Chapter Seven
Ivy
The Coffee Loft's morning rush ebbs around me, but I barely notice. I've been staring at the same event proposal for Mountain Laurel Lodge for twenty minutes, the words blurring together while my untouched hazelnut macchiato grows cold. I ordered it without thinking and now I can't bring myself to taste it.
"Did you hear about the fire department fundraiser?" Mary asks Sara as they set up the day's pastry display. "Apparently Maddox?—"
I grip my pen tighter, focusing harder on the paper in front of me. If I concentrate enough on room layouts and catering numbers, maybe I won't think about how his name still makes my stomach flip. Maybe I won't remember how he tasted like wedding cake and possibility, or how his hands felt in my hair, or how easily he dismissed it all as part of the show.
The worst part is how everything reminds me of him. The way the morning sun hits the coffee shop's windows, just like it did that day we met here for our "practice date." The leather booth where he admitted to noticing how I take my coffee. Even the Wishing Wall, where someone's written "Find true love" in flowing script that makes my chest ache.
"Ivy?" Annie appears at my table with a fresh coffee. "You've been stirring that drink for five minutes."
"I’m thinking." I force a smile. "Lots of events coming up at the lodge."
She gives me a look that says she's not buying it, but thankfully doesn't push. That's the thing about small towns. Everyone knows everything, but sometimes they're kind enough to pretend they don't. Like they don't see the way I freeze every time a fire truck passes. Like they don't notice I've changed my morning coffee run to avoid his usual schedule.
Mrs. Peterson's book club whispers at their usual table, and I catch fragments of their conversation. Something about the wedding, about how sweet Maddox and I looked together, about what a shame it is that...
I flip my event proposal over with more force than necessary. That's the worst part, really. Everyone being so normal when nothing feels normal anymore. The sun still rises, people still laugh, and Maddox...
Well, Maddox is probably fine. Probably hasn't spent the last few days replaying every moment, analyzing every touch, wondering if any of it was real or if I just saw what I wanted to see. Probably isn't sitting at the station right now, thinking about how perfectly we fit together when we danced, or how right it felt to kiss me under the stars.
I haven't seen him since that night in the town square. Haven't needed to. He's made it clear he's avoiding the lodge, and I've made sure to stay away from the firehouse. What's the point in seeing him when I already know how this ends?
"More coffee?" Annie asks, but I shake my head.
"I should probably head back to the lodge." I start gathering my papers, needing to escape before someone else mentions his name or asks about the wedding or gives me that pitying look that says they know exactly what happened.
The bell above the door chimes, and I don't look up. Don't need to see if it's him, because it won't be. He hasn't come in since?—
The coffee shop goes suddenly, completely silent.
It's the kind of silence that has weight. The kind that makes your skin prickle and your heart race before you even know why. Mrs. Peterson's book club stops mid-whisper. Sara freezes with a coffee pot halfway to a customer's cup. Even little Tommy Marshall, who's been begging his mom for a cookie for the last ten minutes, goes quiet.
My heart stutters as I slowly lift my gaze. And there he is, filling the doorway like he always has, but something's different. His hair's disheveled like he's been running his hands through it, his uniform shirt is wrinkled like he slept in it, and he's looking at me like...
Like he's finally figured something out.
Like maybe I wasn't the only one pretending.
Like maybe, just maybe, this isn't how our story ends after all.
I set my mug down carefully, willing my hands not to shake. The entire Coffee Loft seems to hold its breath as Maddox moves toward me, his steps slow and deliberate.
"Here to order coffee, firefighter?" I'm proud of how steady my voice sounds.
He shakes his head. "I'm here for you."
Irritation prickles under my skin. He doesn't get to just walk in here, looking all rumpled and earnest, and expect?—
"I was an idiot." His voice is rough, like he's been rehearsing this. "A coward."
The room is so quiet I can hear the coffee machines humming. Mrs. Smith's knitting needles have gone still. Even Annie has stopped wiping down the counter.
"I spent years pretending I didn't want you because I was scared of what it would mean if I admitted the truth." He takes another step closer. "The truth is it was never fake. Not for me."
My heart stumbles, but I keep my expression neutral.
"I love you, Ivy." The words hang in the air between us, and suddenly I can't breathe. "And if you'll have me, I'll spend the rest of my life proving that I'm not going anywhere."
I cross my arms, tapping my foot despite the way my pulse is racing. "And what if I don't want grand speeches in front of the entire town?"
His mouth quirks up at one corner. It’s the same half-smile that's been making my stomach flip since I was sixteen. "Then I'll tell you in private. Every single day."
"Oh, just kiss him already!" Mrs. Peterson calls.
I sigh dramatically, but I can't keep the grin off my face. "You're lucky you're cute, firefighter."
Then I grab his collar and pull him down to me, pressing my lips to his. He makes a surprised sound before his arms wrap around my waist, lifting me slightly as he kisses me back. This isn't like our kiss at the wedding—soft and uncertain. This is sure, steady, real. This is Maddox pouring everything he couldn't say into the way he holds me, the way he breathes my name against my lips, the way his hands tremble slightly where they rest on my back.
The Coffee Loft erupts in cheers and whistles. I'm pretty sure I hear Mrs. Peterson sniffling. But all I can focus on is the way Maddox is looking at me when we break apart. He stares at me like I'm everything he's ever wanted, like he can't believe he gets to have this, like maybe he's been in love with me as long as I've been in love with him.
"So," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine. "Does this mean you forgive me?"
I pretend to think about it. "That depends. Are you going to keep running away every time things get real?"
"Never again." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm done running from this. From us."
"Good." I kiss him again, quick and soft. "Because I love you too."