Chapter 25
Ivy
Ihave music playing on the speaker in the bookstore’s kitchen, the same soft Christmas playlist I always turn on when I need comfort, but even that feels like background noise against the churn in my chest. It’s not working to cheer me up, it just makes me sadder and think of all the times I played it for Junie.
Every song is attached to a memory with them, now.
The kitchen smells of cinnamon, sugar, and butter.
I’m working on the third batch of cinnamon rolls I’ve baked today, but the sweetness just makes me feel hollow.
I slide the tray onto the counter and stare at it, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “That’s enough,” I mutter, wiping my hands on a towel. I will not bake my way through heartbreak.
Except, of course, that is exactly what I have been doing all day. It helps Willa at her cafe, but I need to start looking forward and planning my future.
I grab a mug of tea and curl into the armchair by the window, tucking my legs underneath me.
The mug is hot, almost too hot, but I hold it anyway, letting the warmth bite into my palms. I watch the shadows stretch across the floor as the afternoon light fades, and the chatter of the shop presses in until it’s almost too loud.
My mind keeps looping back to the barn. To the sharpness of Remy’s voice. The way his shoulders went rigid, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the look in his eyes that gutted me because it felt like he was pushing me away on purpose.
How did we go from kissing like our lives depended on it to that? Was I just that easy to throw away?
Anger rises first, quick and hot. He doesn’t get to talk to me like that. He doesn’t get to make me feel like I am the one who did something wrong for loving him.
But the anger can’t hold. Not when my heart won’t stop aching.
Because the truth is, I miss him and Junie. So much.
I miss his warm, steady presence in a room. I miss the way his voice gets rough and sexy when he says my name. I miss Junie’s giggles and her socks left under the kitchen table.
And I know what I have been too stubborn to say out loud. Remy has ruined me for any other man. He is it for me. He always has been. Deep down, I think I have known that since we walked through the grove that snowy night when he had a horse-drawn sleigh waiting for us.
The front door opens, and Rowan breezes in like she’s on a mission.
“You look like you’ve been haunting this place,” she says, propping the bat by the door. “I told him off the other day, by the way. You’re welcome.”
I blink at her. “You what?”
“Full Rowan special,” she says with a grin. “He looked like he might pass out. Tate and Finn were there. It was practically a public trial.”
I bury my face in my hands. “Oh, my god. Rowan. Leave it alone. If he wanted to, he would.”
She shrugs, flopping into the chair across from me. “What? Someone had to say it. But honestly, Ivy, he’s not a bad guy. He works harder than anyone I know. He’s a good dad. He’s loyal, solid, and he looks at you like you are the best thing that ever happened to him.”
I give her a skeptical look. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours,” she says without hesitation. “Which is why I’m telling you not to write him off just because he messed up. Everyone messes up. But that man is out there tearing himself apart right now because he hurt you. You think he’s eating? Sleeping? Not a chance. He looks like shit. Just like you.”
“Wait, how do you know that? Who said that?” Suddenly, I’m worried and want to make him a casserole and check on him. Because you can’t turn love off like that. Even though he doesn’t deserve a casserole right now.
The words crack something open inside me. I stare down at my tea, my throat tight. “That’s the problem. I love him. I think I always have. And it scares me, Rowan. Because what if he can’t let me all the way in? Or love me back like I need him to?”
“Then he loses you,” Rowan says matter-of-factly. “But he deserves the chance to try.”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. My heart leaps into my throat. His name lights up the screen, but there is no text, just a missed call that vanishes before I can touch it.
“Text him,” Rowan says gently.
I shake my head and flip the phone over. “Not yet. If he wants me, he has to come to me. I can’t be the only one fighting for this.”
Rowan smiles faintly and pushes to her feet. “Then let him fight. But if you stay in this kitchen baking for much longer, you’re going to lose your mind.”
The warm glow of the bookstore lights wraps around me like a blanket, and the bell jingles overhead, and Willa grins from behind the counter as customers come in the door in search of treats and their next book to read or last-minute Christmas gifts.
“Perfect timing,” she calls. “I just unpacked a stack of new hardcovers.”
I wander over and trail my fingers over the spines, breathing in the warm, papery smell that always makes my shoulders loosen. For a few blissful minutes, I can almost forget the ache in my chest.
Rowan catches me smiling, coffee in hand. “See? Still some joy left in there.”
“I like books,” I say with a shrug.
