18. Ivy
Chapter 18
Ivy
A tornado of leaves gathers around my feet as I close my shop door behind me. This is the definition of a howling wind. Tucking my head down, I fluff my scarf to better cover my neck and step onto the sidewalk.
Tonight is book club, my favorite night of every month. I head towards the café, my copy of our book tucked into my tote. When I was in New York, I missed having a routine with my favorite people. It was overwhelming and lonely for the brief time I moved away. Like I was a small speck, and life was happening for everyone else around me.
I think of what Stevie and Tripp both touched on when talking about New York, about how it’s okay that wasn’t my dream. And turning the corner to see the café glowing in the dusk, I think that maybe they have a point. Because I never felt as happy in New York as I do stepping into this familiar establishment to spend time with my closest friends.
Opening the door, I’m greeted by a rush of warmth, followed closely by Café Around the Corner’s signature scent combination—coffee, caramel, and spice. I turn to find Poppy already at our table and give her a wave as I step up to place my order.
“Hi, can I get a pumpkin hot chocolate? Oh, and a slice of the apple cinnamon bread, please.”
“Coming right up,” the barista tells me. She’s new, a high school student Nessa was excited to hire last month. And she has every reason to be excited, Nessa spends nearly all her time at this café. Between her hours and Millie’s patrol, it’s a wonder they ever see one another. I think about Tripp’s schedule and my shop hours, wondering if we could make it work like they seem to.
She slides a paper cup and pastry sleeve over to me. Both are warm as I scoop them up, and my mouth is already watering for the fresh bread. I cross over to the empty seat beside Poppy and drop down into it.
“Pumpkin hot chocolate?” she asks, eying my cup.
“Yours too?”
“I don’t know what Nessa has in this recipe, but I will figure it out.” Poppy takes a sip, her face pinched in focus. “Hazelnut, maybe?”
“If you make some test batches, I will gladly sample for you.”
“Deal. Hey, by the way, did I interrupt something the other night? Outside town hall?”
There is a familiar, devilish glint in her eye that tells me she’s already decided the answer to her own question. I tear off a corner of my bread and nibble on it wordlessly. She certainly had.
“I don’t think it’s just in my head anymore,” I tell her.
“What’s not in your head?” Wren asks, appearing at the table, Stevie in tow. They pull out their chairs and watch me expectantly.
“Things with Tripp,” I reply through a smile.
“Oh my gosh did you two, like—” Stevie says, completing the thought with a suggestive hand gesture.
“I’m sorry, what was that supposed to be?” I ask innocently.
“Ivy, what are the chances?” A male voice interrupts us.
Turning, I find Reid standing over me. His dark hair is slicked back, and his coat hangs open, revealing a dark navy suit and tie. He must have come straight from the office, but why he came here is beyond me. My father had mentioned that he was newer to the area, specifically for this job at the firm. And, luckily, I haven’t seen him around town since he arrived, save for my mother’s party.
“Hi, Reid.” I slip into my polite smile flawlessly, like I’ve done so many times before.
“Since I’ve got you, I was thinking we could go grab a drink sometime. This weekend?”
“How nice, but I am going to have to say no.” I keep my smile in place, despite the uneasy feeling in my stomach. The man is practically sneering back at me.
“That guy from the pig roast, is he your boyfriend? Though he spent more time with your brother than you that night, so maybe boyfriend isn’t right. Are you his dirty little secret?” He grins as if he’s in on a dirty secret about me. And it’s clear he’s referring to Tripp.
“She said no. So, you should probably just go,” Poppy snarls.
I look at her gratefully, some of the tension loosening in my chest. My friends are nearly as protective as Tripp, if not fiercer about it at times, though Tripp had threatened physical harm if Reid came near me again. Reid is either incredibly foolish or just that arrogant, maybe a bit of both.
“Whatever, you’ll come to me next time,” he huffs, withdrawing a key fob from his pocket and starting his car through the window. Just a single key for his car. No house key, no harbor key. Interesting. The four of us exchange a look as he leaves without another word.
“Did you notice?” Stevie asks, hiding her mouth behind her cup, as if Reid will somehow turn around and read her lips.
“I wonder where all his keys are,” Wren replies with a raised eyebrow.
“You know Tripp doesn’t see you like that, right? As a dirty little secret,” Poppy points out.
I nod, tearing off another piece of my apple cinnamon bread. Through a mouth full of the sweet baked good, I say, “I wouldn’t mind being his dirty little something though.”
Poppy grabs my hand and lets out a, “Yes, girl!”
“I support this,” says Stevie.
“I love this,” agrees Wren. “It’s about time one of us has some fun again.”
“It’s about time these two admit how obsessed they are with each other,” Poppy adds.
“But we keep getting interrupted. I think we got close yesterday at my store and then my mom and Wes showed up. And after he finished getting a security camera installed, he left while my brother was still there. So, it’s not like we could talk about anything that almost happened there. I mean, do I just text him and say come over? That’s a little too…” I scrunch my nose in dismay.
“Too perfect? He’d be there in record time,” Poppy grins.
“Let’s go back to what was interrupted,” Stevie says, shooting me a wide-eyed look. “How do you mean close ?”
“His hand was hitching up my skirt,” I admit, heat rushing to my face. “But he still hasn’t kissed me! Well, he did kiss my forehead…”
“Why don’t you kiss him?” Wren asks.
“I’d really like to.” I smile to myself, a flutter erupting in my chest. “I just… I want it to be more than concern, emotions around this break in. I want him, everyone really, to see that I’m not just going to run away afraid. I don’t want him to feel like he has to take care of me, I want it to be about something else. When this is over and he catches the guy, do I go back to just being Wes’s sister?”
