Chapter Four
“Friends are generally of the same sex, for when men and women agree, it is only in the conclusions; their reasons are always different.”
George Santayana
Jack
Jaquelyn looped her arms through Ivy’s and mine as we stepped into the mudroom of Ivy’s childhood home.
Ahead of us, her dad, Bradford, strode in, carrying some of our luggage, waving off my offer to help with a quiet shake of his head.
The rest of the family had already rushed inside, busy getting kids to bed.
Bradford always reminded me of a movie dad—salt-and-pepper hair cropped short and neat, broad-shouldered, with that steady, reassuring presence that made you feel like everything was going to be okay just because he was in the room.
The exterior of their home was just as Ivy had gushed about over the years, a blend of stone and wood reminiscent of an upscale ski lodge, its charm enhanced by towering snow-laden pines dotting the property.
Twinkle lights hung on all the eaves and columns, making it feel like a veritable winter wonderland.
The mudroom was just as impressive, with built-ins seamlessly organizing coats and shoes—nothing out of place. And a Christmas tree stood tucked into the corner, another reminder that Ivy’s family didn’t just celebrate the holiday—they apparently breathed it.
Ivy hadn’t exaggerated—her family took Christmas seriously. The real question was: Could I?
To me, the holidays had always been nothing but a grim reminder of a past I’d worked hard to forget.
Even now, I refused to let any of those gut-wrenching memories surface, though they threatened to in the face of all this holiday cheer.
But I knew I had to make a truce with the season.
Ivy loved this time of year—and I loved her.
And I meant what I’d said about wanting to love the things she loved.
Maybe if she saw me making an effort, she’d realize my romantic feelings were anything but fake.
“I hope you two don’t mind sharing Ivy’s old room,” Jaquelyn giggled.
“What?” Ivy skidded to a stop, panic flashing across her face. “Um, isn’t that against your rules?”
Ivy had warned me her parents were old-fashioned about relationships—at least when it came to sleeping over at their house. I was supposed to end up in a guest room. This was definitely preferable.
“Oh, please, honey. Your dad and I are with the times now.” Jaquelyn waved a dismissive hand. “And besides, there’s no room left. Our family’s growing. We even had to put Graham and Kaden in the den on the sofa bed.”
Graham and Kaden are Ivy’s oldest nephews, sons of Drew and Kira. Drew is Ivy’s oldest brother, and Kira is his wife.
“I don’t want to make you and Dad uncomfortable—I can just take the couch in the family room,” Ivy insisted.
“Nonsense.” Jaquelyn didn’t even slow down, tugging Ivy along like there was no room for argument. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about that part of your life.”
Ivy’s cheeks pinked, her mouth falling open—but no words escaped.
I figured it was time to step in.
“We really appreciate it, Jaquelyn,” I said smoothly.
Jaquelyn drew us closer, beaming. “Oh, this just makes me so happy. This is going to be the best Christmas ever. I know I keep saying this, but I knew you two would finally figure out that you belong together.”
I stole a glance at Ivy, hoping she might finally see it, too—but judging by her blank stare, she was officially trapped in the twilight zone.
She’d whispered to me on the car ride from the airport that she felt as if she’d been dropped into an alternate universe.
For that, I felt awful, but I hoped by the end of this trip she would see it was all worth it and we would leave here as more than friends.
That was, if she didn’t maim me first for making her endure not only Sienna but also, apparently, the press.
I already had a slew of texts and voicemails from Tori—my PR manager—and her team, all demanding to know what was going on. They would have to wait. First, I needed to make sure Ivy didn’t hate me. And—more importantly—to see which side of the bed she preferred.
Maybe Christmas wasn’t so terrible after all.
Walking through the house felt like stepping straight into the North Pole—if the elves were interior designers. Every room overflowed with holiday cheer: twinkling lights, garlands, and, of course, a perfectly placed Christmas tree in each one.
Ivy said nothing, moving numbly toward her room on the second floor of the sprawling open-concept home. Its crowning jewel? A towering two-story fireplace with what appeared to be a stocking for each person, hung with care.
Bradford stood by Ivy’s open bedroom door, the luggage tucked neatly inside, his gaze fixed anywhere but on me. Normally, he acted like my best friend. It made me question if he really was comfortable with me sharing a room with his daughter.
