Chapter Eight
“A friendship between a man and a woman was what you called it when one had been pursuing the other for a long time and never gotten anywhere.”
Joe Abercrombie
Jack
“Ivy,” I whispered after the tenth squeak of the bed in a matter of seconds. “Will you stop being so stubborn and just sleep down here with me? At this rate, your dad’s going to be banging on the door any minute now.”
Another squeak.
Several seconds later, Ivy’s gorgeous, infuriating head appeared, dangling upside down from the top bunk.
The bed groaned louder, as if to prove a point.
My point—that we should just share the bottom bunk.
Of course, I would be a gentleman about it.
Especially after she kept telling me to lay off acting like her boyfriend so well.
But I could see in her eyes that she liked it.
Honestly, I could have sworn at the retirement community that she was going to kiss me. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
“I’m sorry; I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about all the stupid things I said in front of my family today. And let’s not forget about the new batch of photos circulating online, or Sienna’s not-so-subtle dig directed toward me on her social media accounts.”
I sat up and ran a hand through my hair, thinking of the photo Sienna had posted of us together on the beach, sun-kissed and lips locked, with the caption, Some things just make sense. #iloveyoujack.
And there was no forgetting all the photos of me in the Cookie Crew sweater.
Most of my fans loved it, but there were always haters wondering what was going on with me and who didn’t think it was a good look.
I could easily ignore them. Unfortunately, Ivy was having a hard time letting go.
If they could only see me now in my gingerbread men pajamas.
I reached over and tugged on her hair, the strands slipping loose from her messy bun. “You’re going to get a headache doing that. Come here.” I patted the spot next to me.
She bit her lip, mulling it over. She’d been adamantly against it twenty minutes earlier when we went to bed, claiming it was silly for us to sleep on a twin mattress together.
But her hesitation didn’t really seem to be over logistics. It felt like something entirely different. Something she was too afraid to say. What was she so afraid of? Me? The thought of us?
It was so maddening to have her keep secrets from me.
Normally, she had no problem speaking her mind.
Even from the first moment we met. I supposed I was keeping a secret from her too.
The biggest secret—that I was in love with her.
In my defense, I was trying to spell it out for her.
But she was mistaking it for me being a talented actor.
Which sure, I was, if I do say so myself, but this was anything but an act.
She let out a resigned breath and, with ease, flipped over and landed next to me like she’d done it a hundred times.
A vision of teen Ivy popped into my head.
I could easily picture her as the life of the party, planning some midnight raid of the kitchen or sneaking out to meet up with boys.
Which was why her behavior now was so disconcerting.
Ivy wasn’t timid. Hell, the first time I met her, she had no problem putting me in my place. I loved her for it.
Her head hit my shoulder with a thud. I’d purposely kept my shirt on, thinking it might make it easier for her to agree to share the bottom bunk with me.
I’d noticed the night before that she’d purposely averted her eyes.
Odd, considering we’d gone to the beach together and frequently hung out at my pool. Why was she shy all of a sudden?
I kissed her head. “Ivy, what are you keeping from me?”
She unnaturally stilled before stuttering out, “Nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“I just didn’t think being your fake girlfriend would be this hard. I feel like such a liar. And let’s not forget Sienna,” she spat out her name.
“How come you never told me how much you hate her?”
“I’m not your babysitter or mother.”
Thank goodness for that. “But you are my best friend.”
“And I want to keep it that way. I was afraid you and Sienna would get married, and if you both knew how much I despised her, she or you would have pushed me out of your life.”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“Please, Jack. Someday, it’s going to happen. You’re going to meet some woman and fall madly in love with her, and she won’t appreciate you having a female best friend. She definitely wouldn’t approve of this scene.”
This was killing me. Why couldn’t she just open her eyes and realize she was the woman?
“You never know,” I teased. “Maybe she’ll be open-minded.”
Ivy giggled.
I loved her laugh. It was like oxygen to me.
“Right now, we have bigger fish to fry than your future wife. Can you imagine anyone finding out you’re sleeping on an old bunk bed and wearing gingerbread men pajamas?
I hope this doesn’t get out. Your fans and Sienna will be storming my parents’ house, demanding we release you.
I’m honestly surprised you haven’t run away screaming yet.
By the way, how are you holding up? I know this time of year is hard for you. ”
I thought for a moment. While today had been fun, it was a reminder of how screwed up my own family was.
Ivy’s family, despite their quirks, was amazing.
There was so much love between them. Even if they teased or argued, they stood on an unbreakable foundation.
They always came back together and worked out any differences with mutual love and respect.
It was almost weird how mentally and emotionally stable they all were.
Granted, the matching sweaters and holiday cheer were a little much, but like I said, they had their quirks.
Then there was my family. We were a case study in dysfunction.
Honestly, until I met Ivy, I never wanted a family of my own.
Who did I think I was to try to raise children, or even have a wife, after the example my parents had set?
I didn’t want to repeat their mistakes. But every time I looked at Ivy, I saw my future—a future I’d never thought imaginable. A future I wanted. Badly.
I hadn’t been lying earlier when I told her I wanted children. I’d only left out the most important part—that I wanted them with her and only her. She’d brought out a side of me I hadn’t known was there.
And I liked that man—the one who didn’t think only of himself.
“Today was fun,” I admitted. “And weird.” I chuckled.
“I did warn you.” She shifted uncomfortably.
Where did all of her discomfort come from? This was a woman who had no problem sending me to the store for tampons or eating ice cream straight out of the carton in front of me.
“You did give me ample warning. I’ve just never been around so much holiday cheer—or a real family.”
Damn, I should have left out that last part.
