her fingers. “Or what? You’ll punish me?”
I push off the door frame and come up behind her, palms sliding over the front of the counter on either side of her hips. My chest fits against her back. She smells of clean skin and the vanilla stuff she used in the shower. I meet her eyes in the mirror, and for a second both of us go quiet.
“No, because you seem to like punishment,” I say, my voice low, not meaning to say anything at all, but there it is. “I like this with you, even when you’re a brat.”
Her smile softens. “Me, too.”
I press a kiss to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.
She shivers, not from cold, and I feel it everywhere.
My hands find her waist. Her hands cover mine.
In the mirror, my sweatshirt hangs off one shoulder, and I am a goner for the sight of her in my clothes.
I let my mouth trace a slow path up the line of her neck to the corner of her jaw.
She tilts her head to make room for me, and the small sound she makes is grateful and a little greedy.
“Careful,” she whispers. “Junie is asleep.”
“I know,” I say, but I don’t move away. I kiss behind her ear and feel her melt back into me. The mirror catches everything. The way my hands span her hips. The way her eyes go heavy and half-lidded. The way I am not trying to hide a single thing anymore.
She turns in my arms and hooks her fingers into the front of my sweatshirt. The counter nudges into the small of her back. We are close enough that breathing feels like a choice. I tip my forehead to hers and taste the last sweet hint of mint on her breath.
“You are staring,” she says softly.
“Yeah,” I say. I don’t bother to deny it. “Been doing a lot of that lately.”
She laughs into my mouth as I kiss her. It starts easy, sweet. Her hands slide up my chest to my neck, and the kiss deepens because I cannot help it, and she does not want me to. Her mouth parts for mine like she has been waiting for this all night.
I kiss her slow. I kiss her like it is the one thing I know how to do right. The counter presses into her back, and she arches into me, and I can feel the heat of her through the cotton. Every part of me goes unsteady.
I pull back an inch and just look at her. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips are kiss-bitten. She is beautiful in the bright light, not hiding in shadows, not trying to angle herself into anything else. Just Ivy. I could fall to my knees to thank whatever stubborn grace moved her back into my life.
“Come on,” I say. “Bed.”
She blinks, playful and shy at once. “You need better pillow talk than that, Bennett.”