6. Ivy
Chapter 6
Ivy
T here’s a simple joy that comes from buying a new book. The cover that speaks to you, the anticipation of the story to come. And I love being the one to connect people with words that were meant for them. It’s at The Open Book that someone might find a new close friend in the pages. Or maybe they are able to feel seen, a piece of themselves represented in a way they haven’t felt with everyday life.
It's these moments I need to remember when I’m doubting myself. These moments that are important. And there were so many happy, eager patrons today to remind me of this.
But it’s the quiet hours at the shop that I treasure the most. When I have the place all to myself. My modest, cozy world.
A melodic Noah Kahan song fills the silence that comes after closing. Alone with my books, music, and pumpkin bourbon candle, I settle in to review numbers and prepare for my next inventory order.
Clicking open the necessary Excel sheet, I scroll to where I last left off. My paranormal romance stock has been flying from the shelf, which I had expected come October. But before I know it, the cozy holiday reads will be in demand.
Starting out, I had been worried about my ability to operate a business that was profitable. I certainly hadn’t prepared myself with business classes in college. But in the end, my love for books, and love for connecting with others about books, proved to be the most valuable aspect of running the shop.
I’m reading a summary about an upcoming release when the sound of shattering glass reverberates through the store. Pausing the music to hear better, I spring up hurriedly. It’s difficult to tell what happens next as the commotion has left a ringing in my ears. My heart threatens to pound from my chest. My brain is frozen, unable to process what could be happening.
I’ve yet to move from where I stand behind the desk when the sound of the front door opening reaches me. The broken glass makes more sense now. Someone is breaking into my shop. The realization chills me to my core. Swiping my phone from my desk, I duck down underneath it.
Tucked tightly away in the hollow under the desk, I try to slow my breathing with no success. Footsteps echo around me and I focus all my attention on determining where they might be.
From the sound of it, the intruder has crossed in front of the windows and stopped, leaving silence in their wake. Then comes a booming crash followed by the sound of something shattering. Footsteps again. Then an identical crash and shatter.
A sob threatens to escape me, and I cover my mouth with my hand. It’s then I remember that I’ve brought my phone under the desk with me. I double check that it’s on silent and slide it open. There is only one person that comes to mind, and I reason with myself that it’s only because he’s the sheriff. It’s logical to be thinking of Tripp at this moment.
I don’t want to run the risk of calling him and the intruder hearing my voice, so I send a text instead.
Ivy
911 SOMEONE HERE IN MY STORE. brOKE IN.
Clear, to the point. I know he’ll come. I hit send, then call and hang up after two rings. Just long enough for him to have received a missed call that will alert him to check his phone and see the text. And it works. He responds immediately.
Tripp
HIDE. OMW.
Sinking back against my desk in relief, I know I’ll be okay. Tripp will make sure of it. My phone vibrates again and it’s another text from him.
Tripp
Millie is on patrol. I’m sending her too. Do NOT come out unless it’s Millie or me.
The relief is short lived when the footsteps from earlier suddenly sound closer. Significantly closer. I make sure the screen of my phone is hidden and hold my breath. More destruction erupts through the space. At this rate, it seems that there won’t be anything left of my store.
The intruder crosses in front of my office door now, I can see their shadow outlined in the light stretching across the wall behind me. Panic reaching a new height, it feels as if I’m going to pass out from the fear.
They sound right next to me now and I can hear them lift my computer from above my head. A moment later, it slams against the wall, pieces sliding across the floor to me. This is it; they’re going to find me under here. I look over at my bag and coat hanging in the corner of the room. They must realize I wouldn’t have left those things behind.
And then the sound of sirens fills the air.
“Fuck!”
It’s clearly a male voice that curses above me, followed by his fleeing at a rapid pace. The sob I’d been holding in breaks through, a choking cry escaping me. He’s gone. He’s gone, I repeat in my brain.
“Ivy!” Millie’s voice fills my shop, relief cracking through my chest like the first rays of sunlight chasing away a storm.
I’m not even sure if my legs are moving, I can hardly feel them. But I’m not beneath my desk any longer. I’ve managed to make my way to the doorway of my office. Peering around the corner, I find complete and utter destruction before me. I know what I’m seeing, but there’s a lack of understanding happening in my brain.
