Chapter 30 Ivy
Ivy
Alex is making this so hard. He is, by far, the sweetest and most thoughtful man I have ever come across.
Walking with him by the English Channel, underneath the cliffs, felt like living through a movie montage of a couple falling in love.
He held my hand, and he kept his hand on my lower back as we talked with the older couple who took our picture.
I splashed him a bit, then ran from him when he threatened to splash me back.
He chased me, catching me around the middle and spinning us on the sand.
It could not have been more romantic.
And now we are at Dover Castle, because instead of racing back to London and my family, I’ve decided to fully embrace this time I have to pretend-date the sexiest man alive. Literally, he was given that title two years ago.
I still worry about kissing him, but, good gosh, do I want to.
I want to lose myself in his arms and forget my life back in North Carolina.
But when I remember the restaurant and all I’ve worked for, I hesitate.
To some, it may seem to pale in comparison to what could be with Alex, but to me it’s everything.
“I’ve never been here before,” Alex says as we stand within the castle grounds, looking up at the ruins of a two-thousand-year-old lighthouse.
“So this is a first for both of us.” He gently squeezes the hand he’s holding, and I lay my head against his shoulder as I gaze up at the structure, which is about half the height it once was.
“Maybe we’ll find some other firsts before this is all over,” I say.
“It makes me sad to think about it being over. I know that’s the plan, but I’ve lost control of things in my mind. If I ever had it to begin with.”
“You said it would be fine,” I remind Alex, turning to face him.
“I know what I said, but you make it hard to think about life after you’re gone.”
Everything inside me wants to say… You do, too. To tell him how I’ve been feeling, but I can’t give him that hope. I can’t give myself that hope either. So I lift up on my toes and kiss his cheek, hoping that will put off the sadness until I’m actually gone.
I pull my phone from my bag to check the time, and to avoid giving more meaning to the moment by catching Alex’s gaze.
I notice an email from my contractor. He’s attached different design ideas, and the man has an eye for it.
I had no idea! I pause to look at options for an embossed tile to cover the front of the counter.
One of them reminds me of the ceiling tiles, only in miniature. It’s got to be that one.
“What’s going on over there?” Alex asks when I’ve been staring at my phone in disbelief for at least a full minute.
“My contractor sent me some design options. They must be further along than I expected. And he’s a secret designer. I never would have thought. But he’s got an eye for it!”
“Ah. So you like what he’s doing?”
“Yeah. I really do.” I show Alex the photos, and he swipes through them with a smile. I put my phone away, deciding to respond when we get to the car.
We’re heading out of the castle, toward the parking lot when he gets a new riddle.
Remember, you might
A historical sight
A celebration was had
For your mum and your dad.
“The rhyming was on point this time,” I say.
He chuckles. “She was showing her inner Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”
“I was thinking Dr. Seuss, but whatever you think.”
A laugh exploded from Alex as he opened the passenger door for me. “That is probably much more accurate. No offence to the good doctor.”
He closes the door, then moves around the car and gets in.
“So I’m thinking I can’t help with this one,” I say as I buckle my seatbelt.
“No. But I know where she’s talking about. We celebrated my parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary in Rye.”
“Where is Rye? How far is it?”
“It’s west of here. I’m not sure how far.”
He keys Rye into his maps app and finds that it’s an hour from here. Once again, we are on the precipice of evening, and need to decide whether to go and stay the night somewhere, or head back to London.
“Let’s do it.” I’m committed to all this.
“Are you sure? You don’t want to check with Val?”
“I’m sure, and I know exactly what she’ll say.”
I hear a text notification coming from my bag and pull out my phone. And what do you know? It’s Val.
Val: Look at this.
It's a photo of the front cover of a tabloid.
It looks like Val took it while standing in front of a magazine rack.
The cover story features a photo of Alex and his ex-supposed girlfriend, Grey, walking hand in hand out of a restaurant.
The headline reads, “Alexander Henry & Grey Blankenship back together? Our sources say, YES!”
I hold my phone out to Alex, and he takes a minute to look. “I’m not even gone a week and they’re posting old photos and lies.”
“To be fair, your whole relationship was a lie.”
Alex laughs. “That’s true. I just hope no one believes this. If photos of the two of us begin to circulate, people will think I’m a cheat.”
I take my phone back from Alex. “You really do live in a different world. Do you think photos of us will get out?”
“Honestly? I’m a little surprised they haven’t.”
I nod, because the only thing I can think about is that this is exactly what I needed to remind myself that this is only pretend—and pretend is for the best.
It’s dark and I’m so hungry by the time we make it to Rye.
We’d stopped at a store, and each purchased new clothes and underwear for tomorrow.
I’d laughed and laughed as Alex held his five-pack of underwear, because these were, without a doubt, the cheapest clothes he had ever owned. “Welcome to real life,” I said.
We walk into the historic inn where we’d reserved rooms for the night, and I can’t help but feel like a dusty, saddle-sore traveler, who has stumbled into this place after a day of riding.
Maybe I’m running from someone in the neighboring kingdom, and I don’t speak the language of this one, but I know they will have a stew to warm my belly.
I have my back to Alex as he checks us in and orders room service.
I’m mesmerized by the history in this small space.
I look across the lobby to the restaurant, and if it weren’t for the clothing and electricity, I’d think we had time-traveled.
It’s rustic and beautiful and part of me wishes we were eating down here, instead of in one of our rooms. But my head is starting to hurt, so I know we made the right call to stay away from the noise of the restaurant.
Our rooms are on opposite ends of a long hall upstairs. We go to relax in mine, and as we wait for the food, I decide to shower. He’s already seen my flamingo pajamas, so what does it matter?
“They said thirty minutes, so you’ve got plenty of time,” Alex says as he sits in the uncomfortable-looking chair by the window. “Enjoy.”
I step into the bathroom and gasp. “There’s a clawfoot tub!” I stick my head out the door and smile at Alex. “It’s my dream to have a clawfoot tub!”
“A worthy dream, I suppose. I’m more of a shower guy, myself.”
“This is just what I needed.” I’ll relax my headache away.
There’s a sachet of lavender bath salts on the counter. Yes. This is exactly what I need.
I luxuriate in the bath for nearly half an hour. Only the promise of food could have gotten me out of the magic that is this tub. I’m standing on the rug drying when there’s a soft knock at the door.
“I smell lavender out here,” Alex says. Just the thought of him on the other side of the door has me smiling, despite the ache still present within my skull. “No rush, but the food’s here.”
“Oh, I’m rushing. I can’t have you eating all the food before I get out there!”
I hear his chuckle through the door.
A moment later, dressed in my flamingo finest, I step out into the red-carpeted bedroom and find Alex standing by the table, which was covered in a truly obnoxious amount of food.
“What did you do? We’ll never be able to eat all this.”
“Darling, you underestimate how hungry I am. And you trusted me to place our order. I wanted to make sure I had some new-to-you things you would love.”
I take a deep inhale. “Judging by the smell, I’m sure I will.” I finish towel-drying my hair and take the towel back to the bathroom.
“Judging by the bite of stew I just had, I’m sure you will.”
I laugh to myself as I come back into the bedroom. They actually have stew for the weary traveler. I approach the table and find a few small pies, a tiny pot pie of some sort, the stew—which appears to have been served over mashed potatoes—a beautiful salad, and … fish and chips!
In the end, we did not finish all the food, but we were close. As I’m eating, my head gets worse, not better, so when we finish, I tell Alex goodnight and send him on his way with the food tray. The smell is getting to me, and I’m regretting eating as much as I did.
I climb in the bed and over the course of the next hour of tossing and turning, my headache deteriorates into a migraine.