Chapter 57 Caleb
The snow falls in lazy spirals, catching in the glow of streetlights as Ivy white-knuckles her way through what has to be the slowest drive in recorded history.
She's got both hands locked on the steering wheel at a perfect ten-and-two position, shoulders so tense they're touching her ears.
Her face is scrunched in concentration like she's performing brain surgery instead of navigating a perfectly plowed road.
"You planning on driving the whole way in second gear?" I can't help but tease as she inches past a parked car with at least ten feet of clearance.
"Shut up." She doesn't even glance my way, too focused on squinting through the windshield at the barely-there flurries. "Do you want me to crash us?"
"At this speed? We'd probably bounce off whatever we hit." But I settle back in my seat, content to let her crawl along at grandmother pace. I'll take every extra minute I can get with her.
The heat's cranked up to desert levels, but she's still shivering in her oversized hoodie. Her hair's damp from the yoga, and pulled into a messy bun that's already starting to escape its elastic prison.
"So," I try for casual conversation, "town's going all out for Christmas this year. Saw they've already got Main Street looking like Santa's workshop exploded."
"Mmhmm." Her response is noncommittal as she navigates around a patch of ice.
"Margaret's really embracing the whole winter wonderland theme. Though I heard Danny's already submitted three separate complaints about the LED lights being government mind control devices."
That gets a tiny smile, but she's still laser-focused on the road. We pass the WELCOME TO HALLOW'S END sign at what feels like walking speed, and she finally breaks her concentration long enough to glance my way. "Am I dropping you at your parents'?"
"Nope." I pop the 'p', watching her reaction. "Got my own place now."
Her head whips toward me so fast I'm worried she'll get whiplash. "You have?"
"Eyes on the road, Speed Racer." I grin as she jerks her attention back to driving. "And yeah, would've told you if you hadn't been dodging me like I'm patient zero in a zombie movie."
She sighs. "I'm not dodging you. Things are weird. I don't know where we stand or what you even want."
"I want to take you out."
Her hands flex on the steering wheel. "Like a 'friend' thing, or . . ."
"No." I turn in my seat to face her properly, even though she's still staring straight ahead. "Like an actual date. No mixed signals. No pretending we're just friends. If you don't want that, it's cool. I mean, it'll suck, but I'll respect it. But I want to try for real this time."
The silence stretches so long I start counting snowflakes to keep from losing my mind. Finally, she exhales slowly.
"Fine." She doesn't look at me, and still I see the corner of her mouth threaten to lift. "One date. We owe that much at least."
Hope blooms in my chest like a fucking supernova. One chance. I can work with that. If this is my shot, I'm planning a date that'll make every so-called grand gesture on screen look half-assed.
Ivy's shoulders finally start to relax as we pass the town square, where the Christmas tree we picked stands tall with its decorations.
Even in the dark, you can see the transformation happening—wreaths on every lamppost, garland wrapped around railings, shop windows already dressed in their holiday best.
My heart flutters as we near her street, knowing our time together is almost up.
"Would it be weird if I asked to see the ducks?" The question comes out before I can overthink it.
She glances over, surprise softening her features. "You want to do it tonight?"
"I mean, only if it's fine with you." I try for easy, like my entire happiness doesn't hinge on spending ten more minutes with her. "Just miss the little terrorists."
"It's fine." Her smile grows a bit wicked. "You're already here. Might as well check on your children you abandoned."
"Ouch." I press a hand to my chest. "Though fair."
She turns onto her street, the familiar cottage coming into view.
Christmas lights outline her windows, crooked enough to make my fingers itch to fix them.
That used to be my job—yearly light hanging while she directed from below, usually with hot chocolate and a running commentary about my "concerning lack of regard for ladder safety. "
"Just so we're clear," she says as we pull into her driveway, "I'm not saving you if Salem tries to murder you again. You deserve the wrath."
"What happened to forgiveness?" I follow her to the door, watching her fumble with her keys in that endearing way she always does.
"Oh, I might forgive you eventually." She finally gets the door open. "Salem, on the other hand . . ."
As if summoned by his name, nine pounds of furry vengeance materializes on the entry table. His yellow eyes narrow at me, and the low growl that rumbles from his throat carries years of accumulated grievances.
"Missed you too, buddy," I say, right before he launches himself at my face.
"Salem!" Ivy's voice holds zero actual concern as I dodge the attack. "At least let him get inside first."
Everything's exactly how I remember: crystals catching moonlight on windowsills, books stacked in precarious towers, that awful crochet blanket she refuses to replace even though it has more holes than actual yarn now.
It's more like home than anywhere I've lived.
