4. IVY
four
ivy
“Y ou were late last night. Was the drive okay?” Aunt Carol sets a mug of steaming coffee in front of me at the breakfast table.
“The drive was fine.” I blow on the liquid, sending ripples across the top like a breeze over a lake. “I’m sorry I was so late, though. Did I wake you?”
“Nonsense.” She waves me off and takes a seat next to me, her own cup of coffee in front of her. “It’s not like I have a busy day ahead of me, so it wouldn’t make a difference if you did wake me.”
I blow on my coffee again, and a sting of pain skitters through my chest. Aunt Carol lost my uncle Tanner a few years ago, and their son, Wake, moved to LA for work soon after that. She’s also been retired for a year, so her daily routine is certainly open.
“How are you doing?” I venture.
She pats my hand and smiles wistfully. “Oh, dear, I’m just fine. Even better now that you’ve come to visit. It’s been too long.”
“I’ll make sure not to go this long again.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” She sips her coffee. “Now, tell me, what’s been going on with you? How’s Atlanta?”
“Atlanta is large and bustling, but it sometimes feels smaller than Sapphire Creek. It is definitely not big enough to contain my mother’s collection of antique ethnic rugs and blankets, that’s for sure. She started storing the ones she’s not using in the garage, and Daddy’s going to have a stroke if he can’t get to his power tools.”
Her eyes shine as she giggles into her mug. “It’s good to have hobbies, I suppose.”
“Knitting and painting are hobbies. What my mother has is an obsession.” I lean back in my chair. “I’d be a lot more supportive if the obsession would distract her enough from my love life, but no such luck. Did she tell you she set me up again a couple weeks ago?”
“She did, but she never mentioned how it went.”
“Let’s just say, there are no wedding bells in sight, but there was emergency dental work done.”
“There are plenty of lookers in Sapphire Creek. Keep your eyes peeled around town.”
Instantly, a blush heats my cheeks as I think about one looker in particular.
Cole .
I thought about him all night. When my head sank into the cool pillow and I closed my eyes, I felt his warm lips on mine.
His hands gripping my hips.
His desire for me.
Halfway through the night, I had to get up and splash cold water on my face. I was sweating worse than I do during hot yoga.
I clear my throat. “What do you want to do today?”
“I was thinking—” Her phone vibrates on the counter, echoing in her small kitchen and cutting her off. She holds her finger up to me and rises. “Hold that thought.”
While she takes the call into the other room, I grip the handle of my mug and move onto the deck outside. I set my coffee onto the thick wooden railing and stare at the fog rolling over the creek behind her house. The thin, soft clouds hug the pointed blades of grass on either side of the glistening water, and birds sing in the distance.
It’s calming, like I’m wrapped in natural beauty’s embrace. It’s the equivalent feeling of listening to the serene music at the spa back home.
After a few minutes, Aunt Carol comes back, her neck red.
“Everything okay?” I ask. “Can I get you some water?”
“Heavens, no. Sit, sit.” She runs her hand down her long black hair, which is graying at the roots. She and my mother look nothing alike, but they do have the same creases in their foreheads when they’re stressed. After a moment of silence, I start to worry.
“Aunt Carol, what’s going on?”
She blinks at me. “It was Annabelle on the phone, going on about a loathsome old man here in town. It’s a wonder his two boys turned out to have such big hearts. They’re nothing like him, and I hope it stays that way.”
“What’re you talking about?” I step toward her.
Smiling, she takes my coffee mug and leads me inside. “Let’s go out for breakfast. Mrs. Goodwin’s bakery and café is a Sapphire Creek must , you’ll remember.”
“I do remember her buttery croissants very well, although I should refrain. I really need to watch my figure.” I instinctively run my hands down my leggings.
Aunt Carol scoffs. “You’re thinner than a damn toothpick, honey. I know your mother can’t cook, but you’re with Aunt Carol now. We’ll get you nice and thick by the end of your stay.”
I laugh nervously. She means well, but there’s no chance I will purposely put on weight. I brought my running shoes, and I’ve saved enough yoga and Pilates YouTube videos to keep me busy until the end of the year.
