13. Ivy
Chapter 13
Ivy
A black leather skirt is tossed my way, followed by my favorite sleeveless mock neck sweater. Also, black.
“Oh, and these boots for sure.” Poppy holds up my black knee-high boots.
“What is this for?” I ask as Wren hands me my herringbone topcoat.
“We are getting you out of this town for some fun. No talk about the break-in, no worrying. Just a girl’s night at Vino on High,” Poppy explains.
“What’s Vino on High?” My question is muffled as I pull the sweater over my head.
“A new wine bar in Fenbury. With it being halfway between us and Boston, Beckett and I met there for their grand opening last week,” Stevie explains. “You’re going to love it, it’s so cute.”
I shimmy into the mini skirt next and pull my boots up. Personally, I don’t think I need a break from this town. If I’m being honest, what I need is more time to figure out what happened, more time with Tripp. I swear he almost kissed me yesterday after the lighthouse. I could feel in the air between us that I wasn’t the only one thinking about it. Then at my apartment later, I saw the way his gaze dropped to my lips, his eyes darkening. I had tried desperately to memorize that look and store it away forever.
But I’m certainly not going to turn down this girls’ night. I accept my coat and we head to the living room. Despite Fenbury being an hour away, Wren insists on using a ride app. Her reasoning being that we are doing tonight completely right, that it’s been too long. And as we pull up to Vino on High, it seems like they picked the right place. It’s chic in the best ways.
The facade is painted a rich cerulean with white lettering and a white and taupe striped awning. It’s still early for the true night scene, but people are already arriving in droves. We slide through the door and weave across the pale wood floors.
Inside is an open, two-story room with pristine white brick walls and an expansive cerulean bar. Peppered throughout the room are dark wood tables and chairs, matching bar stools, and a wall of wine bottles on black iron and wood shelves. It’s modern, coastal, and inviting all at once.
“You weren’t kidding, Stevie,” Poppy muses, turning in a circle. “This place is adorable.”
“I reserved us a table.” Stevie points us towards the hostess and we follow her to our spot in the front corner against the window.
I pluck the paper menu off the table and scan the wine list. “A honeysuckle blush sounds fun,” I comment. “Should we just get a few different bottles to split?”
“Love that, yes. Can we get a riesling too?” Stevie asks.
We spend the next few minutes debating how many bottles to settle on and which ones we want to try the most. By the time Wren and Poppy go up to order, we end up deciding on three different bottles.
“Before they get back,” Stevie leans across the table with a hushed, frantic tone. “I couldn’t remember why I recognized the one funky looking key from the break in. But then I had dinner with my dad, and it came to me.”
“What’s that?” I ask, shooting a look over to the bar. Our best friends are still distracted across the room.
“He has one of those keys, it’s given to anyone with a dock at the harbor.”
“So, I just need to figure out who at the party would have a dock,” I muse.
“I’m sure Tripp is already on it though,” Stevie offers quickly. “After all he has a dock there so he would have recognized the key too.”
I nod, she’s right. He can handle this, but it doesn’t make me wonder any less. It wouldn’t hurt to follow up too, right?
As Wren and Poppy return, I remember my best friends had made themselves clear that tonight is not about break-in talk. A silent agreement passes between Stevie and me. We drop the conversation before they reach us.
And it’s easy to drop the conversation while out with them. Between the flowing wine and easy laughter, they were right. I truly did need this. On our second bottle, Wren tops off my glass as Stevie teases Poppy for the time when we had tried to go snow skiing and she’d fallen right into a queue of people waiting for the lift.
“She took out like, six of them,” I join in with a fit of giggles.
“Better than the time Stevie was called onto the field at half time to try to kick a field goal and totally ended up on the ground,” Poppy snickers.
“Even so, I almost made it. It bounced off the post!” Stevie points out proudly. “But my ass was bruised for a week.”
“And when Ivy decided she was going to learn lacrosse—how many bruises did you end up with?”
“Too many,” I recall with a shudder.
“You’re just not a lacrosse girlie, it’s okay,” Stevie pats my hand.
“Yeah, but that wasn’t about lacrosse. That was about Tripp,” Poppy smirks.
My stomach dips at the mention of him, the feeling intensified by the alcohol. Poppy was correct about my motivations in high school. And it seems nothing has really changed.
“Well, we all knew that,” Wren smiles. “Speaking of… what’s new there?”
“I gave him the keys and the guest list, but we went over it at the lighthouse. As in, inside the lighthouse,” I start.
“I didn’t know you could go inside there?”
“That sounds romantic.”
“Apparently Tripp can, he has the key. And it was gorgeous in there. Oh my gosh it was a glass room near the top. And I think we’ve been having these… moments.”
“Moments how?” Poppy asks as they all lean forward in interest.
“I think there’s something there. I want there to be something, and lately it’s seemed like he does too. I think he almost kissed me.”
“Ivy!” Poppy exclaims, Stevie letting out a squeak of excitement beside her at the same time.
“It’s been all these little touches and stolen glances. Like if we say it out loud this whole thing could fall apart. Which it will. How could it not?”
“Okay, sure. But why does it have to fall apart?” Wren asks softly.
I take a generous sip of wine and sigh. “Tripp’s like a part of the family. He’s Wes’s closest friend, his person. I’m sure I’m making this all up in my head anyway. But even if I wasn’t, it’s reckless and already doomed. How would we ever be able to tell Wes? No way.”
Poppy shakes her head. “Wes is an adult. I don’t think it should stop you.”
“I want to go back to how he almost kissed you,” Stevie adds.
I recount the whole morning together for them, save the secret about my father. I focus on the way he looked at me, touched me. How there always seems to be this electricity when we are around each other. By the time I’m finished, I’ve fully convinced myself there is something between us. And I want to know what it is.
My phone vibrates on the table before me, but I’m so lost in the memory of Tripp’s hand on my waist that I don’t pay it any mind.
“He just texted you,” Stevie cuts into my thoughts excitedly.
“Who?”
“Tripp!”
I swipe my phone from the table in disbelief. My first thought is that they must be teasing me. But there it is, a new message from him. On a Saturday night?
Tripp
Are you going to be around your shop in the next few days?
I can feel eyes on my phone over my shoulder. “What did he say?” Wren asks from beside me.
“He wants to know when I’m at my shop next, nothing flirty,” I promise, a hint of disappointment in my voice.
“Why does he need to know that tonight? He wants to talk,” Poppy insists.
“You should call him instead of texting back. To see where he’s at, what he’s doing,” Wren suggests.
I’m certain that it’s the multiple glasses of wine thrumming in my veins, but I like her idea. If for no other reason than I get to hear his voice. A giggle escapes me as I press call and hold the phone up to my ear.