16. Ivy
Chapter 16
Ivy
T he route from the harbor to town hall is idyllic with warm, rich hued trees, and homes that have gone all out with harvest decor. We make our way past a low stone wall, small orange pumpkins lined up all along it.
“I’ve been wondering about something you mentioned the other day,” Tripp says beside me.
My scarf dances in the breeze and I train it down so I can look over at him. “What’s that?”
“You were talking about your job in New York, about being in publishing.”
“Mhm, my title was editorial assistant.”
“But for as long as I’ve known you, you wanted to write. I remember how you would lock yourself away when inspiration struck you. You’d spend hours, days even, creating a whole world in your head. I always thought it was so impressive.”
I’m silent beside him, partially disappointed that everything he’s saying is in the past, and partially amazed that he noticed. I take a step forward, grinding the toe of my boot into a small array of fallen leaves. I always thought that Wren, Poppy, and Stevie were the only ones to know about my writing, aside from my mom. And now to learn that Tripp, of all people, has noticed this vulnerable side of me, it’s causing a tightening sensation in my chest.
I hear him take a few steps to stand before me and when I look up, his mouth is drawn into a tight line. “Why did you switch from writing to being an editorial assistant?”
I shrug, moving forward once again. He doesn’t press me for an immediate response. Instead, he falls into step beside me, as near as we can get without actually embracing one another. I wish he’d grab for my hand like last night in Fenbury. But we are close to town square and any number of prying eyes could come around the corner.
“I don’t actually know. I did write a whole book. In college,” I admit, surprising myself. Apparently, he is becoming the person for all my secrets. “When the time came, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything with my manuscript. I thought I’d still get a hand in things at the publishing house, that it would be enough.”
“Have you ever thought about writing again? You can do that alongside running the store.”
I tilt my head in thought. It hadn’t occurred to me for some time, honestly. I’d been so focused on my dad’s health, and then everything that went into opening a business. And figuring out how to maintain a business. But it would be possible once I had The Open Book up and running again.
“Maybe,” I reply. “Maybe I could.”
We are nearing town hall when I spot three of Tripp’s deputies approaching from the other direction. My mind flashing back to the investigation.
“You’re going to have to talk tonight, aren’t you?”
He nods, a resigned look in his eyes. “I have a feeling I’ll be talking quite a bit.”
“But you said you plan to keep everything under wraps. So, you have to go up there and act like you know nothing?” My heart aches for the way the town is going to treat him when he’s just doing the right thing to protect them from one of their own.
“Yeah, pretty much.” He shrugs, but the movement is stiffer than usual. We crest the stairs to the front doors of town hall and turn to the right, nearing the annex that houses the gatherings.
“I wish you could just like, get fingerprints from the keys and bust him already,” I whisper. “Wait!” I grab his arm as we reach the meeting hall’s doorway. “Can you get fingerprints from the keys?”
The corner of his mouth tilts into a knowing smile. He leans down until his lips nearly brush the shell of my ear. A tempting shiver rushes over me from his closeness, and in front of the town no less.
“Let’s say I could get prints from the keys. Any chance that they would belong to you?” He nods over to my friends, already seated towards the front. “Or Stevie, Poppy, and Wren?”
He gives a little tug on one of my curls before straightening and taking a step away. My face heats, but it seems to amuse Tripp because the stiffness from his posture is gone, and he shoots me a wink before turning to approach the mayor.
I follow the nondescript beige carpet across the back of the room and turn up the far side to reach my friends. They’ve saved a group of wooden folding chairs around them, and as I approach, Wren removes her purse from the spot beside her.
“You two looked cozy coming in just now,” she leans over and whispers.
I purse my lips and glance his way. He’s returned to his stoic posture at the front of the room, flanked by his deputies now. One of them being Chuck, who seems to be murmuring furiously at Tripp.
My own anger begins to simmer, he should understand that Tripp is about to get verbally attacked. Does Chuck really need to pile it on right now? And what does he have to be upset about?
“What’s with Chuck?” I ask Wren.
“He’s been in a fit since he arrived. Apparently just waiting for Tripp to show up and catch the brunt of it.”
“What are you two talking about?” Poppy leans forward between us. She follows my gaze to the line of law enforcement. “Ah, I have a good guess. Well I brought some snacks for tonight.”
Her head disappears from the space between me and Wren, replaced instead by her arm, pushing a tin of pumpkin bars towards us.
“No thanks,” I reply. Normally, town meetings feel like social events. We eat and drink and joke with Fitzy. We plan festivals and debate about if Rusty and the owner of an oyster bar in Fenbury are secretly together, with how often we see her around.
But I’m not feeling very social tonight. I watch as Tripp slowly turns his head to acknowledge Chuck, his face a study of hard lines and conveyed discipline. Tripp’s mouth moves for the briefest moment, and it’s enough to quiet Chuck in an instant.
A small smile turns up my lip. I shouldn’t get this excited by his authority. And yet…
“Welcome all, let’s get started!” Fitzy booms as he steps up to the podium before us.
Hayden slides into the seat beside me and his brother, Beckett, sits down next to Stevie. He casts a glance over his shoulder, watching Poppy offer Beckett a pumpkin bar.
“Ivy,” he whispers. “Grab me one of those?”
“You’re kidding, right? Just tell her you want one.”
“She won’t give me one. Please, they look really good.” Hayden practically drools as he eyes the tin.
Stifling a laugh, I turn around. “Hey Poppy, I actually do want one,” I tell her, holding out my hand. She narrows her eyes at Hayden, hesitating before giving me one.
“Seriously, Poppy Seed? I wouldn’t want one of those dry looking things,” he scoffs.
She drops a bar in my waiting hand, muttering something inaudible under her breath. I can’t believe I’m actually indulging these two, and yet I wait for her to turn away before sneaking it over to Hayden.
