Chapter 15
Two (Secret) Weddings and a Roman Shade
Ivy
The family room glows with firelight and the soft twinkle of the white lights strung on the seven-foot blue spruce that Dash cut down this afternoon.
The tree I wanted stands in front of the mullioned windows, and boxes of ornaments cover every surface—the coffee table, the side tables, even the ottomans.
Fuzzy blankets drape over the backs of chairs and the arms of sofas.
Wicker baskets full of books and board games compete for space with fragrant candles and more than a dozen whimsical nutcrackers.
It’s cozy. It’s inviting. It feels like home.
I wonder what it feels like to Jack and Dash.
Noelle passes around pink Negronis in rocks glasses garnished with orange slices. Holly opts for glass of sparkling mineral water instead and settles onto the loveseat beside Jack.
Dash stands near the tree, holding a delicate glass ball painted to look like a cardinal. “Where does this one go?”
“Anywhere you want,” I tell him. “There’s no wrong place.”
He studies the tree with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb, then carefully hangs the ornament on a branch at eye level.
Merry snorts. “You put all the pretty ones at eye level. Ivy’s going to move them around after you go to bed.”
“I will not,” I protest.
“You absolutely will,” Holly agrees. “She has a system,” she adds approvingly to Jack and Dash.
“There’s no system,” I insist, even though there definitely is. Ornaments should be distributed by color, size, and sentimental value to create visual balance. This is basic decorating.
Dash grins at me. “Should I be taking notes?”
“Ignore them. You’re doing great.”
And he is. Watching him handle each ornament with care, asking about the stories behind them, laughing at Merry’s chaotic hanging style—he fits here. Like he’s always been part of our weird, loud family.
Dad hands him a wooden ornament carved to look like a stack of books. “Carol made this one the year Noelle came to back to town for good to run the library. She loved that her best friend was back.”
Dash turns it over in his hands, studying the detail. “She was talented.”
“She was,” Dad agrees quietly.
The moment stretches, comfortable and sad at once, until Merry breaks it by hanging three ornaments on the same branch.
“Structural integrity, Mer,” Holly calls.
“I’m creating a vignette.”
“You’re creating a problem,” I tell her.
I catch Dash’s eye and he mouths, “Vignette?”
I shrug. With Merry, who knows?
An hour later, the tree is decorated. We settle in. Dad and Noelle in their usual spot on the sofa, Merry curled up in the wingback chair, Holly and Jack snuggling on the loveseat. Dash and I share an oversized ottoman, several careful inches of space between us.
Dad raises his glass. “Before we call it a night, how about three things? Since we didn’t eat dinner together.”
“Yes!” Merry bounces in her seat.
The ritual is so familiar, so comforting, so integral to who I am, who we all are. This feeling of belonging what I wanted for Dash when I insisted he join us tonight.
Dad goes first. “I’m grateful we’re all together tonight. I regret not finishing the manger I started making before your Mom got sick—I keep meaning to complete it and never do. Tomorrow, I’m going to spend an hour in the workshop and make progress on it.”
Noelle reaches over and squeezes his hand.
“I’m grateful we can continue old traditions and start new ones.
I regret being short with Mrs. Henderson when she complained about the water pressure—she’s lonely, and complaining is how she connects.
Tomorrow, I’ll invite her to join me for afternoon tea. ”
Merry sips her Negroni. “I’m grateful for this chaos, even when Holly and Ivy are being bossy about my vignettes. I regret eating an entire batch of cookie dough for lunch instead of actual food. Tomorrow, I’m going to meal prep so I stop doing that.”
“You say that every week,” Holly observes.
“And every week I mean it.”
Holly smiles and launches into hers. “I’m grateful for Jack and for you goofballs.
Did you know last night was the one-year anniversary of the day Jack and I met?
Which leads me to my regret. I regret keeping a secret from everyone.
” She pauses, and something passes between her and Jack.
“And tomorrow, I’m going to ... well, actually, we have something to tell you tonight. ”
The room goes still.
Jack takes Holly’s hand. “We got married. Last week, in Florida.”
For a beat, nobody moves. Then Merry shrieks—actually shrieks—and launches herself at Holly, nearly knocking over Jack’s drink. Dad and Noelle are on their feet, pulling them both into hugs. I’m slower to react, my brain trying to catch up.
