Chapter 6
CHAD
Ivy is singing along with my girls to the Ms. Rachel playlist, which makes it much easier to repeat to myself that she is just a friend. A backup version of Carlie right now.
Yes, she’s beautiful. Yes, she’s caring. This does not mean I should think about dating her. About how easily she’s slipped into our lives in only a day.
She’s a novelty, I tell myself. The girls think she’s the greatest because she’s new and fun.
She said herself that she doesn’t do relationships, and I will not go there again.
Ivy turns to me, smiling as she belts out the chorus to “Old McDonald.” A curly piece of hair at the side of her face has worked its way out of the ponytail and is tempting me to reach over and tuck it behind her ear.
My heart does that little hiccup thing again at the happiness in her dancing blue eyes.
Maybe the way my heart is acting is a weird symptom of my migraine? One that’s hanging in there despite the headache, aura, and nausea being pretty much gone?
If Ivy wasn’t sitting next to me, I’d do a full facepalm.
I’m not stupid. I’m attracted to her and I see that.
I’ll keep reminding myself that we’re just friends and only friends and we must stay friends.
I interacted with Ivy plenty of times before she moved back to Nashville and was just her friend then.
No attraction, no desire to put my hands in her hair ever.
Of course, Shelby had just barely left and I was desperate for help. Margot Robbie could have flirted with me, and I wouldn’t have realized it.
As they launch into the next song, Ivy bobbing her head to the beat like it’s K-Pop, I bite back a smile and start listing reasons we have to stay friends.
I’m a dad in my late thirties with a demanding career. I already don’t have enough time for my daughters. Where would a girlfriend fit in?
Ivy lives several states away in Nashville.
Just because she’s the girls’ new bestie doesn’t mean she wants to be around them all the time. Or that she’d even be good with kids if she had to be with them all the time. Ivy doesn’t want a relationship, so she probably doesn’t plan on having kids any time soon either.
The sophisticated hand clap thing she’s doing with Scarlett right now suggests otherwise.
“Is the headache coming back on?” Ivy asks in a low voice as a new song starts.
“What? No. Why?” I glance over at her as I turn into the parking lot for the skating rink.
“You’re clenching your jaw pretty tight.” She eyes me like she thinks I’m lying.
“Letting worries get to me. I’m fine,” I insist.
She nods, her expression relaxing and the press of her lips saying I get that. Does Ivy’s easy sympathy come from years as a life coach, or is she just that kind of person? Probably both.
Comparing Ivy to Shelby isn’t healthy—especially since it’s easy to see all the ways Ivy is more caring and thoughtful than my ex.
Shelby is a drug addict, but she wasn’t always.
And even then? It was rare for her to care about what I was thinking.
She was the sun my gravitational pull centered on, and she was happy for it to be that way.
I think that’s why, despite all the times she told me she never wanted to get married, she’s the one who said we should get engaged after we’d been dating a couple years.
Then the girls were born and that pull shifted.
Shelby was still in my orbit, but she had to share space with Scarlett and Zoey, and she wasn’t the center anymore.
Maybe that was the initial fissure that started breaking us apart.
The girls insist on holding Ivy’s hands as we walk toward the rink at McGregor Square next to Coors Stadium. The area is bustling with cheerful holiday shoppers, and the rink is busy but not too crowded. I settle for walking next to them, and Scarlett reaches up for my hand with a pleased grin.
We look like a happy family out to celebrate Christmas Eve, all of us bundled up in coats and hats, our noses and cheeks pink with the cold.
Thoughts like that aren’t helping anything.
I turn away from staring at Ivy and the cute way she’s got several layers on to stay warm—a thick Pumas hoodie with the hood peeking out over a puffy coat that goes to her mid-thigh and a thick, knitted beanie she pulled on when we got out of the car.
My phone dings with a text notification, which is a welcome distraction.
I frown in confusion, though, when I see that it’s Dane Wilstead, one of my close friends and a surgeon I consult with on a regular basis.
I open up the text quickly to see X-rays of a fracture to the tibial plateau on a thirty-two-year-old male and asking what kind of plates I have for him to stabilize it.
I tap a reminder that I’m out of town and my colleague, Megan, is on call until I get back.
