Chapter 58 Ivy
I can't stop pacing.
The hardwood floor groans beneath my boots as I make another circuit around my living room, pausing to adjust my necklaces and rings in the mirror. Salem stares from his perch, tail twitching with judgment.
"Don't look at me that way." I smooth my sweater for what has to be the hundredth pass. "I'm allowed to be nervous."
The last few days have been disorienting. Caleb's been everywhere—swinging by the shop with hot chocolate that's somehow always the perfect temperature, blowing up my phone with memes, leaving voicemails that make me laugh until my stomach aches. It's all so familiar it hurts.
But there's a shift I can't ignore. He's present in a way he never was before. Focused, grounded, fully here. No longer drifting around the edges of my life, but stepping into the center of it, and finally choosing to stay.
And that terrifies me. Because what if this is temporary? What if we fall back into old patterns? What if—
A sudden knocking at the door makes my heart leap into my throat.
"Coming!" I call, then immediately cringe because who actually announces that?
I open the door and there's Caleb, snow dusting his shoulders, his parka unzipped just enough to reveal what has to be the most ridiculous Christmas sweater I've ever seen.
"Oh my god." The laugh bubbles out. "Is that—"
"SANTA! I KNOW HIM!" Caleb spreads his arms wide, showing off the bright red monstrosity emblazoned with Buddy the Elf's hat and the quote. "What? Too much Christmas spirit?"
"I can't believe you remembered." I shake my head, still laughing. "Though considering you're basically Buddy's spiritual twin . . ."
"Hey now." He chuckles. "I have never put syrup on spaghetti."
"No, you just put peanut butter on pizza."
"That was one time," he protests. "And I was high as balls, which you promised never to bring up again."
"Pretty sure watching Elf seventeen times in one holiday season qualifies you for honorary elf status anyway."
He produces something from behind his back. "This is for you."
The bouquet is pure, unapologetic Christmas chaos in the best possible way.
Red carnations burst between sprigs of evergreen, with actual candy canes tucked among the blooms, doubling as edible flower stakes.
Silver tinsel catches the porch light, transforming the whole thing into a disco-holiday hybrid that absolutely shouldn't work—and yet, somehow, it does.
"You remembered candy canes are my favorite."
"I mean, you only steal them off my hot chocolate every single time.
" His mouth twitches as he watches me inspect the arrangement.
"Hazel said roses were traditional for first dates, but .
. ." He trails off, and I catch how his eyes keep darting between my face and the bouquet, like he's trying to gauge if he massively screwed up.
"I figured tradition's overrated. Plus, this seemed more you. "
"It's ridiculous." I beam at him. "I love it."
Something in his expression softens, but his hands keep fidgeting with his coat zipper, pulling it up and down in tiny increments. It's unexpectedly endearing seeing confident, cocky Caleb Miller anxious about a date.
"So," I say, arranging the bouquet in my favorite crystal vase. "What's the master plan, Buddy?"
"Caroling."
The vase nearly slips from my hands. "Shut up."
"Dead serious."
"I've literally begged you for years!" I spin to face him. "You said, and I quote, 'Caroling is a crime against humanity and also my ears.'"
"What can I say?" He pulls a stack of papers from his coat pocket, folded like actual important documents instead of carol lyrics. "Turns out I'm willing to commit crimes if you're involved. Plus, if my timing's right," he checks his phone, "the town carolers should be here any minute."
"I need my coat." I scramble for my winter gear, realizing I'm still in only my sweater. "And my scarf, and—"
"Here." He grabs my coat from the hook, holding it open. I slip my arms in, trying to ignore how his knuckles brush against my neck as he adjusts the collar.
"Can't have you freezing," he murmurs, reaching for my scarf next. The soft wool wraps around my neck with surprising gentleness. "Mittens?"
"By the door." I manage to sound almost normal despite how my pulse skitters when his fingers brush my wrists, helping me pull them on.
"You look like a little snow bunny." He grins. "All fluffy and ready for winter."
"A snow bunny?" I laugh, but warmth spreads through my chest at how carefully he's taking care of me. "That's a new one."
"An adorable snow bunny," he clarifies, tugging playfully at my scarf.
He's standing close, and the only thing running through my head is how easy it would be to rise up on my toes and kiss him. My eyes drop to his mouth, and I catch the slight hitch in his breath. One kiss. Just one, before we have to be around other people. Before I have to share him with—
Voices drift through my front door. The carolers. Right. Because apparently the universe has decided I don't get to make out with him in my entryway.
"You're serious about this?" I ask again to be sure.
He waves the song sheets. "Let's do this."
The carolers round the corner, a cheerful parade of winter coats and holiday spirit.
Mayor Margaret, bundled in layers of knitwear, leads the group.
Behind her, Dottie practically drags Greg along, his expression hovering between long-suffering and secretly pleased.
Then comes a cluster of high school choir students in various stages of teenage enthusiasm.
Ethan and Vinnie bring up the rear, so lost in each other they nearly walk into a lamppost.
"Perfect timing!" Margaret calls out. "Ivy, dear—oh!" Her eyes widen at seeing Caleb. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise."
"Save yourself while you can, son." But Greg's eyes are warm, and the way he squeezes Dottie's hand betrays his act.
"Don't scare him off before he's had a chance to serenade the crowd," Dottie teases.
The students cluster around as we head down Main Street, their energy infectious.
