Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wyatt
Ihop into my car and drive the short distance to Ivy’s place. I don’t usually dress up for a dinner at my parents’ place, but tonight, I’ve made more of an effort than I probably should have, just because she’ll be there. It’s ridiculous. I know it is, but I do it anyway.
I pull into her driveway, hop out, and head up the porch steps. I ring the doorbell and wait.
“Come in!” Ivy calls from somewhere upstairs.
I push the door open to an empty entryway.
“Ivy?” I call.
“Be right down! Make yourself at home!”
I chuckle quietly and glance around the entryway.
My eyes are immediately drawn to the picture wall above a small console table.
I head over, taking in the snapshots of her and Ash from when they were kids all the way to now.
In every photo, Ivy’s smiling widely, full of life.
There are one of the two of them with me and my brothers.
Ash and Ivy must’ve been around seventeen or eighteen.
I barely remember it being taken. But there she is. And even then, she fit right in.
I stare at her face, wondering how I could have been so blind. How I never noticed how incredible she is until recently.
“Hey,” Ivy says from behind me.
I turn, and suddenly, I forget how to speak.
“Sorry I wasn’t ready when you got here,” she says, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
She’s wearing a short floral dress, her hair curled down her back with a few strands pinned away from her face. My gaze drops to the delicate diamond pendant resting against her collarbone, the one I gave her. The one she keeps wearing. I don’t even try to hide the smile that pulls at my lips.
“You look beautiful, Ivy,” I whisper.
Her cheeks flush with warmth, and for a second, she looks almost shy. It makes my pulse quicken. She has no idea what she does to me. And tonight, it’s going to be even harder to hide it.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “You look good too.”
I smile. “Ready to go?”
She nods, and I trail after her to the front door, stepping outside while she locks up behind us.
I walk her to the car, holding the door open as she slides inside, then jog around to the driver’s side.
As I reverse out of the driveway, something tugs at my mind.
“That photo, the one with all of us on the wall. When was that taken?”
She glances over at me, smiling. “Ash’s birthday. You’d just been drafted, remember? It turned into a double celebration.”
The memory hits me all at once. The laughter, the noise, and the far too many tequilas I drank. “Oh, man, yes! No wonder it’s a blur. I was completely wasted that night.”
She lets out a laugh. “Pretty sure I was too. I think I sang karaoke in your garden. I must’ve been drunk to do that.”
My eyes widen as I chuckle. “Oh, I definitely remember that. You butchered some Beyoncé song. Even Ash looked like she wanted to strangle you.”
“Hey!” she says, whipping her head toward me. “I wasn’t that bad!”
I flash her a grin. “Ivy, you were terrible.”
She sticks out her tongue, making me laugh. “Well, I was still better than you,” she shoots back.
“I didn’t even sing.”
“Exactly! You were boring. At least I gave it a shot.”
“We still have that karaoke machine, you know,” I say with a mischievous glint. “And I’ve got tequila. Maybe I’ll get you drunk enough for an encore.”
She scoffs. “Not happening, Brookes.”
I smirk. “Okay, fine. No singing. But you’d be up for some tequila, right?”
She moves in her seat, narrowing her eyes at me. “Only if you're ready to spend the night holding my hair while I throw up.”
I wave her off. “Please. You won’t get sick.”
“I did that night,” she reminds me.
I glance over at her. “Yeah, but you were, what, nineteen?”
“Almost,” she says. “Still eighteen, actually.”
I let my gaze stay on her a little longer than I should. “Well, you’re not eighteen anymore,” I mutter, the words catching in my throat. “I bet you can handle alcohol now.”
She laughs, but there’s a flush creeping into her cheeks, and I’m pretty sure she knows I haven’t stopped glancing over at her.
“You do remember having to hold me up after all that champagne the night of the auction, right? I could barely walk straight.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You were that drunk?” I’d thought she was just a little buzzed.
She nods, grinning. “Oh yeah. You’re lucky I didn’t throw myself at you. When I’m drunk, I either get ridiculously flirty or start crying.”
I blink.
Lucky she didn’t throw herself at me? I’d have been lucky if she did.
My lips curl into a slow smile. “Flirty or crying, huh?” I say, my eyes flicking to the road before going back to her. “Gotta say, I feel a little cheated. I would have liked to have seen ridiculously flirty Ivy.”
She laughs again, and that blush deepens. I love that I have that effect on her, even if she has no idea I’m doing it.
“But hey,” I add, my voice dropping a little. “If that’s how you get when you drink... maybe we should break out the champagne instead of tequila.”
She looks at me like she’s trying to read between the lines, like she’s trying to work out if I mean it or not. For a moment, neither of us says a word, and the air thickens between us.