Salem stalks to his window perch, tail twitching with barely contained murder plans, as Ivy heads for the back door. "Coming? Or are you scared of more small animal attacks?"
"Please." I follow her through the kitchen, trying not to notice how she still keeps my favorite snacks in the cabinet by the fridge. "I'm already nursing one injury. Might as well collect the full set."
Cold air slices through me the moment we step onto her back porch. Our shoes grind against the crust of snow, and somewhere in the darkness, I hear the telltale shuffle-waddle of approaching doom.
"QUACK!"
Ducky appears first, his mohawk of unruly feathers standing at attention as he charges across the snow like a feathered missile. The others follow close behind, their white bodies glowing in the darkness.
"Holy sh—" I start, but Ducky's already headbutting my shins with surprising force. "When did you get so big?"
"That's what happens when you miss duck puberty," Ivy says, but there's laughter in her voice.
I sink to my knees, ignoring the cold seeping through my workout shorts as they crowd around me. Puddles pecks at my hands like he's testing if I'm real, while Louie makes a beeline for my fingers.
"They stay out here, even in the snow?" I ask, scratching under Ducky's chin the way he used to love.
Ivy's guilty silence speaks volumes.
"No way." I glance up at her, grinning. "You let them inside, don't you?"
"Only when it's really cold!" She crosses her arms, already on the defensive. "I can't help it. They're so pathetic, pressing their little faces against the glass."
"You're such a softie." I laugh as Quackie Chan systematically destroys my shoelaces. "Though I guess that fancy duck mansion I built isn't good enough anymore?"
"Oh, they still use it." She steps closer, and my breath catches at her proximity. "But sometimes they prefer the radiator by the couch, and the TV. They are very into Bridgerton."
"Sounds like they take after their mom."
The words slip out before I can catch them, loaded with all the history we're trying to navigate. But instead of pulling away, Ivy moves closer.
She leans in, snowflakes catching in her lashes, and my heart hammers against my ribs. I stay still, hardly daring to move as she rises on her toes, giving me every chance to pull away.
But I couldn't move if I tried. Not with her this close, not with her breath warming the space between us. When her lips finally meet mine, soft and unsure, everything inside me goes quiet. Like the world's been muted, wrapped in snow and stillness, and this moment I've dreamed about for months.
The kiss is soft, and nothing like our heated moments we've shared before. My hands find her waist, drawing her closer until she's pressed against me, and she lets out a tiny gasp.
When her hand slides up to curl around the back of my neck, something inside me fractures. The warmth of her touch shoots down my spine, and I can't stop myself from deepening the kiss enough to trace her bottom lip with my tongue, catching the way her body trembles against mine.
She responds instantly, pressing closer, mouth parting beneath mine as her fingers slide into my hair, tightening just enough to make my pulse stutter.
Heat rushes through me, wiping out every last good intention.
I back her against the porch railing, one hand diving into the silk of her hair while the other finds her hip and pulls her flush to me.
She moans into my mouth, low and breathless, and when she gives the slightest tug, my restraint slips dangerously close to the edge.
But no.
Not like this.
Not rushed and desperate in the snow, no matter how much I want to keep kissing her until we both forget how to breathe.
I pull back, resting my forehead against hers. Her eyes stay closed, cheeks flushed pink. My pulse is frantic, and my whole body is begging me to close the distance and kiss her again.
"I need this," I whisper, watching those impossible blue eyes flutter open. "God, I need you. But I want to do it right this time. Take you out first. Start the way we should've."
"Maybe you have changed." Her smile is small, but real.
"Then give me the chance to show you." I brush a snowflake from her cheek, heart in my throat. "Let me be the man you deserve."
"Okay." She steps back, but her eyes are soft. "Come on, I'll drive you home. Show me this mysterious new place of yours."
"You sure? It's still snowing."
"I think I can handle it." She's already heading for the car. "Though if you make one more comment about my driving . . ."
"Wouldn't dream of it." I follow her, pausing to wave at our duck children. "Be good for your mom!"
The drive to my place is quiet, but it's a comfortable silence. Ivy still drives like she's expecting black ice around every corner, but I keep my comments to myself, too happy with how the night's turned out to risk ruining it.
When she pulls up to my building—after three attempts at parallel parking that I definitely don't laugh at—I turn to face her.
"Saturday?" I ask, trying not to sound too eager.
"Saturday." She nods, and before I can overthink it, I lean in.
This kiss is different. Sweet, soft, and full of promise. When I pull back, her eyes are still closed.
"See you then," I murmur, forcing myself to reach for the door handle before I forget all my good intentions about doing things right.
"It's a date," she calls as I step out into the snow.