21. Ivy
Chapter 21
Ivy
S liding a white ceramic mug across the island to me, my mother adjusts the collar of her robe and studies me with a pointed expression. Nothing gets past Ruth Taylor, and I can tell from the sparkle in her eyes that she’s come to some type of conclusion. Lifting the freshly brewed coffee to my lips, I wait for my family to start back in on me. Instead, they all watch me in silence.
“Okay, this is weird,” I start after a sip. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
My father frowns. “I’m sure I can speak for the whole family when I say we are worried about you.”
“I understand, I made a mistake. But Tripp fixed it.” Tripp, the man who I just kissed outside of my apartment building and spent the night with. The man I’d been wanting to kiss for twelve years now. I close my eyes and replay the evening in my mind, warmth spreading through my center as I do. Everything falls away around me, and I’m back there with him. I can still feel his lips on mine. The way he clutched my waist when I first leaned into him on the sidewalk, held me against his strong, hard body. It was worth the wait. I just hope he feels the same way.
“V, did you hear me?” Wes’s voice cuts through my daydream. I raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to repeat himself. “I was saying that you can’t use my friend to clean up your mess.”
“I know, I took him for granted.”
“Just, give him some space, alright?”
I gulp down another sip of coffee, hoping it will correct the way my mouth has suddenly gone dry. Even if Tripp thinks I was worth the wait, this towering barrier remains between us.
“Your sister has gone through quite the ordeal, maybe you should follow Tripp’s example and show her some support.” Our mother shoots him a pointed look before coming around and wrapping me up in a hug. “How about waffles, my dear?”
“The cinnamon sugar ones you make?”
“Of course.” She turns to my brother, adding, “Go get ready for your day and then join us for breakfast.”
Dad drifts over to share a kiss with her before dropping a peck to the top of my head. “I’ve got to get ready for the office, but I’ll be with you in spirit. Call if you need anything.” Together, they disappear from the kitchen, leaving my mother and me alone.
She turns to the cabinet beside the range, pulling out the waffle mix and assortment of necessary ingredients. Moving down the way to get out an oversized bowl, she says over her shoulder, “Pay no mind to your brother’s words.”
“Oh, I wasn’t,” I lie lamely.
The sparkle is back in her eyes when she faces me once again. “Tripp is a kind boy with a caring heart. But he’s also extremely tough, smart, and capable. There’s a reason he was tapped for sheriff before turning thirty. This is what he does, and he’s quite good at it.”
“I’m worried that he’s…” I trail off, unable to explain my concern. Because if I do, I also have to explain what has started to grow between us.
“Emotional?” my mom finishes for me. She chuckles and wraps her arm around my shoulders. “Ivy, I have watched you two look at one another with completely lovesick eyes for years now.”
I peer up at her, shock etched on my face.
“Don’t worry, Wes and your dad are clueless. But all those stolen glances, the special pink chocolate boxes, the way he goes out of his way for you, I certainly noticed. And I’m sorry, by the way, that we intruded on you at the store this week.”
“Mom, no you couldn’t ever intrude. But… I mean with all of this going on, we have gotten closer. And it just makes me so worried.”
“Well, I think it’s about time. But I wouldn’t worry. With this being so personal for Tripp, he’s certainly going to be on his best game out there.”
I want to believe her, to ignore the pit in my stomach. He hasn’t given me a reason to doubt him, ever. Not even for a second.
“Whisk,” she commands. Sliding the bowl of combined ingredients my way. “And catch me up before your brother returns.”
The smell of cinnamon and vanilla lingers in the air as we finish the last bites of breakfast. Throwing back the remainder of my orange juice, I cast a sideways glance at Wes. He’s watching me intently.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t know what’s been up with me. You know I’m worried about you, right?”
“I know.” I also know that I should be apologizing to him. Maybe he can sense that we’re sneaking around behind his back, maybe that’s what’s up with him.
“I’ve hardly seen you during this time home, and when I do, it’s with Tripp. Which is weird.”
“Then why don’t you two do something together today? I believe Ivy was instructed to stay with a family member, anyway,” Mom suggests from her seat on the other side of me. “With everything going on, you haven’t been able to decorate the store for the fall festival. Wes can help you get all the pumpkins.”
Sitting up straighter in my seat, I turn to face him with wide eyes. “Would you?” There’s not much I enjoy more than picking pumpkins.
“Sure,” he shrugs. “Let’s go to Walker’s.”
Walker Farms is the cornerstone of seasonal cheer in Foxport. With a series of red barns that house the various operations, a fresh market, and acres stretching as far as the eye can see for their produce supply, they have everything you need to get in the festive spirit year-round. A gravel drive leads us to the center of it all, and excitement bubbles up in me as we pull into a spot.
I’m usually here at the beginning of October, the earliest I can get everything and still have it looking fresh by the festival. I was planning on going the week my shop was broken into. Now weeks into October, the month has really gotten away from me. A smile curls my lips and I tilt my head while appreciating the scene before me.
