Chapter 62 Ivy
Three days before Christmas, and Caleb's getting way too intense about gingerbread architecture.
"If that roof caves in, I'm blaming your questionable candy placement.
" His fingers brush mine away from the precarious gumdrop situation I'm creating.
The town hall buzzes with pre-holiday chaos—sugar-amped kids, competitive parents, and the distinct possibility that someone's about to throw a tantrum over fondant techniques.
"You're such a control freak about this," I mutter, as he pipes another precise line of frosting. But there's something stupidly attractive about how his forehead creases when he concentrates.
"Says the woman who color-coded her candy canes." He doesn't glance up from his work, but I catch the edge of a smirk. "Don't think I didn't notice."
From the next table over, James makes a sound of pure outrage. "That wall was pre-assembled. I'm calling bullshit."
"Bold accusations from someone using actual craft store supplies," Caleb fires back, and I spot the glue disguised as frosting James thought he was being subtle about. "What's next, Price? Load-bearing drywall?"
"It's a design feature." He gestures at his and Daphne's architectural fever dream. "Some of us are artists."
"That's not art, that's a sugar-based cry for help."
I stifle a laugh, pretending to care about candy symmetry while Caleb plays the long game of proximity. He's so close, practically glued to me, and his hands keep conveniently brushing past my hips like that's totally normal.
"Stop trying to sabotage the competition," I warn when his fingers drift suspiciously close to Vinnie and Ethan's perfect roofline.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Touch that gumdrop and die, Miller," Vinnie calls without looking up from her frankly unnecessary level of detailed piping work.
"Guys," I catch Daphne's eye and we share an exasperated smile. "You do realize this is technically a children's competition, right?"
A dollop of frosting lands on my nose, and I turn to find Caleb grinning at me with absolutely zero remorse. "Oops?"
"Really?" I grab a marshmallow and toss it at his head, but he catches it in his mouth with infuriating accuracy.
"Ten points to Miller!" He pumps his fist, then has to grab our teetering roof before it slides off completely.
Through the chaos of competing teams, I catch Greg and Dottie who are huddled over their own creation, heads bent close together as they work.
"Your dad's really into this," I say, surprised by how focused he looks while piping frosting.
"Yeah." Caleb's voice goes quiet. He keeps working on our roof, but I can tell his attention has drifted. "Mom basically strong-armed him into competing, but," he pauses, watching his parents interact, "I don't think I've seen him this happy since . . . fuck, I can't even remember."
The way he says it catches my attention. There's a hesitation, something he's trying to work out. I wait, letting him find the words.
"It's weird," he finally says, focusing intently on a gumdrop. "Seeing him this way. As if he remembered how to be . . ." He trails off, one shoulder lifting in a shrug.
"Present?"
"Yeah." His hands pause over the gingerbread. "Though if anyone asks, I'm deeply scarred by their newfound PDA habit."
"Time!" Margaret's voice cuts through the chaos, and everyone's hands freeze mid-decoration. "Step away from your houses, people. No last-minute structural support allowed, James."
"I would never," he protests, hiding something behind his back.
Margaret and Margie circle the room like architectural critics at a sticky gallery opening. Their clipboards might as well be gavels with how everyone tenses when they approach each table.
At James and Daphne's station, Margaret tilts her head like she's trying to decode modern art. "Is that load-bearing Snickers bar supposed to be abstract?"
"It's deconstructed Victorian," James declares, with the confidence of someone who definitely just made that up. Daphne snorts into her sleeve.
"Of course it is." Margaret's pen scratches against her clipboard. "Very bold choice."
Our creation gets a raised eyebrow, and what I hope is an approving nod at our somewhat precarious but standing roof. But it's Vinnie and Ethan's house that stops the judges in their tracks.
Their gingerbread mansion is ridiculous. They've somehow engineered working shutters out of wafer cookies, created a stone pathway from precisely crushed candy, and their roof has individual shingles made from sliced almonds.
The winners are obvious before Margaret even opens her mouth. When she announces their victory, Ethan lifts Vinnie off her feet in celebration, spinning her until she shrieks with laughter.
"Put me down!" But she's beaming as she accepts their ribbon, pinning it to Ethan's chest.
"This is favoritism," James announces, gesturing at his melting masterpiece. "Just because some people spent actual hours practicing—"
"Weeks," Ethan corrects smugly.
"We'll get them next year," Caleb mutters beside me. "Though we might need to start training now."
