Go Home, Ivy

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

T he meeting with Matt had gone well. Ivy was quickly reminded how good his team had been to work with and was pleased to find that his vision for celebrating the Western Isles aligned with hers. They had agreed that Mòr would be the perfect business to follow through the episode. A story of born and bredislanders who had gone away and still found their way home. It would open doors to talk about the challenges that young people out here faced in finding work, housing and adult lives where they grew up. Ally’s carefully cultivated list of local suppliers would also provide ample opportunity to showcase other businesses and sights around the islands. Lewis and Harris would be the focus this time, but Ivy was going to hold Matt to the promise that there would be a return trip for a Uist and Barra spotlight in the pipeline. The head of the Tourism office had signed off pretty much instantly when Kirsty had brought the suggestion to him, so now she just needed the Macleods on board.

In the name of that goal, Ivy was now on her way down to the restaurant. Despite having her usual driving playlist on shuffle, she was only humming along half heartedly, even having restarted her favourite song twice to try and force herself to listen. The trip seemed longer than normal, and she shuffled uncomfortably in her seat at every stop. It had been a week since the Sandaigh trip and she had had minimal contact with Kirsty since. That was really a generous act of friendship and also a very professional maintenance of boundaries, not distracting them while they sorted the place out after the flooding. No one needed their marketing agent hanging around reminding them of impending business when they had no floor and couldn’t switch the oven on. They were very busy down there. Ally and Kirsty and a range of friends and family. Maybe a brother, if the background of their last Instagram story was to be believed. So, yes, she had been staying out of everyone’s way.

Pulling up in front of Mòr, Ivy lingered in her car. She flipped down the mirror to check her face, running a finger along the corner of her mouth to straighten up her lip balm. She closed the flap and reached over to get her laptop bag. She got the mirror down once more and rechecked herself, flipping her hair part from side to side. Her eye was caught by a new pink flash at the door of the restaurant, and she focused on it, spotting Kirsty in a festive jumper waving at her. Returning the mirror to its place, she took a breath and clambered out of the car.

“Hey!” Ivy called out, crossing the car park quickly in the drizzle.

“Thought you were never getting out of that car. You’ve been out here ages.” Kirsty swept her into a hug as she spoke.

Glad her face was buried in Kirsty’s wild curls instead of under scrutiny, Ivy replied. “Emails. You know how it is.”

Kirsty leant back and smiled. “Emails.”

Placing an arm round her, they started moving inside. “Listen, I’m so sorry about last week! I would say I wish we could’ve made it, but the whole stranding thing considered…”

Ivy laughed, hoping Kirsty didn’t notice the catch in her throat. She took in the restaurant manager who knew her all too well, trying to get a read on her. Admittedly, though, she didn’t know what ‘I know what you and my brother-in-law did last weekend’ would look like anyway.

“Fair point. Lots of unexpected twists.”

“But Ross said it went well, that you got what you went for?”

“Right. Yep, all great.”

“God, I can’t wait to see the photos. We’ve been trying to get him back into it since—” She coughed, cutting herself off as they reached the seating area. “Anyway, so glad he’s taking photos again. Did he tell you about all his trips?”

Ivy felt the back of her neck heat as she sat down in the large tweed armchair. Kirsty’s warm hazel eyes urging her to answer only dried her mouth out further and she clenched her fingers into the edge the chair.

“So interesting. Whoah, it looks like you’ve gotten on top of the flooding well.”

They were sitting just off the main dining room, and whilst Ivy could see workmen still buzzing around through the glass doors, she noted that the floor appeared dry and that tables were slowly making their way back into place.

“Honestly, I can’t believe how quickly they’ve sorted us out. Ally and Ross have been here to all hours, I can’t tell you. With the rest of the boys helping too, I’ll be surprised if we have food or tea left before we reopen.”

“When are you aiming for?”

“We should be good for next weekend based on what Ross told me this morning. You should come by, have dinner.”

“I’ve got so much going on with various projects and now this tv business too…”

“Well, I’m hoping now that you’ve gotten him going again, I can encourage him to continue.”

Ivy spluttered on the tea that had been waiting for her on the table.

“Sorry?”

“Ross. Couldn’t convince him to take photos when we first opened, but if he’s doing it for you?—”

“Right.” She hoped the horror she felt was not on full display on her face as she took another sip.

