Chapter 4 - Owen
Some things never change.
Ivy's hand tightens in mine the second we cross the threshold. I can feel her tensing, see her shoulders drawing up like she's trying to make herself smaller. Invisible.
Not on my watch.
I pull her closer to my side, not possessively, just... there. Present. A united front.
I still can’t believe I’ve already confessed that I've been carrying a torch for her since high school, and admitted that every relationship I've had has failed because none of them were her.
Levi is going to mock me mercilessly when he hears this story.
He's also going to tell me I did the right thing.
Because here's the thing: I spent fifteen years being afraid. Being smart. Building the perfect life on paper—good job, nice apartment, respectable reputation. And the whole time, I was comparing every woman I dated to a memory of a girl I barely knew.
That's insane. I know it's insane.
But seeing Ivy tonight, standing next to her broken-down car in the rain, I realized that the memory wasn't the problem. The problem was that I left without ever finding out if the reality could be even better.
So, screw the plan. Screw being careful. I poured my heart out in the bar and whatever happens, happens. At least I'll know. At least I won't spend another fifteen years wondering.
"Owen Harper!" A woman's voice cuts through the noise, and I turn to see Jessica Morton heading our way.
She looks exactly like her Facebook photos: perfectly styled blonde hair, designer dress, the kind of smile that's been trained by years of pageants and networking events.
"Oh my God, I can't believe you actually came! "
"Hey, Jessica." I keep my arm around Ivy's waist. "Good to see you."
"You look amazing! Still in the city?" She's already scanning me up and down, cataloging details. "I heard you're a doctor now. That's so impressive."
"Family medicine, yeah."
"That's wonderful." Her eyes finally land on Ivy, and there's this fraction of a second where I see her trying to place the face. She fails. "And you brought a date! How sweet."
"This is Ivy Rose," I say, and I don't bother hiding the edge in my voice. "We graduated together. Same class."
Jessica's smile doesn't waver, but I see the calculation behind it. "Oh! Of course. Sorry, I'm terrible with names. How have you been... Ivy?"
"Fine," Ivy says.
"That's great! Well, you two should definitely check out the photo booth later. We have props!" Jessica's already scanning the room for someone more important to talk to. "Owen, we should catch up later. I want to hear all about the city."
She's gone before I can respond, swept up in a conversation with someone who was probably prom court.
Ivy lets out a shaky breath. "See? Invisible."
"She's an idiot."
"She's just like Marcus, like everyone here."
"Then everyone's an idiot." I turn to face her fully. "Hey. Look at me."
She does, reluctantly.
"I see you," I say. "I've always seen you. And anyone who doesn't? Their loss."
She bites her lip, and I can see her trying to believe me. Wanting to, but not quite able to. I'm about to say something else when Marcus Webb appears at my elbow with two beers.
"Harper! There you are again. I brought you a drink." He thrusts one of the beers at me, barely glancing at Ivy. "Come on, the guys are all over by the bar. We're taking bets on who got fat."
"Classy," I say dryly, but I take the beer because refusing would cause a scene.
"Right? Johnson put on like fifty pounds. Dude looks like he swallowed a basketball." Marcus is already pulling at my arm. "Come on, you gotta see this."
I don't move. "I'm here with Ivy."
"She can come too, I guess." He says it like he's doing us a favor, and I feel my jaw tighten.
"Actually, we're good here."
Marcus blinks, like he can't comprehend why anyone would turn down the chance to mock former classmates' weight gain. "Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Huh. Okay, man. Your loss." He wanders off, already laughing at something on his phone.
Ivy's looking at me like I just did something extraordinary. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yeah, I did." I set the beer down on the nearest table without drinking it. "Marcus was an asshole in high school and he's an asshole now. I'm not interested in reliving the glory days with him."
"Then why did you come to this thing?"
"I already told you. I came to see you."
She shakes her head, but she's almost smiling. "You're crazy."
"Probably." I spot an empty table near the back of the room. Far enough from the speakers that we might actually be able to hear each other. "Come on. Let's sit down before someone else tries to steal me away to judge people's weight gain."
We claim the table, and I pull out Ivy's chair before sitting across from her. It's a small gesture, something Granddad drilled into me and Levi when we were kids, but Ivy looks at me like I just hung the moon.
Has no one ever pulled out her chair before?
The thought makes me irrationally angry.
"So," I say, trying to focus on something other than the sudden urge to find every man who ever overlooked her and shake them. "On a scale of one to ten, how much are you regretting this decision?"
"To come here?"
"To come here with me after I had a minor emotional breakdown in the bar."
She considers this, and I brace myself. "Maybe a six?"
"Only a six?"
"Well, you did save me from Marcus Webb. That's worth at least four points."