Married?
Holly’s laughing and crying at the same time as Merry demands to see the ring. Jack explains that he gave Holly his mother’s ring and it’s at Alpine Jewelers being resized.
Noelle asks about the ceremony. Holly says they did it at the courthouse with Jack’s brother as a witness.
“But why?” I finally manage.
Jack explains. His brother’s moving to England to manage their mother’s European publishing interests.
Jack’s taking over the Florida operations, and he and Holly will have a long-distance relationship for at least a year, maybe longer.
“We wanted to be official, legally tied to each other, before the chaos begins,” he says, rubbing his hand over Holly’s palm.
“We’re planning to do a real wedding here later,” Holly adds quickly. “For the town, for you guys. This was just for us.”
“Like eloping,” Merry says dreamily. “How romantic.”
“So romantic I’m going to need you to throw me a party anyway,” Holly tells her. “I want the whole town to celebrate with us.”
“Done,” Merry agrees. “I’m thinking a Valentine’s Day theme—”
“During mud season? Absolutely not.”
Dad clears his throat. “Well, since we’re sharing secrets ...”
Noelle’s cheeks turn pink. “Nick—”
“They should know, Noe.” He looks around the room. “Noelle and I got married, too. Right after Christmas in July. Judge MacIntosh performed a private ceremony at the cabin.”
This time, I’m the one who shrieks.
The room erupts again—more hugs, more questions, more laughter. Why didn’t they tell us? Why so secretive?
“Because we didn’t want the fuss,” Noelle explains. “It was just for us. Nothing official-official. No rings, no name change. Just us, married.”
“Nothing official-official?” Holly sputters. “Marriage is literally the definition of official!”
“You know what I mean.”
“We’re throwing you a reception,” Merry declares. “Both of you. All four of you. A massive party.”
Noelle holds up her hands. “After Holly and Jack’s party. I don’t want to steal their thunder.”
Merry flops back in her chair dramatically. “Fine. I guess I need to ‘fess up. I’m also secretly married.” She cackles at our expressions. “Just kidding! But honestly, at this rate, I might be the only single Jolly left.”
“Um, hello?” I say. “Remember me?”
Every member of my family, including my brand-new brother-in-law look pointedly at me, then Dash, then back at me. And I, of course, blush furiously. Dash is all smiles.
The celebration continues—more toasts, more stories about the secret ceremonies, more plans for parties. I smile and laugh in all the right places, but something’s shifting inside me.
Holly took a risk. She married Jack knowing they’d be apart, that it would be hard, that there are no guarantees.
Dad and Noelle did what felt right to them, traditions and expectations be damned.
Merry, well, she’s infamous for jumping into the unknown and trusting she’ll land on her feet.
Everyone’s being brave. Everyone’s taking leaps. Everyone’s choosing love over fear. Everyone but me.
I’ve spent my whole life being the quiet one, the careful one, the one who doesn’t make waves. The peacemaker. The safe choice. And where has it gotten me?
I glance at Dash. He’s listening to Jack describe the courthouse ceremony, asking questions, genuinely interested. He fits here. He’s relaxed and happy and more himself than I’ve seen him.
What if I took a risk? What if I told him I don’t want boundaries after all?
It’s only a week. But what if—?
“Ivy?”
I snap back to attention. Dad’s looking at me expectantly.
“Sorry, what?”
“Your three things?”
Oh. Right. I’ve been so busy processing everyone else’s reveals that I forgot we hadn’t finished the ritual.
“Um. I’m grateful that Dash is here experiencing this.” I feel him turn toward me but keep my eyes on my dad. “I regret being too cautious sometimes. And tomorrow”—I take a breath—“I’m going to take a risk.”
“That’s the spirit,” Merry cheers.
Dad nods approvingly, and Noelle gives me a shrewd look. She knows. Somehow, she always knows.
“Dash?” Dad prompts. “You’re up.”
Dash shifts beside me. “I’m grateful you included me tonight. Thank you.” His voice roughens, just a bit. “I regret making Ivy taste my matcha wheatgrass latte in exchange for my presence.”