Caleb knows every word—he's just spectacularly awful at hitting any actual note.
His enthusiasm makes up for it though, especially when we hit ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’, and he breaks out what I can only assume is interpretive dance.
"Do you think he knows he looks like he’s having a stroke?" One of the kids whispers.
Caleb's ears turn red, but he grins and sings louder. I stretch up on my toes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "You're doing amazing. But maybe keep your day job?"
"Rude." He pokes my side but pulls me closer.
"Greg!" Dottie's voice carries over the chorus. "I can't hear you!"
"I am singing," he mutters, but dutifully raises his volume from barely-there to almost-audible.
"Caleb!" Margaret calls. "Come lead us in 'Last Christmas'—you've got the enthusiasm for it."
The look of pure panic he shoots me belongs in a sitcom, but I smile sweetly and give him two thumbs up.
"Traitor," he mouths, letting Margaret pull him to the front.
"I haven't seen him this happy in ages," Dottie murmurs. "Or this willing to make a fool of himself for someone."
"He's different," I say softly. "But the same too, you know?"
"Sometimes people need to leave to learn what it means to stay." She squeezes my arm. "And sometimes they come back better for it."
We finish the route at the town square, and Margaret turns to address the group. "Well," she manages, fighting a smile, "that was certainly memorable."
"Thanks for having us," Caleb replies. "Really unlocked my full Mariah Carey potential."
"More like a dying cat," Vinnie calls out, then yelps when Ethan pokes her in the side.
"Be nice," he murmurs, but he's grinning too.
"Actually," Caleb turns to me, "that was only part one."
"There's more?"
He takes my hand. "Follow me?"
The town square has transformed into a winter wonderland. Fairy lights twinkle in every tree, their glow reflecting off the ice rink that's appeared since this morning. Holiday music drifts from hidden speakers, and the scent of hot chocolate wafts from the nearby vendor cart.
"Ice skating?" My voice comes out embarrassingly breathless.
"Unless you're scared?" His dimples flash in challenge.
"Me? I lived on skates as a kid." I tug him toward the rental booth. "You're the one who should be worried."
Ten minutes later, I'm trying not to laugh as Caleb death-grips the railing, his legs wobbling like a newborn deer. "Pretty sure this ice is tilted," he mutters, inching forward. "Definitely not regulation."
"Wait here." I glide backward, scanning the rink. "Pretty sure I saw one of those penguin push-bars the toddlers use. You know, the ones with the happy faces that stop you from face-planting?"
"Absolutely not." Caleb's death grip on the rail tightens. "I have some dignity left."
"Do you though?" But I hold out my hands instead. "Come on, trust me. I won't let you fall."
He takes them, and I try not to laugh at the way his legs shake. "If I die out here, tell my Xbox I loved it."
"Don't be dramatic." I start skating backward, pulling him along at grandma speed. "Just keep your knees soft and let me do the work."
"That's what she—"
"If you finish that sentence, I'm letting go."
His laugh comes out shaky, but his grip on my hands eases. "Hey, I think I'm getting—nope, definitely not getting it."
But he is. Slowly, with more determination than grace, he finds a rhythm. His shoulders relax, his stance steadies, and we're moving.
"Look at you," I tease. "Almost resembling a functional human on ice."
"All thanks to my tiny teacher—whoah!"
His skate catches a rough patch, and we go down in a tangle of limbs and curses. I land on his chest with enough force to knock the air out of us both, but his arms wrap around me protectively.
"Planning another wrist injury?" I laugh, trying to ignore how good he feels beneath me.
His eyes darken as he looks up at me. "Nah, just wanted you closer. Pretty cozy down here, actually."
Snow falls gently around us and suddenly I can't remember why I ever tried to keep my distance. I find myself staring at his mouth, watching his tongue sweep across his bottom lip.
Something inside me snaps. It could be the way snowflakes catch in his lashes, or how his heart beats beneath my palms. Or perhaps I'm done pretending I don't want to climb him like a Christmas tree.
He inhales sharply against my mouth, and then we're all heat and motion. Hands roaming, claiming. When his teeth catch my bottom lip, my whole body jolts. One hand trails down my spine, grabbing my ass and hauling me closer until I'm pressed against every hard inch of him.
"Fuck," he mutters against my lips, squeezing my ass.
I forget we're in public. Forget about the cold, or the ice, or anything that isn't Caleb's mouth on mine.
"HEY!" Danny's scandalized voice pierces our bubble. "There are CHILDREN present! This is a FAMILY event!"
We break apart laughing, and Caleb helps me up but keeps me close, his hands settling on my hips.
"You good?" He asks, thumbs drawing circles.
"Never better."
"So," he says as we make our way off the ice, "I made reservations at La Rosa Italiana. Thought we could do the whole fancy dinner thing."
I bite my lip, watching him try to act casual even though I can see the nerves creeping back in. "Actually . . ."
His face falls. "Too much?"
"No!" My fingers close around his before he can retreat. "This has been perfect. Exactly us. And I was thinking . . ." I take a breath. "Instead of fancy Italian, we could order Chinese and watch Christmas movies at my place? By the fire?"
The tension drains from his shoulders. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I squeeze his hand. "Unless you really want—"
"Chinese sounds perfect." His smile is soft. "But I get to pick the dumplings."
"Deal." I lean into him as we walk. "But I control the remote."
"Wouldn't have it any other way."