“Tell him that. Because I don’t think you’ve ever been just Wes’s sister to him,” Wren encourages.
I bite my lip and nod; I can do that. Talking to Tripp has become as natural as talking to these three. Like something I was simply meant to be doing.
It’s dark by the time we part ways for the night, and maybe a paranormal romance book wasn’t the best thing to discuss while the town is being haunted, in our own way. The trees dance in the increased gusts, casting shadows in frequent motion. The howling continues from earlier, too, and there’s an emptiness to the streets that only amplifies the sound.
This is Foxport, I remind myself. I’m okay. And I’m only about a block from home.
Even still, I regret not accepting my friends’ offers to drive me home. And when I turn the corner and my building comes into sight, I allow myself to exhale deeply. The first thing I’m going to do is change into my chenille lounge set, then reheat my leftover orange chicken, and put on You’ve Got Mail . It’s sure to chase all the ghosts away.
I cross the tiled lobby of my building and climb the stairs in haste. Rounding the corner to my door, I pause a few steps from it. There’s a noticeable gash in the wood near the lock that did not exist this morning.
I approach with caution, listening for the sound of anyone inside. Testing the handle, my door is indeed unlocked.
My heart races, bile rising in my throat. This is too familiar, this fear-stricken attack to my body. I pull my phone from my coat pocket and get Tripp’s name pulled up in preparation.
Finger hovering above the call icon, I gently press on my door. It swings ajar just slightly, and I listen for any reaction that may be occurring inside. I’m greeted by silence, so I press it further. It opens enough that I can see inside my living room now and I fall against the door frame in shock.
My home is thoroughly destroyed, mirroring the turmoil at my shop. Silent tears stream down my cheeks as I take in the knocked over and broken end table, shattered lamp, and scattered books. The cushions of my couch and window seat are strewn about, as if someone was trying to disrupt anything they could get their hands on.
I look across into my kitchen to find cabinets open and drawers out across the floor. The contents of said cabinets and drawers are scattered, and I spot at least one set of broken mugs. Following a path of destruction, I pass by my bathroom that has the same array of items strewn about and stop outside my bedroom door.
With shaking hands, I turn the knob and push into what is supposed to be my sanctuary for rest and comfort. Instead, I find more damage than anywhere else in my home. My mattress has been flipped up on its side, more than likely knocking into my bedside lamp that now lays in pieces across the floor. My dresser drawers have been dumped out on the floor, a pile of garments mingled with the ceramic slivers.
My chest heaves with silent sobs as I drop to my knees beside my memento box I keep under my bed, now open and dumped across the floor as well. Running my fingers over the broken frame that holds a photograph of me with my grandparents, I finally hit ‘call’ and lift my phone to my ear.
Tears fall onto the broken glass over my grandfather’s smiling face as the first ring sounds. It only takes one more ring for him to answer.
“Hi, Sherlock.” His voice is warm, and I can picture the crinkle around his eyes from his smile. It’s enough to break me open.
A fit of sobs escapes as I try to speak. “Tripp—” I hiccup.
“Where are you?” His voice is urgent now.
“Home,” I cry. “Someone was… my apartment is?—”
“I’m on my way.” I can hear movement through the line and then the sound of a door opening and closing. It’s mere seconds before the sound of an engine roars to life. “Are you hurt? Is anyone still there? I need you to talk to me.”
“I’m not hurt, and they’re gone. I just,” a sob interrupts my words, “just got home to it like this.”
“I’m close, just hold on,” he assures me quietly, almost as if he’s assuring himself too.
My crying shifts from gasping sobs into a steady stream. I’m still unable to catch my breath, but panic is giving way to sadness. The sound of Tripp driving is a constant for me to grab onto—like a comforting white noise. We remain on the phone with my tears and his engine filling the silence. Every so often, he reminds me that he’s about here.
He tells me he’s parking, and then he’s in the lobby. I can hear him charging up the stairs and it sounds as if he’s taking them two at a time.
“Ivy!” he calls—but this time, I can hear him without my phone—I can hear him in the doorway.
“My room,” I squeak in response, not sure if I was actually loud enough for him to hear me. I listen to his footsteps moving through the apartment. And then he’s here.
His shape is blurry through the tears as I look up over my shoulder, but it’s Tripp, and I’m already more settled by his presence alone. I stand on shaky legs to reach him, and he crosses my bedroom in half the time to catch me in his arms.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he repeats. I breathe in time with his words like my own personal mantra. Tripp has me. His arms keep me secure against him, one hand clutching the back of my head, the other working in a slow and steady rhythm, tracing circles across my back. “Breathe, I’ve got you.”
I fill my lungs greedily with the rich, woodsy air of him. With each inhale, I settle more. With each exhale, my crying subsides. This is all too familiar, like a horrible case of déjà vu.
“We’re going to get you somewhere safe, and then I’m going to fix this,” Tripp says, his voice strained.
“I don’t want to go somewhere safe unless you’re there too,” I tell him, resting my cheek against his chest. My words are raw, and I’m too vulnerable to have any filter at the moment. And it’s the truth, what I want is to have Tripp by my side.
He presses a kiss on the top of my head and sighs. I know I’m asking him to go against everything he believes in. Tripp wants to act. To finish this. And I wouldn’t want him any other way. But for a moment, as we stand intertwined in the dark, I let myself pretend that his silence means that he’s considering it.