My guess was no.
Jaquelyn, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, chirped, “Oh, I probably should mention that we didn’t have time to redecorate Ivy’s room, so you’re stuck with her bunk bed. And just remember—it’s old, and it squeaks.”
Bradford smirked, like that was going to be a deterrent of some sort.
Not that I planned on making a move on Ivy or taking advantage of the situation.
The last thing I wanted was for Ivy to feel uncomfortable.
Or think that I was just looking for a friends-with-benefits arrangement.
But the bunk bed reveal was disappointing.
I’d at least been hoping for some friendly cuddling in bed or waking up and seeing her dark hair spilling across the pillow and knowing I wanted to wake up to that sight every day of my life.
Or who knew? Maybe Ivy would make a move on me. It was plausible.
“Mom,” Ivy groaned, pure mortification spilling into the single word.
Okay, maybe not that plausible.
“What? There are children in the house,” Jaquelyn said innocently. “I’m only trying to save you a little embarrassment.”
“Too late,” Ivy muttered, perfectly deadpan.
Jaquelyn grinned and patted her daughter’s cheek. “You’re so cute.”
“Okay. Well—good night,” Ivy sighed, ready to shut this conversation down. “Thanks for picking us up and bringing up our luggage.”
“Yes, thank you for everything.”
I made sure to make eye contact with Bradford. I didn’t want him thinking I was some dishonorable cad, here to take advantage of his daughter.
Bradford didn’t waste the opportunity—his stare carried one clear message: He damn well better not hear a single squeak from this room.
Message received—loud and clear.
Bradford stepped forward and kissed Ivy’s head.
“Good night, honey. Love you.”
I got a crushing handshake—delivered with a humorless smile.
“Good night, Jack.”
“Good night, sir.”
I hadn’t used formality like that in years. Truth be told, I hated the word. My father had made sure of that—demanding respect but never bothering to earn it. Bradford, though—he was a better man. A good man. The kind of man I wanted to be.
Jaquelyn was much warmer with her departure.
Ivy and I each received a bear hug. She even told me she loved me.
The words hit like an unexpected gust of air—I had no idea how to respond.
My own mother had never been so affectionate.
She’d left when I was seven, saving herself from the hell that was my father. Apparently, I wasn’t worth saving.
I shoved the unwelcome thoughts aside and managed to mutter, “Thank you. Good night.”
Jaquelyn gave me a knowing smile, like she understood why I didn’t reciprocate, but there was no disappointment, just a quiet certainty that she wouldn’t give up on me.
It made me feel kind of guilty for lying to her about my relationship with Ivy.
Would she still love me if she were in on the charade? I hoped I didn’t have to find out.
Ivy grabbed my hand. “Come on, honey. Let’s go to bed.”
I knew that tone. Sweet on the surface—deadly underneath.
And it scared me.
Ivy was livid.
Not that I blamed her. She had every right to be.
“I hung a schedule up on the wall. We start bright and early tomorrow with our Christmas cookiepalooza. Then we’ll take the cookies over to the retirement home and play games with the residents,” Jaquelyn sang as she flitted off.
Ivy yanked me into her old bedroom, shut the door, and turned—ready to lay into me.
But before she could, I caught sight of her room, and for a second, everything else faded.
It was an Ivy time capsule, untouched, preserved like a snapshot of the girl she used to be.
I wanted to take it all in—her prom pictures, the volleyball team posters and rosters featuring her, every detail that made up her past, including the old heart pillows on her bunk bed made up with holiday linens.
I couldn’t help but stare, jealous, as I took in the boys who had held Ivy close in those stunning gowns—gowns that showed off a beauty that had only grown more breathtaking with time.
“You’re gorgeous,” I whispered, meaning every syllable.
“Don’t even start trying to butter me up right now.”
I wrapped Ivy in my arms, hoping the hug would smooth over even a fraction of her frustration.
“I’m sorry.”
Truly, I was sorry for the stress this was causing her. But if I were being honest, I wasn’t sorry for how this was all turning out. It was better than I’d ever imagined.
Two whole weeks. One room. Ivy. Absolute perfection.
She stiffened at first but then relaxed into me, her head landing with a thud on my chest.
“Jack,” she whined. “This is turning out so much worse than I thought. My parents think we’re sleeping together, and they put us in the same room.