My eyes trail over the scene. The tables against my store windows have been toppled, crumpled books spilling across the floor as if being carried on a tidal wave. The intruder had then broken the legs off the table and moved on to breaking the rolling ladders from my shelves. I look over to the checkout counter next and find holes peppering it, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it across the front.
Tears well in my eyes as I take it all in, fear giving way to shock. Or at least, this must be shock, right? Because there’s no other explanation for the numbness I’m feeling.
From far away, I hear the sound of a muffled voice. Looking up, I realize it’s not coming from far at all. Millie is approaching me, followed closely by Mrs. Silberman, the owner of Silberman Antiques next door.
As they cross through the destruction, the chaos that’s struck my safe quiet place comes into focus. My store has been thoroughly devastated. I have been deliberately attacked. But why?
I move to meet them when my boot kicks something, a faint jingle coming from it. I look down and find a set of keys at my feet. I pick them up and examine them. There are only two keys on the ring. But next to them is a bottle opener. Specifically, a bottle opener keychain with a fox etched into it. I slide it into my pocket, an alarm sounding in the corner of my brain. I know whoever this was.
Mrs. Silberman is gesturing wildly behind Millie, frantic for her attention as Millie steps around the crumpled books. It strikes me as odd to see such a quiet woman in disarray. Her glasses swing on their chain around her neck, her normally tight gray-haired bun unkempt.
I wonder if that is how I should be reacting, too. It was my shop that was struck, after all.
My brain registers that Millie has approached me, but her voice is drowned out by the rapid pounding of my heart. I swing my focus up to look at her, but my vision catches on the scene behind her instead.
I can’t seem to look away from one of the broken vases by the door, knocked from the table and shattered to tiny pieces. And there beside it is the crumpled flower arrangement, water pooling around the stems, glass, and porcelain shards. So delicate, the flowers wouldn’t have stood a chance.
“Did they harm you? Do you need anything?” Millie is asking me.
I manage to shake my head and allow her to guide me over to the armchairs in the back of the store, away from the mess. Taking a seat beside me, she doesn’t demand anything. I know the time will come when I must deal with all of this, but I’m grateful that time isn’t now. We sit in silence, tears streaming down my cheeks slow but steady.
And then he walks in.
“Ivy! Are you hurt?”
His voice cuts through it all clear as day, the sound of salvation. I tear my eyes away from the ruin as Tripp comes to kneel before me. His own gaze swirling with a mixture of fury and fear.
He cups my jaw, his thumb brushing over my skin softly as he assesses me. “Are you hurt?” he repeats his question.
“No, I’m okay,” I manage, my mind reeling from his warm, gentle touch.
He pulls me up and into a hug, my body finally allowing itself to relax in his embrace. I take what may be my only opportunity in this lifetime to nuzzle against him and inhale his woodsy scent. Completely enveloped by Tripp, I feel safe, shielded from the chaos around me. It’s enough to help me take a steadying breath.
When his hand slides up my jaw to the back of my head, cradling me against him, heat pulses through my body. Does he realize what he’s doing to me?
My own hands slide upward, resting with my palms against his flannel covered chest. I can feel his solid, fit body through the thick material, and use it to ground myself further.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs with a strain in his voice. Lifting my head to meet his gaze, I want to tell him that he has no reason to be sorry. That he is the one that saved me, he is the one pulling me out of my panic. But he levels me with that look of pained anger once again and my mouth goes dry. In the ten years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen this look before tonight.
“Boss.” Millie’s voice behind us breaks through the protective bubble Tripp’s encased me in.
Dropping his hand to rest on my back, he keeps me close to him while turning to face her. “Deputy,” he replies, his voice more even now. “What is it?”
“This one is different.”
“Of course it is. Ivy was here,” Tripp bites before loosening a sigh. “Sorry, continue.”
Millie nods in understanding. “Besides that, they left a note. It’s the first time there’s been any kind of communication.”
He furrows his brow at the white paper in her hand. “What does it say?”
“You won’t catch me,” she reads aloud, handing the crisp note to Tripp. I steal a glance at it in his hand, the words typed out in a small, simple black font.