Over the next half hour, I change and do my makeup, cautiously dabbing on the light foundation I bought last month specifically for summer. It’s hotter than a biscuit straight out of the oven this time of year, and it would be tragic for sweat to streak my makeup.
I’m also more prepared today with a lightweight ruffled sundress and strappy sandals, which are perfect for walking around on the square. This outfit is much better than the stuffy one from last night.
With sunglasses in place over my eyes and my purse over my shoulder, I meet Aunt Carol on her front porch just as she ends another call.
“You’re very popular this morning,” I say with a smile.
“This is nothing. You should see me the morning after I win at bingo. The ladies go on and on about whatever prize I win, which is usually a gift certificate to Conversation Pieces. Like I need more trinkets and sequined scarves.”
I giggle, recalling the peculiar metal leaves and a bedazzled bass lining her shelves in the living room. Why on earth would anyone need such things?
Then again, that is why the antique store on the square is aptly named Conversation Pieces.
As Aunt Carol backs out onto the street, I lose myself to the pull of nostalgia. I’m reminded of the summers I spent here as a young girl. When I would ride bikes around Aunt Carol’s neighborhood with Wake and my brother, Spencer. We often rode down to Quinton’s Ice Cream Shoppe, where we ate the creamiest peach ice cream I’ve ever tasted.
We spent one whole summer filming our own ghost movie after Wake had convinced Spencer and me that many houses in Sapphire Creek, including his own, were haunted. That the evil spirits haunting places in nearby Savannah drifted over to Sapphire Creek in search of the ripest peaches in the state.
At the end of that summer, we had a big viewing and everything.
This is that kind of town, where it’s easy to accumulate such happy memories.
I’ve been here for less than a day, and I’ve already surmised that my impression of this town, and Aunt Carol herself, was tainted by the food poisoning from years ago. This place is actually very quaint and pleasant, although these people put some kind of sorcery in their gin to tempt ladies like myself to make out with hot bartenders.
We come to a stop in front of a small café with blue awnings covering a couple tables in front of it. Hanging over the door is a sign with thin letters, which reads Bready or Knot.
“You’re quiet.” Aunt Carol meets me in front of her car and pats my shoulder. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Summers in Sapphire Creek.” I shake my head. “Spencer, Wake, and I were pretty ornery at times, huh?”
“That you were. The Three Ghost-ateers, you called yourselves.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “I totally forgot about that.”
“I lost all my white towels and sheets the summer you three dressed as ghosts for your movie.” She giggles along with me.
The memories—they’re all at the forefront of my brain as we enter the café. While Mrs. Goodwin and Aunt Carol immediately launch into a gushing conversation about last week’s episode of Say Yes to the Dress , I study the changes of this place.
They painted the exposed brick a soft white. It still looks distressed and adds character to the space. There are frames of Mrs. Goodwin and her family along the walls. Patrons are scattered around small tables that offer the same intimacy I find at Pearl’s Cupcakes near my house in Atlanta.
I catch bits and pieces of people’s chatter, and from the sounds of it, this is gossip central, just like Pearl’s. It makes me smile, and warmth blooms throughout my chest.
I would’ve thought any reminder of home would make me want to vomit, but this place is oddly settling.
Aunt Carol is points at the croissants on display, and Mrs. Goodwin eyes me, then bursts, “Ivy, my stars! Is that you, sweetie?”
I wrap her in a hug, and she squeezes me like she did when I was a kid. “How are you?”
“I’m great.” She holds my arms out. “You look terrific. I can’t believe it’s been so long since I last saw you. My goodness. I have a lot of croissants to feed you to make up for all these years.” She rounds the counter and places more croissants onto a platter than my aunt and I could eat in a week.
I wave to her. “No, no. That’s really not necessary.”
“Sugar, this is my joy! What a blast from the past. I half expect Spencer and Wake to pop out from behind you to scare me. They were always trying to scare the breath out of me, and it worked too.”
I cover my laugh with both hands as Aunt Carol says, “We were just talking about how sneaky they were when all three of them got together.”
Mrs. Goodwin sets the platter on top of the counter, then asks another girl working to pour a couple of coffees.