“Anyway, I’m sure we’ll get plenty of material from the TV programme either way. Tell me what’s happening.”

Ivy had already given them a brief rundown after her meeting with Matt but was glad to have the opportunity to sit down in person and gauge their reaction. She was glad to see Kirsty was just as enthusiastic as she was. She was less glad, though, that her friend seemed to have set herself a challenge of how many times she could mention her brother-in-law during the conversation. For having made it the first year of their business relationship without hearing of the man’s existence, it was suspicious that he was so entrenched in Kirsty’s ideas and suggestions now. If Ivy knew one thing, it was that Kirsty could not resist a gossip. Anything that happened in anyone’s life had to be reported and dissected, doubly so when it came to Ivy, so she found it hard to believe that she wouldn’t have been questioned immediately if Kirsty actually knew what had gone down on the Sandaigh trip. What she couldn’t suss, then, was why he was so present today.

They were about two hours in and nearing the end of their discussions when Ally finally appeared, which was unlike him. Whilst Kirsty definitely wore the trousers when it came to the actual running of the place, he was usually around, if only for the tea and chat.

“Hi Ivy, how are you?” He asked, setting down a fresh teapot, barely looking at her as she replied.

“Fine, thanks. The place is looking well.” She trailed off, watching as he passed a concerned sweep of his eyes over his wife.

“All okay?” He asked her.

Kirsty rolled her eyes but squeezed his hand where it rested on his arm. “We’re all good, m’eudail.”

“I can go over the key points if you want to join us?” Ivy chipped in, causing him to tear his eyes from Kirsty.

He cleared his throat, standing up and running his hands down the apron round his waist. “Eh, no, sorry. I have to get back.”

“You can—” Kirsty reached for his hand.

“Ross just left. I need to get back.”

“Ally.” The buckle of her eyebrows rang to Ivy as very un-Kirsty. The whole thing actually, was very un-Macleod.

“See you ladies later.”

Kirsty sighed, leaning forward to fill her mug afresh. Ivy’s eyes followed the man as he walked toward the kitchen. Once he was through the doors, her eyes fell back to Kirsty.

“Everything okay?”

“Do you want another cup of tea?”

“Sure,” Ivy replied, sliding her cup across the table, feeling her stomach flip.

Kirsty sat back and took a sip. Looking up and seeing Ivy’s definitely no longer concealed panic, she exhaled and set her cup down.

“I have some news.”

“Are you and Ally?—”

“Oh my God, no, we’re absolutely fine. I mean, we’re fine. I—” She looked down, fidgeting with her hands on her lap. “I’ve got cancer, Ivy.”

It was maybe five seconds, but it felt like Ivy froze there, mouth half open staring at Kirsty for hours.

“I—what?”

“Breast. I just found out yesterday.”

“Fuck, Kirsty, I’m so sorry.” Ivy gushed as she stood and moved to hug her.

Brushing away tears, Kirsty squeezed her back. “It is what it is. Bad things come in threes, and as a family, this should do us. The flood, Ross and you stuck in the storm, now this. I might buy a lottery ticket for this weekend.”

“You’re owed a win karma wise, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not really telling folk until we have a plan, you know?”

“Totally. Thank you for telling me. Make sure you also tell me what I can do to help.”

They peeled apart, and Ivy sunk down into the sofa beside Kirsty, noting that she seemed to look less tense now. She searched the face opposite her for any evidence of illness, but came up empty handed, which somehow made it worse.

As if reading her mind, Kirsty continued.“I honestly feel fine. I found the lump a few weeks ago and really thought it was just going to be a cyst or something. They said the treatment would feel worse than actually having the cancer at the start, if I end up with chemo anyway.”

“We do not have to do the TV thing if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“No, I want to. I will be the first to tell you if it’s not working. It’s the boys I’m worried about truth be told.”

“Ally must be heartbroken.”

“He’s barely stopped working since the appointment yesterday morning. And Ross… Ally just told him before you arrived, and I don’t know?—”

Ivy fought down the arsehole part of herself that was glad to find out he hadn’t fled simply because he knew she was due to arrive. Whilst she was suffocating her dickier thoughts, she stifled the flare of annoyance at the thought of him walking out on this too. Storming out on the woman you toyed with for days, then shagged, is one thing. But on your sister with cancer? It’s not about you, Ivy , she thought, prying things apart to their separate boxes in her brain again.