“Shouldn’t something like this be more menacing? They’re always scrawled out in bold red sharpies, right?” I wonder, thinking of the suspense novels I’ve read recently.
A small smirk teases at the corner of Tripp’s mouth, a flash of amusement passing across his eyes. They are the first signs that he’s settled some of his anger. “Afraid not.”
“This just doesn’t seem as scary,” I point out.
“This should all be scary enough,” he says, motioning around us. “Don’t get me wrong. I hate the idea of you afraid. Please know that I’ll keep you safe. But the fact that they included a note at all…”
I’ll keep you safe . The declaration hangs in the air between us. It feels like a personal promise.
“Why would a teen leave the shore to hit here?” Mrs. Silberman asks, her brows pinched in confusion.
“It’s not some restless tourist kid,” Tripp replies, his hand on my back now tracing small circles with his thumb.
His casual caress is foreign to me. After all, this is Tripp. But as confused as my brain is, my body ignites from his touch.
Millie nods. Her lips clasped in a tight line, she asks, “Do you want to tell the town that it’s a local?”
“Not yet. For now, no one says anything about the note, either. Another instance of vandalism, that’s all you say. Don’t let anyone know Ivy was here. And get the tip line number out there. This is the first time they hit a more populated place, and earlier in the evening. Someone saw something. Finish what you need for your report, I’ll get Ivy’s statement later so don’t worry about that.”
Tripp turns to Anne Silberman next. “This goes for you too, ma’am. Don’t say a word to anyone.”
Marching orders given; the deputy returns to the task at hand, Mrs. Silberman following close behind.
Wordlessly, Tripp shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. It’s not until the heat from the garment hits me that I realize how cold I’ve been. It’s a harsh October breeze that passes through the shattered glass door at the storefront, one that causes a shiver to escape me as he guides my arms into the sleeves. I’ve been completely paralyzed since this whole thing has started, and more grateful than ever for his attentive gestures.
“I’m going to check everything out, but then I’ll take you home and we can do your statement there. I can stay, I don’t want you to be alone tonight,” he says in a tone that makes it sound like a marching order of my own.
If I was in shock before, I’m certain my jaw is now on the floor. Disbelief radiates from me as he walks away with that parting statement. I can stay, I don’t want you to be alone tonight . His words rattle around my head, looking for a place to land. But I’m struggling for a way to make sense of what comes next.
Tripp Forester. In my apartment overnight. Suddenly, I welcome the chilly night. The biting breeze effectively cools the heat that is climbing up my neck and across my face.
I need a distraction. Looking around, I spot Millie occupied with paperwork, her head bent low over the damaged checkout counter. Tripp is making his first pass through the scene, having rushed past it all to get to me upon his arrival. And I’m standing here, useless, in the center of it all. The feeling grates on me. Millie seems like my best bet at the moment, so I make my way over and lean on the counter beside her.
“Thanks for earlier,” I start.
She looks up from her report and smiles. Millie is the compassionate sort of tough. Capable, but not trying to prove anything. I admire her for it.
“Of course, I can understand how out of nowhere this would feel. It might be our typical,” she says, waving her hand towards her sheriff, “but it’s not yours.”
“It’s certainly not typical for me,” I admit. “Is there anything I should do right now?”
“No ma’am. Normally we’d get your story for the report, but Tripp already said he’d be doing that.” A small smile plays on her lips. “And here he comes now.”
I turn as he says, “Ready to head out?”
“What do I do with all of this?” I ask, looking around my shop.
“We worry about that tomorrow,” he assures me, coming to a stop at my side.
“I’ll put some plastic up on the door before I leave though,” Millie assures me, tucking her pen away.
“Then I just need to grab my things.”
Anticipation surges in me once again. I’m about to go home with Tripp for the night. This feels important, somehow. I can’t put my finger on why quite yet, but I’m cautious about giving in to the embers of hope that have sparked in my chest at his reactions this evening.
Back in my office, I toss my phone in my leather tote. I’m absolutely not in the mood to talk to anyone about what’s happened to my store. Then with a quick exhale to put out the candle on my desk, I return to a waiting Tripp. It’s mesmerizing, the idea that I’m about to be in his passenger seat twice in one week.