“You like Remy more.”
I roll my eyes, but the small smile lingers. “Yeah,” I admit quietly. “I do.”
It’s after midnight when Rowan and I sit at our mom’s kitchen table with a jar of moon water between us. The moonlight from the kitchen window spills across the table, silvering the pages of my open notebook.
Rowan brings her glass to her lips and smirks. “Are you sure yours is moon water? Because mine is vodka.”
I glance at her glass, then back at her. “That explains a lot.”
She grins unapologetically and leans back in her chair.
I look down at my notebook. The pages are covered in sketches and bullet points, a fresh business plan taking shape under my pen.
New products, seasonal pop-ups, classes and parties, all mapped out in neat lists.
It feels good to write it out, to remind myself that I am building something for myself.
Still, there is a restless, bothered edge under my skin. Every plan I make feels a little empty without him in it.
“What are you working on?” Willa asks as she joins us, sliding in the chair across from me.
I glance down at the notebook and wrap my hands around my glass, staring at the moonlight glinting off the water. “My future.”
Rowan nods as if she has been waiting for me to say it. “And what does that include?”
“I want to be a successful business owner like you two. Take a page out of your playbooks. I want to set up a shop called The Good Witch. I want to do birthday parties and events for kids. Something fun that I can do year-round, that will bring people together to have fun.”
“Okay, that is fantastic and something you would be so good at,” Willa nods in appreciation. “Where will you do them?”
“I was hoping to use your shops until I can rent a space of my own?” I ask hesitantly.
“Of course,” Rowan immediately agrees.
“You’ve always loved kids. I think you’d be great at that,” Willa agrees. “We’ll do everything we can to support you.”
And I’m finally starting to feel hope. Even if I’m finding it on my own.
I sit by the window after Rowan leaves, the night so quiet I can hear the water down by the cove. I let myself imagine him sitting beside me, his big hand warm over mine.
My phone sits face down on the table. I flip it over, type out a message, I miss you. Then stare at it until my throat aches and my chest feels too tight. And then I delete the words.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will see what he does.
And if he fights for me, maybe…just maybe…I’ll let him win.
The morning air is crisp when I step off the front porch of my mom’s house, cool enough to make me tug my cardigan tighter around my shoulders. The sun is just coming up over the trees, streaking the cove with gold, and for a second, the beauty of it steals my breath.
I head into town because I need to do something with my restless energy before I spiral back into overthinking. Willa’s bookstore is already open, and the bell jingles when I step inside.
She looks up from the counter and waves. “Morning. You’re here early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I admit, moving toward the shelf of new releases. “Figured I’d get out before I started reorganizing Mom’s kitchen cabinets.”
Willa gives me a sympathetic smile but doesn’t pry, which I love her for. We chat about the new books she just got in, and I leave with one tucked under my arm, feeling just a little lighter.
I’m halfway down Main Street when I hear a familiar voice.
“Ivy!”
Junie barrels toward me from the direction of the hardware store, pigtails flying. Finn follows at a slower pace, looking amused and a little winded.
I drop to my knees, and she flies into me like a little rocket.
“Hey, bug,” I whisper, hugging her tight.
“I missed you so much.” She smells like apples and winter, and her hat is a little crooked.
I fix it with careful fingers and kiss her forehead.
“Are you having a big adventure today?” I ask, smiling. “What are you and Finn doing in town?”
“Helping Daddy!” she says proudly. “We’re buying more paint for your—”
“Junie.” Finn’s voice is sharp enough to cut her off. He swoops in, scooping her up like she weighs nothing, and presses a big hand gently over her mouth.
“Paint for what?” I ask, my heart thudding.
Finn’s grin is all teeth. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Junie wriggles in his arms, trying to pull his hand away, her little giggles muffled.
“Finn,” I say, crossing my arms.
He starts backing away, still grinning like a man who knows better than to get involved. “Come on, Junie, we’ve got to get back before your dad realizes we took too long.”
Junie yells something against his palm, and my stomach does a funny little flip. What is Remy up to? And he’s got Junie and Finn in on it, too.
“I’ll tell Lola you said hi!” Finn calls over his shoulder as he heads for his truck, still carrying a squirming Junie. “You two can catch up later!”
I stand on the sidewalk, my pulse racing.
Paint. What in the world is Remy doing?
The thought warms me and terrifies me all at once.
Maybe he really is fighting for me, and now I’m curious.