More customers file in, so we thank her for our goods and make room for the others.
“There’s one.” I point to an empty table in the corner and head that way to settle in.
Eyeing the plate of carbs, I fight a grimace. Lawson never used to allow this many carbs in our whole house, and it’s not like Mama has ever encouraged such things in my diet.
In fact, each time I visited this café as a teenager, I had to sneak a pastry and beg Spencer and Wake to keep my shameful little secret.
Just looking at the shiny pastries now fills me with a cocktail of emotions.
Aunt Carol, on the other hand, scoops peach jam onto her baked treat and moans once she takes a bite, as though she doesn’t have Mrs. Goodwin’s food every week.
“What’re you waiting for? Dig in before I eat it all.” She pushes the plate toward me.
As if on cue, my stomach growls. I reluctantly promise myself only one. It smells too heavenly not to indulge in at least one, and besides, I don’t want to be rude toward Mrs. Goodwin.
Once I’m finished and satisfied, I wipe the excess butter from the corners of my mouth like it’s burning my skin. Then I enjoy the rest of my coffee. “Where to next?”
“The Buchanan House.”
We toss our cups into the trash on the way out and head toward the old mansion on Chestnut Avenue. I know the house well, and when we pull to a stop in front of it, I notice it hasn’t changed a bit.
The two-story house was built in the late-eighteen hundreds, from what I remember, and it stretches into the sky like a monument, which for this town, it basically is.
A young woman with a messy bun high on her head paces on the porch, jotting things on a clipboard.
“Hi, Addie.” Aunt Carol waves to her. Now that name rings a bell.
Addison Lockhart. She’s around Spencer’s and Wake’s age, just a couple years younger than me. Both my brother and cousin had a crush on her way back when, and they often fought over who got to treat her to an almond poppy seed muffin from Cream and Sugar. According to the knuckleheaded guys, that was Addie’s favorite, but their juvenile ideas of courtship never worked on her. Not to my recollection, anyway.
A few older women around Aunt Carol’s age mill around the front yard, dirt staining their pants as they dip low with potters between their garden-gloved hands. They’re landscaping, and the tulips they plant give the property life.
“This house,” Aunt Carol starts, “was finally listed on the National Register of Historic Places earlier this year. We fought so hard to put it there, and that no-good rascal is still trying to find ways to tear it down.”
I gasp. “They wouldn’t do that, would they?”
“I’ve convinced the Buchanans’ great-grandchildren not to give in. It’s been in their family for over a century. They agreed to keep it that way. For now, anyway.” She shakes her head, the corners of her eyes frowning.
“Are the great-grandchildren in town?”
“No. They summer in the area, though, staying mostly in Savannah. They should arrive by next week to assist with the cleanup.” She nods. “Addie has the key to the house to keep an eye on it in the meantime since we have the green light to prepare it for their reunion this fall. She’s the class president,” she explains and pats her pockets, then turns toward the way we just came. “Damn. I forgot my purse at Mrs. Goodwin’s.”
“I’ll go back for it.”
“Oh, thank you, darling.” She opens the gate to the house and bends down to pick a few weeds along the walkway. “I’m going to help the ladies a bit. We have a lot of work to do.”
“Be right back.” I take off, sure that someone turned in Aunt Carol’s purse. I might’ve been worried about mine getting stolen last night, but it was only because I’d never been to The Tipsy Tap before.
Plus, the city life is instilled in me. There have been too many horror stories of leaving drinks and wallets unattended, so everywhere I go, my drink and belongings go with me, even to the bathroom.
But after I retrieve Aunt Carol’s purse with ease, I realize I was being silly last night. The people in Sapphire Creek look out for one another, as evidenced by the fact that Mrs. Goodwin gave me the purse, along with another treat—a glazed peach muffin.
I’m almost back to the Buchanan House when I hear Aunt Carol talking to someone.
That voice.
That deep, gruff voice.
I stop in my tracks.
There’s a lighter, more innocent tone to it now as he talks to my aunt, but it’s definitely the same one that kept me up most of last night. I walk toward them, and he turns around.
I was right—it’s Cole Rivers.