She lets out a forced chuckle. “Good thing you probably don’t have champagne at home,” she says, her voice light again, but her eyes still betray her uncertainty.
I have champagne, but I don’t share that with her. Instead, I nod and play along. “Right. Wouldn’t want flirty Ivy making an appearance.”
She smirks. “Or crying Ivy. Equally dangerous.”
“True.”
She sits back in her seat and crosses her arms. “You’re trouble, Wyatt Brookes.”
I grin. “You have no idea.”
And hell, I wish she did.
An hour later, dinner’s finished, and the conversation’s been all about the house Ivy and I viewed earlier.
She pulls up the listing on her phone to show my parents, her voice lighting up as she talks about the intricate moldings, the soaring ceilings, and that sweeping staircase she’s obsessed with.
I find myself just watching her, completely caught up in the way her eyes shine when she’s passionate about something. Then I notice Mom watching me. She’s not saying a word, just smiling quietly when our eyes meet.
“Well, your dad and I are heading out once we’ve tidied up,” Mom announces, finishing off the last sip of her wine.
Dad blinks at her. “We are?” he asks, clearly blindsided.
I catch the not-so-subtle nudge she gives him under the table. “Yes,” she says firmly. “You’re taking me for a drink in Eden, remember?”
“Oh! Right. Yes. Of course. Let’s go.”
I bite back a groan. Subtlety is definitely not her strong suit. Ivy glances between them, her eyebrows slightly raised, obviously trying to figure out what’s going on.
“You two should watch a movie in the den,” Mom adds casually, already standing. “There are snacks in the kitchen, and wine.”
“What about champagne?” I ask, throwing Ivy a wink. Her cheeks turn pink instantly.
“Champagne?” Mom echoes. “We’ve got that too. What are we celebrating?”
“The house,” I say, my eyes locked on Ivy.
She smiles. “That sounds like a great idea.”
“I’ll help clear up,” Ivy offers, rising from her seat and gathering her plate.
But Mom waves her off, taking the plate from her hands. “No, you won’t. You’re our guest. Henry and I will handle this. Go watch your movie with Wyatt.”
Ivy looks at me, and I just shrug. We sit there, watching them collect the dishes and disappear into the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone at the table.
“You can just take me home,” she says quietly. “Or I’ll call an Uber.”
“You’re not getting an Uber. I’ll take you if you want to leave.”
She hesitates, then glances down. “I don’t want to go. I just figured you probably have better things to do than sit through a movie with me.”
Her words tumble out so fast, it’s like she’s trying to take them back as she says them. I smile, shaking my head. She really has no clue.
“No, Ivy,” I say. “I don’t.” I stand and offer her my hand. “So... what do you want to watch?”
She grins, slipping her hand into mine as I pull her to her feet. “I’m picking,” she says, teasing now. “Your choice last time was terrible.”
“Hey,” I say, pretending to be offended. “Die Hard is a classic.”
She laughs. “Okay, it’s not terrible... just not my first choice.”
I groan. “Don’t tell me you’re going to pick a rom-com.”
She smirks. “Maybe.”
I pull a face. “I’m definitely gonna need a beer for this.”
“What happened to the champagne?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows.
I smirk. “Look who’s being trouble now.”
She laughs, her eyes dancing. “You grab the snacks and drinks, I’ll pick the movie.”
I hold her gaze. I’m still teasing her about the movie, but the truth is, I don’t care what we watch. I’m just glad she’s here.
“Deal,” I say, finally letting go of her hand and watching as she heads toward the den.
By the time I reach the kitchen, my parents are already gone. The dinner dishes are stacked by the sink, completely abandoned, and I can’t help but chuckle. My mom doesn’t know the meaning of subtle, but I’m not complaining.
I grab a bottle of champagne from the pantry and stick it in the fridge to chill. I’m not sure if she was serious about it or just messing around, but I’m not taking any chances.
Then I grab a beer for myself, pour a glass of red for Ivy, and rummage around for snacks. Chips and some chocolate will do. With everything in hand, I head back to the den, already smiling.
“What’d you pick?” I ask as I step into the den.
She’s curled up on the corner of the big sofa, shoes off, legs tucked beneath her. When she turns to look at me, I can’t help but smile. She’s so damn beautiful it hurts a little.
I drop the snacks beside her and hand her the glass of wine.
“Thanks,” she says, grinning. “We’re watching Dear John.” She moves the snacks around and pats the spot next to her. “I’m guessing you’ve never seen it?”
I sink down beside her. “Nope.”
Her eyes light up. “You’re in for a treat. It’s my and Ash’s favorite.”