8. Ivy
Chapter 8
Ivy
M y living room has been transformed. The coffee table pushed aside, the floor buried under layers of blankets and pillows with not an inch of ground to be seen. Across the bench on the bay window, three different types of pizza are scattered amongst a bowl of popcorn and M&Ms, a pack of Oreos, and white cheddar cheese puffs.
They had jumped back into questions after Tripp left, but I just wanted a break from everything. My friends had rallied to meet my needs, immediately deciding which of our favorite Nora Ephron movies would be best for tonight.
“Which one has the local sheriff swooping in to save the day for the heroine any chance he can?” Wren asks with a smirk.
“Yeah, can we please just talk about Tripp? That doesn’t count as talking about what happened with the shop, right?” Stevie pipes in.
“What about him?” I ask, trying to ignore the way my insides flutter at the mention of his name.
“For starters, tonight he pretty much opened the door for anything you want to do with him.”
I roll my eyes at Wren. “How?”
“Ivy knows I’d do anything for her,” Poppy mimics in her deepest tenor. “I mean, I swooned at that.”
“Same.”
“Oh, same.”
I bite my lip, not sure if I want to share his reaction at the store. The last thing they need is more fuel. And yet, I’m giddy to tell them.
“Actually, when he arrived on the scene, he was… sexy ,” I say, bringing my hand up to touch my face where he had caressed it. The three of them lean forward with wide eyes.
“What did he do?”
I recount for them how Tripp had scooped me up and held me. How he had been gentle, intimate even, running his thumb along my chin and holding me close. Heat settles in me as I imagine it all again.
“Ivy!” Poppy grabs my arm eagerly. “He loves you!”
“Agreed,” Wren nods.
I remember why I didn’t want to tell them. The hope they stir in me is downright dangerous. But I find myself smiling, nonetheless.
“So yesterday,” I start, walking from the kitchen. Coffee cup in one hand, I twist the perpetrator’s keys in the other.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Wren asks from her perch by the window.
“Yes. I want to talk about how I’m going to solve this.”
I had laid awake thinking about it long after my friends all drifted off to sleep last night. The biggest piece of evidence is at my fingertips, I finally have an opportunity to not run away from something. I can figure this out, but my friends don’t seem as excited by the idea as I am.
“You’re going to solve this?” Poppy repeats, a crease in her brow.
I open my hand to reveal the keys, dangling them from my finger. “I am, because I have these.”
“And what are those?” Stevie leans forward and squints at the evidence.
Taking a seat on the couch beside her, I explain. “I found them when I was walking out of my office. Before Tripp or Millie went in there. And they aren’t mine. That means whoever broke into my shop dropped these yesterday.”
I lay them on the coffee table and all four of us gather around the item in question. Wren catches on first, her eyes widening. “The keychain.”
“Exactly! It’s clear that we know who this is.”
“Not clear to me,” Poppy grunts.
“The keychain is the party favor from the Taylor’s pig roast last weekend,” Wren explains.
The room goes quiet as the realization settles over us. Not only do we know this person, we trust them. My heart aches for my family, thinking someone they would welcome into their home could be hurting our community.
“Does Tripp know about this?” Wren asks.
“Not yet. I put them in my pocket and forgot about them, until the middle of the night.”
“You should give them to him. They’re evidence.”
“I can do something about this! I can do something about the fact that someone attacked my shop,” I reply, hearing my own defensiveness.
Stevie sets her hand on mine supportively. “It would be doing something, giving them to Tripp and telling him what you know. You could even get the guest list from your mom for him, so it doesn’t raise any red flags about him looking into their friends.”
I think about how hard Tripp was on himself last night. I would never keep this tip from him. But maybe I can help him, at least.
“Of course, I’ll tell him. But I’m not going to just cut and run… again.”
“Ivy,” Wren murmurs, setting her coffee mug down and coming to put her arm around me. “What do you mean again ?”
“New York.”
“You didn’t cut and run then,” Poppy offers. “And this is nothing like New York.”
“Even still, I’m working on this.”
“Then just be safe, stay close to Tripp,” Stevie offers.
“Now that’s some fun advice,” Poppy agrees. Bringing my coffee mug to my lips, I hide a smile behind it. More time with Tripp, that certainly does sound like some fun advice.