And every single time this bed so much as thinks about squeaking, my family is going to assume .
. . well, you know,” she whimpered. “And as if that isn’t bad enough, the entire world is currently wondering why you’d ever pick me over Sienna. Maybe we should just ‘break up’ now.”
“And disappoint your family?” I teased, masking the mild panic rising in my chest.
I hadn’t even started to woo her yet.
“Yeah, and that’s another thing. I had no idea my family thought we should be together.
Why would they think that? They’re going to be so disappointed when they find out we’re lying.
Ugh. I hate this, Jack. I hate it. And, FYI, I blame you.
Okay—and Sienna. Why couldn’t I have just kept my big mouth shut? ”
“Um—excuse me? I’m a little offended here. Why wouldn’t your family think we should be together? Am I that repulsive?”
“Oh, please. You’re not fooling anyone. So, don’t pretend I’m hurting your feelings. You have to be just as put off by this as I am.”
I absentmindedly stroked her hair, feeling the weight of just how far we had to go. Convincing Ivy we should be together was never going to be easy—I knew that. But I hadn’t realized just how blind she was to the way I saw her.
I paused, choosing my words carefully, knowing there was no way I could admit I was in love with her—not yet.
“Listen, Ivy. You’re worth a hundred times more than all the Siennas in the world. Your beauty surpasses hers, inside and out. I mean that.”
“Right,” she snorted against my chest.
“I’m being earnest here. So, let’s just enjoy these two weeks. Let’s have some fun with it. Jump on the bed, give your family a show,” I teased.
Ivy giggled. “Oh my gosh. I seriously cannot believe they’re letting us stay in the same room.
My siblings are probably so salty about it.
They were never ever allowed to share a room with anyone they brought home unless they were married.
Are you sure you’re okay with this? I could make up some excuse that we’re waiting. ”
Oh, hell. Was she trying to kill me?
“That’s not necessary,” I assured her, somehow, miraculously, keeping my voice steady. Fake dating the woman I loved was going to be the death of me.
“All right.” Ivy gave me a good friendly squeeze before popping off my chest. “We better get ready for bed. My mom is serious about her holiday schedule. Dibs on the bathroom first. And don’t even think about stealing the top bunk—it’s mine.”
Suddenly, she was treating me like I was one of her girlfriends and this was just a slumber party.
And here I’d thought I had game.
“Yeah, okay,” I grumbled, feeling my so-called charm slip through my fingers. This wasn’t going remotely how I had planned.
Ivy grabbed one of her bags and flitted off into the ensuite bathroom.
That left me to approach the Christmas tree in the bedroom cautiously.
The tree stood in the corner, decorated in soft pinks and greens—the same shades as Ivy’s room.
The colors had probably been trendy when she was in high school.
They still seemed to fit her, though. Handmade ribbons, mini volleyball and scissor ornaments, and framed family photos—pieces of Ivy’s past—adorned the tree.
But one picture stood out above the rest.
Ivy and me.
I’d never seen this photo, but I knew exactly when Jaquelyn had taken it. She’d happened to be in town when I moved into my new place. A place Ivy had helped me pick out—a sprawling farmhouse and ranch on ten acres on the outskirts of Austin. A perfect fit for a family. For Ivy and me and our kids.
She was the only woman I could ever imagine having children with. And yet, the dang stubborn woman refused to see it—the farmhouse, the land, every inch of it. I bought it for us. Hell, she’d chosen everything—the cabinets, the flooring, every single fixture. The house had Ivy woven into its bones.
Did that send her any messages?
Any at all?
If not, maybe this picture would. I carefully lifted it off the tree and gazed at us, surrounded by boxes, sitting on the floor, exhausted because Ivy had convinced me we should do the packing and transporting together—even though I could have easily paid for professional movers.
She said it would mean more if I did it myself.
I’d thought she was crazy—but she’d insisted.
And she’d been right. But only because she’d been there with me.
That entire day, it had felt like we were a couple moving into our first place together.
And I had proof of it in my hands. There we were—her head resting on my shoulder, my head leaning on hers.
We looked like lovers, not friends.
If Ivy wanted to know why her mother thought we would end up together, all she had to do was look at this photo. The evidence was clear.
Now, to get her to see it.