Chapter 18
Remy
Junie bounces on the couch, clutching her overnight bag like it’s a golden ticket.
Lola is planted at her feet, tail thumping against the floor every time Junie moves to look out the window to watch for Lilith.
She’s nervous about whether she gets to go with her favorite tiny person or not.
It’s become clear to everyone that Junie is Lola’s chosen person, and I’m okay with it.
More than okay with it. I love that they have each other.
“Lilith said we’re making moon water tonight!” Junie crows. “And dream catchers! With real gem beads!”
I smile even though my chest feels tight. I love that Junie has so many people here that love and support her. “Sounds like you’re gonna have the best night ever, bug.”
“She said we can mix potions, too.” Junie’s voice drops to a whisper, conspiratorial. “Real witch potions.”
I glance at Ivy, who’s leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching the whole thing with that soft smile she tries to hide. The sight of her standing there, hair loose, wearing one of those slouchy sweaters that make me think of fireplaces and kissing her, almost makes me lose my mind.
Almost. I’m focused because I’ve got something planned. And I’m nervous if she’s going to love it or not.
“You about ready?” I ask Ivy.
Her brow arches. “Ready for what?”
I swallow, trying to keep my voice casual. “Be ready to go at six. Both of you,” I nod at Junie. “Lilith’s coming for you at six. Then we have plans after.”
“What about Lola?” Ivy asks.
“We’ll find out if she likes cats,” I say, crouching to scratch Lola’s ears. “She goes everywhere Junie goes, right? Lilith said she’d love to have her granddog over for a sleepover, too.”
Junie nods solemnly, as if this is a sacred truth. “She loves you, Ivy, but you’re second place now. Sorry.”
Ivy laughs, low and warm, and the sound wraps around me and makes my chest tight in a good way. “That’s okay, bug.”
By the time six o’clock hits, Junie is zipped into her coat, hair in pigtails, ready to go. Lilith pulls into the drive with her old Honda Pilot, and Junie takes off like she’s headed for summer camp. Lola gallops after her. Ivy stands on the porch, watching with fond eyes.
When the car disappears with both of them waving, she looks at me. “So now what?”
I tug on my coat, heart pounding. “Now we wait.”
“For what?”
The answer comes with the crunch of snow on the drive. A soft jingle of bells. Ivy’s mouth parts as the horse-drawn sleigh glides into view, lanterns swinging gently at the corners. The white sleigh is decorated for Christmas with greenery and red bows.
“Oh my gosh,” she whispers.
I grab the two big quilts off the couch and drape one over her shoulders. “We’re getting picked up,” I say, proud of myself for keeping this a secret.
Ten minutes later, after petting the horses and talking to the driver, we’re bundled under the quilts, side by side, as the sleigh glides across the property.
The horses snort clouds into the snowy night air, their hooves crunching rhythmically.
The whole place is lit up with strings of lights on every fence line, the barn glowing warm, wreaths hanging from the paddock gates.
A light snow falls, lazy flakes catching in Ivy’s hair. She tilts her face toward the sky, smiling.
“This is…” she trails off, breath visible in the air.
“Yeah.” I can barely talk around the lump in my throat.
The driver pulls to a stop near the tree line, giving us a moment to walk. I help her down, keeping her hand in mine, not ready to let go.
“What’s your favorite job been?” I ask as we walk through the quiet.
She laughs softly. “Favorite?” She thinks for a moment. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a favorite. I never stay anywhere for too long.”
“Why?” I ask curiously.
Her shoulders lift. “If I don’t stay too long…get too close…then people can’t leave me. Or die.” The last word is a whisper.
I stop walking, turn toward her. Her eyes are shiny in the moonlight, and my chest aches. “Ivy—”
She says the last part so quietly I almost miss it.
“My dad,” she says. “And Tate’s dad. When they all went missing, we all had to figure out how to keep breathing without them. And it was so hard. It broke something inside me. He was my dad.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My breath catches, sharp and heavy.
I just stand there, taking it in.
God. I hadn’t seen it before. I thought I was the one who needed to keep my distance.