“You’re basically his sister, that can’t be easy,” she tentatively agreed, trying not to show much on her face at the mention of him.

Kirsty’s face worked through a strange expression while she fiddled with the handle of her mug.

“It’s not just—” She ran a hand through her curls. “I’m sure he’ll explain it to you himself.”

“I’m not convinced we’ll be talking much,” Ivy mumbled to herself.

Kirsty snorted and Ivy snapped up to look at her smiling bemusedly at her.

“Cancer’s not affected your hearing, I see.”

Kirsty thumped her arm, laughing. “Not funny.”

As both of their laughter died down, Kirsty chewed on her lip, her eyes dancing over Ivy’s face.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just— he makes more sense than it seems.”

“Ross?”

“Mm Hmm. He’ll show you eventually.”

Ivy squinted at her. There was no way she knew about Sandaigh. But she knew something. Or thought she knew something, anyway.

“I don’t know anyone else who can make a conversation about them having cancer about so many other people.”

“You’re good people. Both of you.”

“Just the two of us, though. Not Ally.”

“Oh, God, no. Terrible guy.”

In a mix of laughter and tears, they continued talking another hour and then Ivy left with a final hug.

* * *

Stepping outside, Ivy was pleased to note the rain had stopped but felt oddly reassured by the grey heaviness that still hung over them. She walked to the car, but as her hand lingered on the handle, felt overcome by a deep itch of unrest. Rolling her shoulders and shaking her head, she was unable to escape the feeling. Driving home for an hour like this was unlikely to end well, so, looking behind her, she decided a decompression on the beach was called for.

She threw her bag into her passenger seat and swapped from her low-rise trainers into the wellies stashed in the boot. For good measure, she scraped her hair into a ponytail and started the walk down the path behind Mòr.

It was maybe a three-minute stroll through the dunes before the turquoise waters opened up in front of her. It never ceased to amaze Ivy that the water retained so much colour, even when it was grey outside. On the mainland, even in blazing sun, the beaches couldn’t dream of the colour of Harris on a bad day. As the sound of the crashing water increased, Ivy felt similar waves pour over her. Whilst the sea had always been her place for working through things, often on first arrival it made all those feelings so much more acute. When it was just her and the coast, there was nowhere to hide, no material to bury things under. Kirsty had cancer. Fuck , Kirsty had cancer.

Social media was constantly full of Race for Life ads, and JustGiving pages. Women’s daytime TV shows spoke about the importance of checking yourself, and Ivy had even taken up a monthly pass round her breasts in the shower off the back of it. Breast and lung and bowel and skin, and any other body part that might take a fancy to betrayal, were nearly always followed up with the C word in the news these days. It was, what, every other person from what she remembered from the last charity gala the agency had organised. Even considering all that, she hadn’t considered that ‘the other person’ might be one of her people. Certainly not one of her people barely into their thirties. Tears pricked at her eyes and Ivy ignored the out offered by the wind and salt to explain them away.

Brushing the drops from her lashes and exhaling a surprise sob, she came to a stop ten feet from the surf. With the angle she had landed at, a blur of forest green just edged into her peripheral vision, distinct against the machair dusted sand banks. Her chest tightened as recognition bloomed, even before her eyes fully focused.

Walking toward him, Ivy felt her breath becoming heavy as a squeeze rippled up her throat. He looked— God, he looked such a mess of sad and gorgeous and pained and Ivy rifled through the feelings as she crossed the sand, hoping to have landed on an opening line before reaching his side. Approaching him from the front, she was sure he had seen her, but at her arrival no words were exchanged as she lowered herself down beside him. She didn’t look over as she sat, having finally settled on generic amicable comfort as her line of defence but worried what that might erupt into were she to fully take him in. Rage seemed appropriate, the last few days considered. If taking the high road, probably tears and mutual mourning over their shared loved one’s illness. Unfortunately, she realised what was scratching at her lips, begging to spill out was a confession of it all. It all . It was not often that ‘ I’m sorry about your sick sister-in-law ’ was the easy option. As a marketing professional, selling herself as much as products and services in a world of politically correct feet in mouths, ‘ Fuck you for fucking me and leaving ’ shouldn’t come close to rolling off the tongue. But she’d spit either out with zeal in order to avoid, ‘ I think you’re worth more than my pride’ right now.