“I love Walker Farms in the fall,” I breathe.
“I know.” Wes laughs beside me. “Come on.”
We climb out of the SUV we borrowed from our mom, seeing as mine is still parked outside my place, and follow the signs pointing us to the pumpkin patch. It leads us behind one of the barns, where rows upon rows of pre-picked pumpkins are sprawled out across the lawn. Sorted by type, wooden stakes mark the front of each row to identify the variety of gourds.
My eye is immediately drawn towards the heirlooms, with their pretty pastel colors and deep blood oranges. I make my way down a row of Fairytales—the large flat looking pumpkins—and stoop down to study them closer. Beside me, my brother does the same.
“Is there a specific process to this?” he asks.
“Oh, yes,” I nod. “First, I get overly excited and start loading up a wagon. Then I decide half of them don’t go well together and I put them back to grab even more than before.”
“They have to go together? They’re all pumpkins, doesn’t that make them all work?”
“Not at all, I can’t have too many pink while only one of the greenish-blue pumpkins. And I tend to forget about classic orange with all the other choices. But you have to have orange. So, then I load up on the rouge pumpkins because the deeper red color matches better than the bright orange.”
“Wow. Uh, then I’ll go get you that wagon,” he replies, shaking his head before standing and walking towards the barn.
I lose track of time walking up and down the rows. Ambling to the end of another row, I turn to see the wagon full, and another pumpkin tucked under Wes’s arm. “Okay, that’s enough,” I say decidedly.
“Alright, but you owe me an apple cider slushie for lugging all these around for you.”
“Deal.”
We make our way past the hay bale picture station and rows of corn stalks for sale. At the edge of the barn, an attendant waits at a wooden stand to ring us out. Handing over more money than I planned on, which is always the case here, we head back to the SUV to load up the trunk.
“How is it being home? Itching to get back out there?” I ask as I hand him a pumpkin.
“I like being in Foxport, I’m never in a hurry to leave you all again.”
“Are you saying you miss us?” I gasp, reaching for the next pumpkin.
“Something like that,” he chuckles. “What’s going on with you? You know, aside from the break-ins.”
Setting the last pumpkin in the trunk, he grabs the empty wagon and turns back towards the barns. I take a few quick steps to fall into place beside him. Thoughts race through my mind. I can’t tell him about my feelings for Tripp, that’s for sure. And I can’t give him an update on our dad’s health either. It hurts to be keeping so many secrets from my brother, and I wonder if maybe I’ve been the one keeping my distance out of guilt.
“The break-ins are enough excitement for me,” I decide on. It’s a safe answer, and certainly true.
We step into the barn that houses the market, turning to the counter just inside the door. The apple cider slushies are always at this counter in the fall, and we would know because it was once a family tradition to come pick pumpkins at the farm.
“Two apple cider slushies,” I order, sliding a five-dollar bill across the counter. Over the years, Walker Farms has managed to keep their prices nearly the same, those five dollars getting us two larges with a dollar remaining for the tip. It’s a nice reminder that some things don’t have to change.
Taking the slushies from the attendant, Wes turns to me and laughs. “Hey, do you remember when you dropped half your allowance drinking like four of these in one visit? Then you threw up on the way home?”
He passes mine to me as we start back out of the barn. And despite the memory, I take a generous slurp from the orange striped straw rising from my drink. “It was worth it.” I laugh as well. “These are the best.”
“The Taylors are here.” A middle-aged man in a flannel jacket and ball cap waves to us as he approaches. I know him well enough as he owns the hardware store down the street from my shop.
“Hi, Gerard,” I greet him.
As he nears, he says, “It’s a real shame what they’re saying. Is it true that they’re in the process of recalling your friend, the sheriff?”
My mouth falls open, but Wes is the picture of ease. “Who knows, we don’t pay any mind to gossip.” He shrugs nonchalantly, like his best friend isn’t being threatened to have the rug pulled out from under him.
“Probably deserves to be recalled though,” the man continues.
“Excuse me. How on earth does he deserve to be recalled? That’s bullshit. No one works harder for what’s right.” The words fly from my mouth before I realize I’ve spoken them aloud. Beside me, Wes raises an eyebrow in curiosity.
“I didn’t mean?—”
“No one in this town actually knows anything about what’s going on. And until any of you own the place broken into, like I have experienced, you don’t get to judge. Besides, would I be out and about right now if I was concerned about his ability to catch the guy?”
“You make a point,” Gerard mumbles. He casts an embarrassed glance at my brother, probably hoping for a reprieve. “If it means anything, I’d never vote him out.” Then he disappears inside the market.
“That was… passionate,” Wes points out once he’s gone.
“Aren’t you upset about that news too?”
“Sure, I don’t want him to be recalled. I just didn’t know you were so concerned about him.”
“If he gets recalled because I withheld evidence…”
“He won’t.” His hand comes to rest on my shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze. It’s true, I would feel guilty. But again, this angle is easier to explain to my too observant brother. Because he’s right, my response was passionate, like someone in love.