“You could just tell her that it looks good, and that you like her baking,” I offer.
“We both know somehow that would just backfire. And this is more fun,” he says, taking a bite. “But damn these are good.”
With a shake of my head, I turn my attention back to the mayor. “Now we need to decide if we want to offer the same activities at Fall Fest that we did last year or if we want to change anything out,” Fitzy is saying.
“We should have a theme for the hay maze design this year,” Wren suggests.
“Whatever the design is, make sure it’s tall enough this time. Half the town could see over it last year,” Chuck snorts.
“That is true,” Mrs. Silberman agrees.
“So, we’ll keep the maze, with a theme. And the pumpkin carving stations, of course,” Fitzy says, writing on the white board behind the podium.
“And the baking contest,” Poppy adds eagerly.
“Wouldn’t want you to go a year without a first-place ribbon, Poppy,” Fitzy laughs.
“Mrs. Walker, can you do the fall wreath making station again?” Stevie suggests, turning in her seat to locate the farmer. “It was a big hit.”
“Oh, yes. Please do, dear. I just loved that last year,” Mrs. Silberman calls from across the room to her friend.
“Absolutely,” Mrs. Walker agrees.
“What food vendors will we have?” Vanessa asks.
“Your coffee station, hopefully?” Fitzy replies.
“Of course.”
“Wonderful, and then we have the kettle corn, the caramel apples, and Sam has already offered his wood fired pizza truck again.”
“Can we have bonfires set up with s’mores stations?” Vanessa asks.
“I love that idea,” Wren chimes in.
“What happens when the festival gets attacked?” someone calls from behind me. A murmur rises throughout the crowd. That didn’t take long.
“We can save these questions for after Sheriff Forester speaks,” our mayor replies.
“Why would we waste time planning activities just to have them not happen?” another voice counters.
Fitzy sighs and looks over at Tripp. A silent conversation seems to pass between them before he pushes off the wall and strolls casually up to the podium, as if without a care in the world. But I know better, I can see it in his eyes, he does care.
Before stepping off to the side, Fitzy clasps him on the back with a reassuring nod. Up in position, Tripp leans forward on the podium and sighs. “I won’t say much about an ongoing investigation. What I will say is that promising leads are being pursued at this time and business owners should operate as usual, just use awareness. Get security cameras, better lighting, whatever will make your establishment less appealing to target.”
“And are we still having the fall festival?”
“At this time, the festival will continue as planned. Patrol has been increased; we will concentrate it during the days of the event.”
“Why haven’t you caught him?” a sharp voice sounds. I spin to find who it was, anger flooding me. Jackson sneers up at Tripp from his place in the crowd.
I turn back to the front quickly, my eyes wide. Gosh, I’m being so obvious right now. But I don’t care. Because Tripp is watching me with that familiar spark of amusement again. I just know he’s holding onto a Sherlock comment right now, and I love it, having this secret with him.
“I’m only answering pertinent questions,” he replies calmly. “Any others?”
Silence falls over the room save for a stray cough and the creak of people shifting in their chairs. A voice slowly raises from the crowd. Mrs. Silberman.
“Sheriff Forester? Is this something we should worry about reaching outside of businesses? Are our homes safe?”
“There are no concerns for anyone’s personal wellbeing. Nor are your residences in danger. This is business motivated. However, let me make this clear, everyone should always remain aware of their surroundings, be cautious. Lock your doors, don’t do the criminals any favors.”
“We never had to worry about keeping our doors locked with Winston as sheriff,” someone grumbles.
Tripp turns to Fitzy and nods, acting as if he didn’t hear the jab. “Plan your event,” he instructs.
Murmurs rise from the crowd once again as he makes his way back over to his deputies, and I catch a comment that rises above the others. “He wasn’t ready to be named sheriff, he’s too young to handle things . ”
Flushing with anger, I turn to see who said it. Everyone seems to be sharing an opinion, as if they actually understand what’s going on with this investigation.
“How could they actually be saying these things?” I ask Hayden.
“Half of them are busybodies, and the rest are assholes,” he murmurs back.
He’s right, nothing they say should matter. And then another comment is nearly shouted above the crowd. “We should recall him as sheriff!”
That’s it for me, I hate this. And don’t want to be amongst these people any longer. Rising from my seat, I slip past Hayden and move across the back of the room. Before ducking out the door, I look up to find Tripp watching me, intense curiosity in those warm brown eyes.
Never taking his sights off me, he gives Millie a nudge and motions in my direction. Something passes between them and then she abandons her post, following me out the door.
We move wordlessly, Millie taking her time to catch up. I’m down the annex hallway and pushing open the doors into the chilly autumn evening by the time she reaches my side.
As the fresh air hits me, I inhale deeply and sit down on the town hall steps. There’s a faint strip of orange across the horizon and the fading light is eerily beautiful, stretching out over the temporary pumpkin patch in our town square. Along the sidewalks that surround the green, lamp posts are illuminated for the night. Despite everything that has happened lately, when I take in Foxport, I only see it as cozy.
She sits beside me on the stairs, looking out at the town as well.
“You didn’t need to follow me,” I tell her.
“I did, because Tripp couldn’t. But I personally think I’m better company anyway.”
A laugh escapes me as I glance over at her. “How can people talk about him like that? And how can he stand it?”
“People are going to say whatever they want in the moment. When the job is easy, they’ll praise him. When it’s hard, they’ll blame him. These things don’t bother him.”
“They bother me,” I admit.
She smiles and nods. “Well, then he’s lucky to have you.”
I open my mouth to object; she makes it sound as if we’re together. But I can’t deny that Tripp does have me. He has my heart, whether he realizes it or not. He has for as long as I’ve known him.