The one carrying the damage. But she’s been carrying it, too.
All this time, I kept telling myself I was protecting my daughter.
Protecting Ivy. Protecting myself. But I was just afraid.
Afraid that if I let her in, she’d leave like my ex did and take pieces of me with her.
But here Ivy is, cracked open in front of me, admitting that she’s just as scared of love as I am.
But she has lost and persevered and still retained that big, beautiful, trusting heart.
We’re both standing in the same place, afraid to reach out. Afraid to lose.
She is looking at the ground, not at me, her hands fisted at her sides like she is holding herself together with everything she has left.
“Come here,” I say, quiet. I don’t want to tower over her when she is giving me something this vulnerable.
She hesitates for just a heartbeat, then steps forward, and I pull her against me. I hold her as tight as I can without crushing her.
“I am so sorry,” I say into her hair. “I am so damn sorry you went through that.”
Her breath shakes, and I can feel the tremor through my arms where they circle her.
When she pulls back, her eyes are wet, and I wipe her cheeks with my thumbs, slow and careful.
“You are the strongest person I know,” I say. “You kept going when everything felt impossible. And look at you now. You are building something beautiful. A life. A family. You amaze me, Ivy.”
Her chest rises and falls like she is finally letting herself exhale. “It still hurts. Sometimes it feels like it just happened yesterday.”
“I know,” I say. My voice feels rough. “I cannot take that pain away, but I can carry it with you. You don’t have to hold it alone anymore. You have us.”
Her eyes find mine, searching, and I make sure she sees all of it. That I am here. That I am not going anywhere.
She nods, just once, and I press my forehead to hers and breathe with her until we both feel steadier.
“Remy?” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for not running when I get like this.”
I give her a soft smile. “I’m not a runner.”
Her lips curve the slightest bit. “I know.”
“Good,” I say, and kiss her. Slow. Deep. Her fingers curl in my shirt, and I feel the last of the weight leave her shoulders.
I squeeze her hand. “I worry about losing people. About Junie…about you.” My voice goes low. “I can’t—” I shake my head. “I can’t go through that again.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “We both fear losing someone we love. We’re a mess.”
I nod and squeeze her hand a little and pull her in closer. I stop and pull her in toward me.
The snow swirls between us, quiet and soft, like the world is holding its breath. She looks at me like I’ve just handed her something fragile and holy.
“Remy,” she says, and my name sounds like a promise. Like a vow she has already made in her heart.
I look straight into her eyes, and it feels like the rest of the world falls away. “Yeah?”
Her breath comes quick and uneven, and I can see it between us, curling in the cool night air. “I’m falling in love with you,” she says.
For a moment, I just let the words wash over me, warming every part of me that used to feel frozen. My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my throat.
I step in closer, close enough to catch every flicker in her eyes. “I think I’ve been in love with you for so long,” I say, my voice low and certain.
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Then she lets out a startled laugh, tears bright in her eyes.
“You’re serious,” she whispers, like she wants to be sure.
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “I have never been more serious about anything in my life.”
“So am I,” she says, her voice barely there. “I want to see where this goes with us.”
Something inside me unlocks, like I have been holding my breath for years and finally let it go.
The world is so quiet I can hear the distant jingle of the horses, the soft hush of snow landing on the trees. I reach up and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, slow, careful, like she might vanish if I rush.
She shivers, but I know it isn’t from the cold.
I cup her cheek and let my thumb brush her skin. “Then stay,” I whisper. “Stay with me. Let’s build something together.”
Her breath catches, and then she smiles, soft and full of something that feels like forever.
“Ivy.” My voice feels raw. “I want every day to be mistletoe and magic. I want everything with you.”
Her answer is a whisper that slams straight through me. “Me, too.”
I don’t hesitate. I cup her jaw and cover her mouth with mine, slow at first, like I’ve got all the time in the world, then deeper when she rises on her toes and presses into me.
Snowflakes melt against her skin, against my own, and the rest of the night vanishes until there’s only this, her breath, her soft gasp, the taste of her smile.