Ivy popped off my shoulder, a spark of her old self appearing. Even in the glow of the Christmas lights dimly illuminating the room, it was easy to see how her eyes livened up after my admission.
“Jack, you know you can talk to me about your family.”
I shrugged. “What’s there to say? There’s no changing the past.”
I never wanted to bog Ivy down with the ugly truths.
I’d moved beyond them and made something of my life.
After seeing her family effortlessly care for those at the retirement community and each other, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my home life had been nothing like that.
Her family even made preparing meals look like fun.
Mine, on the other hand, had rarely had money for food.
And even when we did, my dad had drunk it away.
“True. But you can always change the future.”
That was what I was trying to do by going to Aspen Lake with her. I knew a future with Ivy meant coming to terms with the holidays and my own crushed childhood hopes and dreams. It was something I needed to sort out before I could be with her.
“That’s the plan.” I tapped her nose.
“You’re not going to talk about it, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Fine,” she sighed, clearly not fine.
She should have thanked me. My past was depressing. But what wasn’t depressing was . . .
“So, where were you going to go with your ‘we fell in love while you cut my hair’ story?” I smirked.
She buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Jack, why did you have to bring that up?”
“You said you couldn’t sleep because of all the crazy things you said today, so I’m helping you get it out of your system.”
She dropped her hands, her face pinched. “Oh, so you want me to talk to you, but you won’t talk to me.”
“It’s not like that,” I assured her. “Believe me, I’m doing you a favor by keeping my mouth shut.”
She tilted her head and studied me. “You know I don’t see it that way.”
I did know that, and I loved her for it. But I wanted to protect her.
“So, how did we fall in love while you cut my hair?”
Truth be told, I had fallen in love with her while she cut my hair. I could remember it like it was yesterday, that first day we met, gazing at her in the mirror while she fixed the orange mess. There’d just been something about her. I’d known from that moment that I wanted her in my life.
She fell back and landed on my pillow.
This was good. I took the opportunity and lay next to her, wrapping my arms around her, as friendly as possible, trying not to scare her off, all while wishing I could draw her closer to me and remove anything between us.
“I don’t know what I was going to say.” She laughed into my chest. “What was your story going to be?”
“I was going to tell them you were overcome by passion one night and said you couldn’t keep your burning desire for me inside any longer. And that I was right all along about men and women not being able to be friends. Then you attacked me on my couch.” I laughed.
She lifted her head, eyes narrowed, scowling.
“What?” I smirked. “You don’t like that version?”
“If you told that story, I would have definitely had to wear the Grinch hat of shame.”
I grinned, picturing her in the hat that Jaquelyn kept on standby for any “Grumpy Gusses,” as she called them.
“And while we’re on that subject, you can just admit I’m right about men and women being friends,” she chided me.
Wrong. She was so wrong. But . . . maybe she would relax if I let her think she was right. She was clearly holding on to her delusion. How many people had to tell her I was a keeper, and we were meant to be together, before she believed it?
“Seven years of friendship, baby,” she added smugly, reveling in her self-proclaimed victory.
Seven years of beautiful torture.
“Okay, fine, you got me. I bow down to you. You’re right.” The words came out flat, as I didn’t believe them. Thankfully, she seemed to buy it.
She flashed me a toothy grin. “Ha! I knew it.”
“What can I say? You proved me wrong. Happy now?”
“Very.” She snuggled into me, and this time I didn’t hesitate to pull her close.
Look at that. She was playing right into my plans. Stubborn woman. At least we were both happy now. She thought she was right, and I really was. Not only that, but she was in my arms, and I had a feeling she was going to stay there for the rest of the night.
I stroked her silky hair, undoing her messy bun. Her gorgeous locks spilled out, and I breathed in her coconut shampoo, utterly intoxicated.
Did she realize with every slow stroke of her hair, she melted more into me?
“So, who did you have to make a handmade gift for?” Her words were light and giddy, like a puppy soaking up attention while being petted. She loved this arrangement as much as I did. Even if she wouldn’t admit it . . . yet.
I thought about the Santa hat with folded up names in it that Jaquelyn had passed around at dinner and the instructions that came with it: Keep the name secret, skill level doesn’t matter, but all your effort was mandatory. Admittedly, I felt inadequate, especially since I’d pulled Ivy’s name.
I’d been racking my brain trying to think of what I could make for her.
It wasn’t like my parents had passed down any useful skills to me.
Meanwhile, Bradford had a workshop, and Jaquelyn had a craft room that could rival Joanna Gaines’s.
Both had taught their children how to make things with their hands.
Not to say I hadn’t been told my hands were magical, but I don’t think that’s what the Wellses had in mind for this activity.
Too bad. I’d love to show Ivy what my hands could do. Maybe someday.
“There’s no way I’m telling you and risking the wrath of your mom.” That, and I wanted to think of the perfect gift to make for Ivy.
Hell, while I was at it, I should probably start thinking of additional gifts to buy her and her family.
I’d never shopped for Christmas gifts before.
Maybe Ivy’s nieces and nephews would just like cash.
That was easy enough. But knowing Ivy, she’d be sentimental, which meant I’d have to put some actual thought and effort into her gifts.
Gift-giving wasn’t my forte, but it was Ivy’s, and I didn’t want to let her down. Maybe I could get her a history book. She loved those. But that didn’t exactly scream sentimental or romantic.
“Okay, fine, but if you need some help, let me know. I know this isn’t your thing.”
It wasn’t my thing. Not at all.
Ivy was my thing.
She yawned and let out a deep breath, settling into me. No argument about where she was going to sleep.
“Good night, Jack,” she murmured, already drifting off to sleep.
“Good night, Ivy.” I smiled to myself.
There was no denying it. Damn, I was good.