They sat in silence for at least a few minutes, their breathing slowly syncing. There was an eery rigidity to Ross that Ivy was not used to. Even before Sandaigh, when he had been avoiding any interaction with her, she had assumed him at ease in his inertia. Now it seemed like he was still as a protection, as if the foundations were fragile enough that a single hairline fracture would bring it all down.

Ivy shifted in the sand, readjusting her position as her outer leg began to go numb. In doing so, her shoulder brushed his. Before she had settled again, trying to tuck her barely long enough jacket underneath her so she didn’t have to sit in the car home with a damp arse, he let out a sob.

Whipping her head around, Ivy took him in. Head in his hands, with elbows on his knees. She rose up and over, enough to wrap her arms around him. His shoulders heaved as he cried, pausing briefly every few seconds as he tried to stem the pour, but his arms didn’t move to return her embrace. Still, she stayed like that, holding tightly as quiet tears stained her own cheeks.

Slowly, the breaks between sobs lengthened, and they hung together in a still moment, just breathing.

“Sorry.”

Ross was the first to speak, as he sat up and sniffed, wiping at his eyes, the pressure appearing far too hard for a gesture begging for tenderness and relief.

Her arms fell from him, and she dropped back onto her heels, taking in the pale face in front of her.

She attempted a half smile, only one corner of her mouth sloping up, failing to reach her eyes.

“I don’t mind.”

The green fleece he wore cast a sickly glow over his blanched expression. The red rimming his now puffy eyes was a mirror of her own, Ivy was sure, but he looked sick, not just sad. With nothing around them for miles, she felt suddenly like she was suffocating, words and feelings and need pressing down on her chest, clawing up her throat.

He sniffed, running a hand down his face and looked at her, properly.

“Kirsty told you?”

Ivy nodded, unable to find the breath to speak.

His eyes wandered over her face, still pinched, seeming to linger on her bottom lip as it quivered.

Her eyes swam, but it was Ross who choked out another cry first. Again, she tumbled around him, squeezing her arms over his. This time, he echoed her, scooping her close and pressing his face into her neck. Her lungs opened and she took in gasping breaths between the tears.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he murmured into her.

“She’s going to be fine. She will.” Her hand fisted into his clothes, drawing him closer still.

“Ivy, no. I— I’m sorry.”

He clutched at her tighter for a few seconds longer, then lifted his head, threading his hand along the side of her face. His eyes flicked between hers, electric blue behind the moisture and he swept away the tears that ran across her cheek with his thumb, as though they would not be immediately replaced. She sunk into the gesture, eyes hovering between his own and his lips when he next spoke.

“Can I tell you something?”

Ivy tilted herself back from him, nodding slightly. His eyes swept over her face again, searching for something on her neutral face. He looked up, then separated from her, seating himself back in the sand, facing outwards. Taking his cue, she did the same, shoulder to shoulder, but her turned to him.

“I was married. For four—” He coughed. “For four years. I was married.”

“Oh.” What else do you say to that?

His mouth tugged into a tight smile.

“Jules. Julia. We met in final year of uni. I was this twenty-two-year-old idiot with all these plans and then,” he shrugged, light playing in his eyes. “There she was. Being a twenty-two-year-old idiot though, six months in, at graduation, I broke up with her.” He laughed. “I had managed to line up a couple of jobs abroad, knowing I was going to be away all the time. I wasn’t paying Edinburgh rent on a place I was never going to be in.”

“You lived in Edinburgh?” Ivy teased, bumping her shoulder against his. “Princess.”

“Twenty-two-year-old idiot, remember?” Ross looked down at her briefly, before setting back on the shoreline. “I was going back to Harris to stay at my parents between gigs, and she was just—” He rubbed a hand over his face. “She was everything. She’d gotten a grad job at a big publisher. She didn’t want to move to the arse end of nowhere, you know?”

“Did you ask?”

He chewed on his lip. “I did not. We broke up, and off I go to Russia for six weeks. The whole time I’m kicking myself. Camping in subzero temperatures, lying out all day waiting for foxes to appear gives you a lot of time to think. And I couldn’t even text her because they do not have signal in Siberia.”

“Who’d have thought?”

“I spent the whole flight thinking about how I was going to grovel. I had three weeks until my next job and was willing to spend the entire time on my knees.”

Ivy smiled inwardly as he spoke.