“You didn’t?” Merry gasps.
I elbow him gently. “It wasn’t that bad. No, yeah, it was.”
When the laughter dies down, he continues. “And tomorrow, I’m going to make myself useful. Pop into some of the shops in town, meet more people, maybe charm some of the inn’s guests. Might as well use my celebrity status to help out while I’m here.”
Dad beams. “That’s generous of you, son.”
There’s that word again. Dash’s face tightens with emotion before he hides it behind his Negroni.
An hour later, Dash and I are walking back to the cottage. The temperature has dropped, and our breath makes clouds in the air. I pull up my parka hood to cover my cold ears.
“Your family is so welcoming,” Dash says.
“They’re a lot.”
“They’re perfect.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Watching your dad and Noelle, seeing how happy they are, and knowing that Holly and Jack took such a huge leap even though long-distance is terrifying shows how much they support you all give each other. It lets them take risks, you know?”
I do know. It’s exactly what I was thinking.
“What would it be like to have that? That solid foundation and the certainty that someone has your back no matter what?” He laughs, but it sounds hollow. “Sorry. That got heavy.”
“No, I get it.” The seed of an idea sprouts in my mind: I could call his mom, invite her here to celebrate the holiday with us, and give him the connection he’s craving. I almost suggest it. But it feels too big, too presumptuous. Instead, I just say, “I’m glad you were there tonight.”
“Me too.”
We reach the cottage, and Dash beats me to the keypad. He opens the door, and I step inside and stop short just inside the door.
A Roman shade covers the big window behind the couch. It’s gorgeous—creamy fabric with a subtle damask pattern, clean lines, clearly expensive.
“Where did this come from?”
Dash rubs the back of his neck. “I ordered it this morning. There’s an interior design place in the valley that does rush orders. They delivered and installed it while we were at the tree farm.”
I turn to stare at him. “You had a custom window treatment installed in one day?”
“I know you wanted privacy. Boundaries. After Shane’s stunt …” he trails off, then starts over. “I heard you, Ivy. I want you to feel safe when you’re with me.”
My throat tightens. He spent money—probably a lot of money. Made phone calls. Coordinated with strangers. All to give me something I asked for.
“If you don’t like it, they can take it down easily,” he continues quickly. “They promised they’d repair any holes or damage when they remove it. The cottage will be exactly how it was before.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say thickly.
“Yeah?” He looks relieved. “I wanted to make sure it was nice, not just functional. The designer texted me a bunch of options, and this one seemed like it would fit the cottage’s style.”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” I mean it. But it feels off, wrong, like an itchy sweater or a shirt that shrunk in the wash.
“You take the bed tonight,” he says.
“Dash—”
“I insist. I already put fresh sheets on and everything.”
“But—”
“Please let me do this for you, after what you did for me today.”
He’s being thoughtful. Respectful. Giving me exactly what I asked for—space, boundaries, safety.
So why does my chest feel tight? Why do I want to tell him he’s got it all wrong?
“Okay,” I hear myself say as if someone else is talking. “Thank you.”
He grins. “Good. I’m going to grab a pillow and claim the couch. Sweet dreams of mountain laurel.”
“Good night.”
He disappears into the bedroom and I follow him in, then veer into the bathroom and get ready for bed. Then I run the water until I hear him return to the living room and settle onto the couch. The sounds of him getting comfortable—rustling blankets, adjusting pillows—feel very far away.
I walk into the bedroom, close the door, and turn out the light. The bed is perfectly made, pillows fluffed, covers turned down. He even left a glass of water on the nightstand and switched on the bedside lamp.
I sink onto the edge of the mattress.
Everyone I love is taking risks. Making leaps. Choosing courage over caution.
Dash listened to me. Heard what I said I wanted. Gave it to me.
I asked for boundaries. He gave me a literal barrier.
This is what I wanted.
Isn’t it?
I lie back on the too-perfect bed and stare at the ceiling.
Why does doing the right thing feel so wrong?
The bed’s too cold without him beside me. I grab my fuzzy socks and sweatshirt and pull them on. But I’m still not comfortable. I sigh and roll to my side, then back to my back.
Azalea, black-eyed Susan, calla lily, daisy.