Dane
Totally forgot. Hope you’re having a great time. You deserve it, but I can’t wait to have you back.
“Daddy? Look! There’s where we get our skates.” Scarlett pulls my attention from my phone, and I type a quick thanks to Dane before pocketing it.
I can wait until I get back. Even though it’s only been a couple days, and one of them was dominated by a massive headache, I’ve enjoyed having all this uninterrupted time with my daughters.
It’s felt easy and uncomplicated. I’m not wary of the next call or text that will take me away from them.
Ever since Shelby left, the thoughts that I should switch to something less demanding have been getting louder in my brain.
And they’re being joined recently by feelings that I don’t need to hustle to make more money than we need.
The big house Shelby wanted in River Oaks feels like too much now, empty and full of things I want to forget.
We get into line at the skate shop, and I focus on being present with the girls as they chatter excitedly to Ivy about the twirls and tricks they’re going to do.
Ivy shares a look with me over the tops of their heads, a secret smile about the little girls envisioning themselves as figure skating pros.
They’ve been a few times this winter with Carlie, but I’m not sure they’re ready for a triple axel.
Families around us laugh and chatter, and a couple nearby is even singing along to “Let It Snow” playing over the loudspeaker.
The windows of the neighboring businesses are all decked out in tinsel, with wreaths on their doors and glittery letters proclaiming Christmas sales.
I can smell hot chocolate from a nearby vendor, and I make a mental plan to buy us all some after we’re done skating.
When we reach the front of the line to get our skates, I’m humming a few bars of the latest song playing around us. I give the girls’ sizes and mine to the teenage girl working at the counter and gesture for Ivy to add hers as I pull out my credit card.
She shakes her head. “I basically invited myself. I can get this.”
“Let’s call it a big thank-you for all the free babysitting.” I nod toward the shop employee.
Ivy sighs. “Eight and a half.”
I tap my credit card to pay while the girl grabs the skates and sets them on the counter.
Ivy takes hers and Scarlett’s, and I gather mine and Zoey’s.
We head to an empty bench to get everyone switched over.
I kneel on the cold concrete in front of Zoey to help her with her skates, but she frowns at them.
“I want pink, Daddy,” she says.
“I know you love pink, but all we have is white today.” I slip a fur-lined boot off her foot and reach for the skate.
Zoey yanks her foot away. “No. I always get pink skates with Carlie,” she says, her tone rising.
I stay calm. A three-year-old losing their cool on a vacation is par for the course as a dad.
I just hope I can defuse the situation before she goes full tantrum.
I’m still kind of exhausted, and I’m begging for an easy out just this once.
“This is a different place than the rink you go to with Carlie, sweetie,” I say in a gentle tone. “They only have white here.”
“No!” Zoey screeches, and all hope for defusing the situation goes out the window. “I WANT PINK!”
Ivy turns to me, eyes wide, and presses her lips together. She probably would’ve mentioned something if this had happened with Zoey while they were at the lights last night. Worry runs through me that Ivy will get annoyed or frustrated with Zoey’s silly tantrum.
That doesn’t even matter. I lean in closer, prepared to calm Zoey down with gentle words. Hopefully I can convince her somehow that white skates would be awesome for today.
“Zo—” Ivy starts, and then she clamps her lips shut. “Sorry. Can I help? I can see if I can distract Zoey or help Scarlett so you can focus on Zoey. Or I can step completely back.” Her voice is calm, and she offers a small smile.
My worry dissolves, replaced with admiration that she’s not judging or freaking out or looking around to see who’s witnessing the meltdown or trying to shush Zoey. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not a sign, Chad. It doesn’t mean she’s automatically wife material.
“Daddy!” Zoey cries. “Why can’t I have pink?”
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I say, but she cries louder. Maybe the fact that the girls are obsessed with Ivy could help. “You could try distracting her?” I say to Ivy. “She loves you. It could work.”
She nods quickly. “That’s what I was wondering. It’s worth a shot.”
I shuffle back on my knees, out of the way as she slides over. She takes Zoey’s cheeks gently in her hands. Zoey still wails, but she doesn’t resist Ivy’s touch, which is a good sign.
“Zoey,” she says, her voice soft.
Zoey takes a breath and looks at her but then cries again about wanting pink skates.