“I walk through the doors in Edinburgh expecting Ally, and there she is. Standing in arrivals holding a sign saying, ‘I’m with Stupid’.”

His chuckle would’ve broken a thousand hearts. So free and full, but cracked right at the end, and he sniffed, running his thumb under his nose and blinking hard.

“Six months later we were buying a house back home. She was editing remotely and turned out she actually loved the arse end of nowhere. We had two years like that. Me going off on gigs and she built this ridiculous life for us on the island. My parents couldn’t get enough. My school friends took about a month to decide they preferred her to me and who could blame them?”

He dropped his hand to rest in the sand beside Ivy’s, their pinkies barely brushing.

“We got married at twenty-six, and nothing changed. I always—” He looked up at the sky, shaking his head. “I always thought marriage was this big thing that would shake everything up, but we were just us.”

He glanced across at Ivy and pink stained his cheeks, as if he had just realised what he was saying. Clearing his throat, he continued.

“Eighteen months in, I got a job on a safari project, but it was four months long. I asked her to come with me, and with some sweet talking to the production company, we were good to go. Two weeks before, we were lying in bed, and she asked if I wanted to have a baby—” His voice crack knocked the air from Ivy’s chest, and she crossed her pinky over his. He didn’t flinch and powered on. “Of course I did. So that was the plan. In the meantime, we did lots of celebrating and, em,” He scratched at his pink tipped ears, “practicing.”

Ivy snorted, and he furrowed his brow into a Sorry then pressed ahead.

“A few days later she had some bleeding. Which we just put down to the?—”

“Aforementioned practicing.”

“Ceart.” He laughed for a second, and then his eyes stormed over. He scooped her hand into his without looking at her. “So, we just went away. For four months.”

A pit began to open in Ivy’s core then as he went on.

“Cervical cancer. By the time they found it, it was already in her lymph nodes.”

“Ross, I’m so sorry.” Her voice came out hoarse and hollow, dampened by tears she hadn’t noticed.

“They did surgery straight away, and that was the end of the baby plan.” His hand flexed in hers, and his other rubbed over his eyes. Still, he focused out at the water. “Ally had been talking about coming home for ages anyway, so Kirsty moved back when the chemo started.”

“Were they close?”

He pressed his hand over his mouth. “Like sisters. We found out she was terminal the day after they exchanged on Mòr.” His thumb rubbed over Ivy’s hand. “Two years of… And then she was gone, and I was thirty and alone.”

“I can’t even imagine, Ross.”

“I just stopped doing anything. When she first got diagnosed, I stopped the trips abroad. Then stopped the jobs here. Then taking photos altogether. After she died, I dropped all my editing work too. I just did odd jobs for folk and sat at home, unless Ally and Kirsty dragged me out. I— fuck?—”

He shook himself, “Before, I was fun.” He laughed, nudging her when he caught her mouth quirked. “Ross MacLeod, cridhe na fèile.”

“I can see it. “

He smirked. “Can you?”

“If I squint, like, really hard.” She teased softly. “Even if when I first got here you were a bit of…”

“A dick.”

“Your word.”

“That day at Bosta… It was her two-year anniversary. One year since I’d scattered her ashes there.”

His eyes fell to her, soft and open. The corners of his mouth flickered, and Ivy’s brow furrowed as her chest pounded.

“After she died, I had stared at her ashes for a year. A year. I knew what she wanted. She’d told me exactly what to do, and I just—” He choked out a sob and Ivy scooted closer, taking their entwined hands into her lap.

“She wanted to be in the sea. On the wind. Out there. And I kept her stuck on my fireplace. For nothing. A few weeks before, I texted Ally to see if he wanted to come up to Stornoway when I went to the building supply. And I realised I hadn’t suggested a plan to anyone since she’d died. A bit later, I was at dinner round theirs and I was laughing like I didn’t have a dead wife. I was…”

“Ready?” Ivy offered when his voice tapered off and a pained expression tore across his face.

“Yeah.” He let out a half laugh, as if the sentiment had surprised him. “Then this last year, I’ve been all over the place. Up and down, dipping in and out of everyone’s lives while I tried to work out what my life was supposed to be when I wasn’t Jules’ husband, and I wasn’t her grieving widower. Nothing was clicking and it was wearing thin. I just kept getting more and more annoyed the longer time went on without anything feeling right.