When I finally break away, our foreheads touch, both of us breathing hard.
“Okay,” she says, laughing breathlessly. “That was worth getting frostbite for.”
I grin, dizzy with it, and wrap the quilt around both of us, pulling her against my chest. “Then let’s make sure you don’t.”
We stand there for a long time, wrapped up in each other and the falling snow, while the horses wait patiently, as if they know something just shifted forever.
The next day after we close up shop for the day, the harbor smells of salt and fish when we pull up, and Pete’s already waiting on his bench. He’s bundled in blankets, cap pulled low, grinning like we’re the only thing he’s been waiting on all day.
“Thought you’d stand me up,” he rasps.
“Not a chance,” I tell him, clapping him gently on the shoulder. “You ready for the Dairy Witch?”
“Been ready since breakfast.”
Junie practically dances ahead of us, Lola trotting at her side. The bell over the Dairy Witch door jingles, and Pete points at the menu like a man on a mission.
“Ritzy AF is the only ice cream worth eating,” he says.
Ivy bites her lip, scanning the flavors. “I can’t decide.”
Pete snorts. “Then get the Ritzy AF. Trust me.”
So we do. Junie picks cookie dough with rainbow sprinkles and proudly licks the first drip before it hits her coat. We carry everything back to Pete’s bench, the dark sky a watercolor wash of grays and blues over the water.
Pete takes a bite, sighs like it’s the first good thing that’s happened in months. “Promise me something.”
“Anything,” Ivy says softly.
“Get ice cream every year on my birthday,” he tells us. His voice is steady, but there’s something behind it, something that makes my throat tighten. “Celebrate life. Every single day. Don’t take anything or each other for granted. Not for one damn second.”
Ivy reaches over and squeezes his hand. “Promise.”
I reach over and squeeze his shoulder gently, reassuring him.
Donna’s quiet, a single tear sliding down her cheek as she takes another bite of ice cream, her chest rising like she’s holding back more.
Junie shrieks suddenly and takes off after a seagull, Lola hot on her heels. “Junie!” I’m already running, catching her before she gets too close to the dock’s edge. She giggles breathlessly, arms thrown around my neck as I carry her back.
We finish the last bites in companionable silence.
When Pete looks tired, we walk him and my mom to the bookstore so they can warm up.
The fire is already crackling in the hearth when we settle in, mugs of cocoa in our hands, Junie on the rug, reading aloud in her wobbly little-kid voice.
Pete dozes off in the armchair for a while, his blanket sliding to his lap, until Donna gently wakes him and helps him out to the car.
The ride home is quiet. Ivy reaches over and laces her fingers through mine, her thumb stroking once, twice, like a secret promise. It hurts seeing Pete go downhill.
In the rearview mirror, Junie’s head lolls against her booster seat, Lola curled against her like a furry shadow.
I glance back at them, then at Ivy. The streetlights glow against her profile, and I realize with a sudden, fierce clarity that I have everything I need right here. We’re going to be okay.
By the time we pull into the drive, Junie is out cold. I carry her inside, careful not to wake her, and tuck her into bed with Lola curled up at her feet. Ivy meets me on the couch, already in her pajamas, looking as if the day emotionally exhausted her as well.
“She didn’t even stir,” she whispers.
“She had a big day.” I lean against her.
Ivy leans closer, wrapping her arms around herself. “He’s right, you know. About not taking things for granted.”
“Yeah,” I say. “He is.”
The night is quiet except for the crackling of the fire. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close.
“I don’t want to waste a second,” I say quietly. “Not with you. Not with us.”
She lifts her head just enough to look at me, her eyes shining in the firelight. “Then we don’t hold back. Not anymore.”
I nod, my throat tight. “We go all in. Whatever comes, we face it together.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt, like she is anchoring herself to me. “Together,” she echoes.
The fire pops and the night settles around us, but I feel lighter, stronger, like something inside me has finally clicked into place. I pull her even closer and let myself breathe her in, let myself believe this can last.
For the first time in years, I am not just surviving. I am ready to live. With her.