"Hey," Vinnie bounces over. "We're heading to the hot chocolate stand. Want to join us?"
I start to nod, but Caleb's hand settles at my waist.
"You guys go ahead. I've got a surprise for Ivy."
"A surprise?" I turn to face him, but his expression gives nothing away.
"Come on." He holds out his hand, and my fingers find his automatically.
The December air stings my lungs when we get outside. Snow gives way under our boots with a brittle crunch, and something that sounds like sleigh bells carries on the wind.
"Shut your eyes," he murmurs, amusement curling through his voice.
"Caleb—"
"Just trust me."
I obey, letting him lead me a few careful steps. When we stop, his breath grazes my ear, warm against the cold air.
"Alright. Look."
I blink my eyes open and gasp. Bathed in the soft glow spilling from the town hall, a sleigh stands waiting—deep red with gleaming gold trim, and wrapped in strands of twinkling fairy bulbs. Two familiar horses from Nelson Farm paw gently at the snow-dusted ground, their harnesses jingling faintly.
"How did you—" I step closer. "Clover and Maple?"
"Yeah." Caleb rocks on his heels, an adorable tension threading through his voice. "Turns out Austin's not completely terrible. Once I admitted I maybe, possibly, slightly overreacted about the whole lifting-you-up-to-pet-horses thing."
"Slightly?" I can't help grinning.
"In my defense, he was plotting to get my girl on a horse. In front of him. With his hands all . . ." He makes a vague gesture that somehow perfectly captures Austin's former flirting attempts.
"Your girl?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Are you going to be smug about it, or are you going to get in?" But he's grinning as he helps me into the sleigh, making sure the blankets are tucked securely around me before climbing in beside me.
The horses start moving with gentle grace and Caleb handles the reins with surprising confidence. When I give him a questioning look, he laughs.
"These guys are more cooperative than that demon-spawn Satan at Thistlewood." At my raised eyebrow, he adds, "Comet. Whatever. That horse had murder in his eyes and you know it."
We glide through the streets of Hallow's End, every house glowing with Christmas lights. The air thickens with snowflakes, turning the streetlights into blurred halos. I snuggle closer to Caleb's side, and his arm wraps around me.
"This is perfect," I whisper as snowflakes land on his eyelashes.
He guides the sleigh down a quieter street, where the houses compete for the most elaborate light display.
"Hey." His voice softens, drawing my eyes to his. "Can I tell you something?"
"Always."
"Remember that assembly freshman year? When I stuck gum in your hair?"
"You mean when you ruined my favorite scrunchie and I had to cut six inches?"
"I never told you why I did it." His thumb traces patterns on my palm.
"You were sitting there, all perfect in your vintage dress, with those crystal necklaces, writing in that diary you used to carry everywhere.
And I just . . . I needed you to notice me.
Even if it meant being a complete asshole about it. "
"So naturally, you went with gum?"
"Not my finest moment." He chuckles. "But you turned around, face all flushed with anger, and decimated me. Called me an emotionally stunted troglodyte who needed serious therapy."
"I was fourteen and had discovered SAT vocabulary."
"You were fucking magnificent." His voice drops lower. "That's when I knew. Even with gum in your hair and murder in your eyes, all I could think was, this girl is going to matter."
My breath catches as he turns to face me fully.
"You know what's crazy? I gave you my prized Jigglypuff as an apology—crumpled, and probably smelled like Doritos—and you held on to it. This weird kid with rage issues wrecked your hair, and not only did you forgive me . . . you kept that stupid thing like it meant something."
"I couldn't stay mad at you for too long."
"See? That's you. You've always seen past my bullshit, and kept the parts of me worth keeping, even when I was being the world's biggest disaster." He swallows hard. "I knew back then that you were the kind of girl you marry. I just needed to grow up first."
"Caleb—"
"I love you." He says it like he's been holding it in forever. "Not just because you're beautiful, or because you somehow make my dumb jokes funnier. I love you because you've always seen the best version of me, even when I was being my worst."
"I love you too." My voice cracks around the words.
"Yeah?" That familiar grin breaks through, but there's something softer in it now. "Even though I'm going to keep making bad jokes, and will probably teach our ducks terrible habits?"
"Especially then."
He pulls me closer. "You know what this means, right? You're stuck with me. All my chaos. All my terrible life choices. The whole disaster."
"Promise?"
"Always." And when he kisses me, it tastes like all the vows he's finally ready to keep.