“That day I met you, it was like I was in a trance. I was supposed to go at sunrise, but I set the smoke alarm off burning toast and then couldn’t find my keys. On the drive there, everything was annoying me. The radio, the sun, the traffic?—”

“I think we all noticed.”

He rolled his eyes, but Ivy felt warmth bloom in her stomach as he hid a smile.

“I had been this ball of energy and frustration and then I parked the car, and it was like I was suddenly a zombie. I think I thought that going there, one year later, was going to be this big full circle moment and I’d suddenly be in some new chapter. But I just felt the same as I’d felt the day before. And the day before I’d had no idea what I was supposed to be doing.” He paused, brow pinched, boring holes into the sand with his confused gaze.

“Then I got hit with wet swimmers and you were there, wriggling about under that robe thing and I wanted you. A year in this fugue state and suddenly I’m awake and all I can focus on is this random woman on the beach who is definitely naked under that robe because her swimsuit is on my foot. I wanted something for the first time since my wife died and it was...”

Ivy didn’t dare speak. She was frozen under his stare, every inhale feeling like she was lifting weights.

“I got into my car, and I had—” His tongue traced his lip. “I had a playlist of our songs for the drive home, but instead I’m sitting there with the first hard—” he coughed. “Then you’re there again on the road and?—”

“That was really the deer’s fault.”

He took their hands across to his lap and angled towards her.

“I went to Mòr that evening and ranted to Ally and Kirsty for about forty-five minutes, and it was the most they’d heard me speak since Jules was diagnosed. Suddenly, Kirsty was mentioning you all the time. This publicist who’d apparently been around for a year without ever coming up and now you were everywhere.”

“To be fair, I’d never heard of you before then either.”

“I hated you, Ivy. You were all I could think about. I thought that when I finally moved on from Julia, I would be thinking about friends and family and my career, but instead it was all you, all the time.”

“Sorry.” She could barely hear what he was saying over the roaring in her ears.

“Please don’t be. I’m the one who— When we were on Sandaigh, it felt like I was drowning. Everything you did terrified me. I was supposed to be looking after you, and you were cold and in the fire and lost and— Jules was?—”

“Ross, that wasn’t your responsibility.”

“Instead of thinking about how to keep you safe, all I could think was how much I needed to feel you. Like if I could finally touch you, I would get my feet back on the ground after being so up in the air since we’d met and?—”

He trailed off, rising to his feet and turning a circle in the sand. As he rubbed his hand over his mouth, Ivy sighed, standing to meet him. She caught his other hand as it fidgeted, and the contact drew his eyes down to hers.

“I hadn’t had sex since long before Jules died. That morning?—”

Ivy’s pulse drummed in her ears. She fought to keep upright, anchored on him as he spoke and the sand swirled beneath her. It made sense. Obviously, it made sense. The first person he’d slept with since his wife died. Why wouldn’t he have woken up hating her and himself? That would take some processing at the best of times, never mind via an unplanned sex weekend stranded on an uninhabited island. She should leave him alone, let him process this, himself, long before making him process a them . Yet her feet remained fixed, begging to stay planted in front of him, even if they didn’t touch.

“That morning,” he continued, and Ivy could feel the effort to keep his voice level. “I spoke to Tomas and as much as I wanted you home and safe, I suddenly realised that meant you were nearly done with work and then you’d be back off to Edinburgh and I was going to lose another— I should’ve told you. Anything, even if not everything. I just freaked out.”

“I mean, as excuses go…” The corner of her mouth ticked up and she held his gaze, her eyes soft. He released a wet laugh and dipped his head.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ivy,” he murmured.

She tilted up to him, now able to feel his breath whisper across her lips as he spoke.

“I know.”

“I might do it again.” His nose brushed hers as his mouth hovered close.

“I’ll risk it.”

Ivy closed the distance between them, kissing him. Her hands gripped at the front of his fleece, while his crept through her disintegrating ponytail, trailing along her scalp and holding her to him.

His lips parted, but before Ivy could dive through them, he spoke, barely breaking contact.

“If Kirsty looked out the window right now?—”

“Have you told her?!” Ivy squealed, drawing back and thumping his chest incredulously.

“My sister-in-law very rarely needs to be told things.”

Ivy groaned, leaning forward and planting her forehead in the centre of his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

“Come round to mine tonight,” he asked into her hair.

She nodded, snaking her arms behind him and breathing him in.