I laugh. God, I like her. I like the way she thinks, the way she talks, the little half-smile she gets when she's being funny but doesn't quite believe she is.
"Fair enough. What would get me to a zero? Hypothetically."
"Hypothetically?" She tilts her head, thinking. "Not running away when you realize I'm actually as boring as I seem."
"Ivy, I've spent fifteen years thinking about you. If I was going to run, I would have done it by now."
"You've spent fifteen years thinking about a fantasy version of me," she corrects. "The real me is much less interesting."
"I don't believe that."
"You should." She's fidgeting with her napkin, tearing little pieces off the edge.
"I'm really not that complicated. I work at the library.
I read a lot. I have exactly two friends, Levi and the woman who owns the coffee shop near the library.
I haven't been on a date in three years.
My idea of a wild Friday night is finishing a crossword puzzle without looking up any answers. "
"That sounds perfect."
She gives me a look. "You're a doctor in the city. You probably go to galas and fundraisers and fancy restaurants."
"I go to exactly zero galas, and the last fundraiser I attended was so boring I left after twenty minutes to get tacos from a food truck." I lean forward. "And for the record, I also haven't been on a date in a while."
"How long is a while?"
"Eight months. Maybe nine."
Her eyebrows go up. "Why?"
Because they weren’t you. Because I'm thirty-three years old and still hung up on a girl from high school like a pathetic cliché. Because I finally admitted to myself that I was never going to find what I was looking for in the city.
"Busy schedule," I say instead. "Patients, paperwork, the usual."
She doesn't look like she believes me, but she doesn't push. Instead, she glances around the room, taking in the clusters of people laughing and drinking and reliving their teenage years. "Do you ever wish you'd stayed here? In Blackwater Falls?"
"Sometimes," I admit. "Especially when I'm stuck in traffic or dealing with insurance companies or eating dinner alone at nine PM because I had back-to-back appointments all day." I pause. "But mostly I just wish I'd had a better reason to come back."
"Levi's here. Your grandfather."
"I know. And I love them. But it's not the same as..." I trail off, trying to find the right words. "It's not the same as having something that's mine, you know? Levi has his restaurant. Granddad has his woodworking and his poker nights. I have a job I'm good at and an apartment I barely sleep in."
Ivy's quiet for a moment. "That sounds lonely."
"It is," I say, and it's a relief to admit it out loud. "I didn't realize how lonely until I came back tonight and saw you and remembered what it felt like to actually want to be somewhere."
Her eyes meet mine, and there's something vulnerable in them. Something that makes my heart race. "Owen, I don't think I can be what you're looking for."
"Why not?"
"Because you've built this whole thing up in your head. This idea of who I am, what we could be. And I'm going to disappoint you."
"You couldn't."
"I will," she insists. "I'm not exciting or adventurous. I'm not going to sweep you off your feet or change your life. I'm just... me. And that's never been enough for anyone."
I'm out of my chair before I can think better of it, moving around the table to crouch next to her. "Hey. Look at me."
She does, reluctantly.
"Who told you that you weren't enough?"
"Everyone. No one. I don't know." She's blinking fast, like she's fighting tears. "It's just true. I've always been easy to overlook. Easy to forget."
"You think I forgot you?" I ask quietly. "Ivy, I've spent fifteen years remembering you. Every detail. Every conversation. You're not easy to forget. You're impossible to forget."
"You don't know that. You don't actually know me."
"Then let me." I take her hand, threading our fingers together. "That's all I'm asking. One night. Let me get to know the real you. And if by the end of it you think I'm full of shit, if you think I've built this up too much in my head, I'll accept that. But at least give me the chance."
She's crying now, just a little. Tears slipping down her cheeks that she tries to wipe away with her free hand. "This is ridiculous. We're at a high school reunion and you're making me cry."
"I'm an asshole. I'm sorry."
"You're not an asshole. You're just..." She trails off, shaking her head. "I don't understand you."
"That's fair. I don't really understand me either right now." I grin, trying to lighten the mood. "All I know is that I saw you tonight and my first thought was 'thank God.' My second thought was 'don't screw this up.' And I've pretty much been winging it since then."
That gets a laugh, watery, but genuine. "You're terrible at winging it."
"The worst," I agree. "Levi's going to mock me so hard when I tell him about this."
"Are you going to tell him?"
"Are you kidding? He's been trying to set us up for years. He's going to be insufferable." I squeeze her hand. "But he's also going to tell me I did the right thing. That I should have done it years ago."
"He never tried to set us up."
"Not directly. But every time I called him, he'd mention you. 'Ivy asks about you. Ivy recommended this book. Ivy said the funniest thing today.' He was not subtle."
Ivy's eyes widen. "I thought he was doing that to me. He's always talking about you. 'Owen's doing great. Owen called yesterday. You should reach out to Owen sometime.'"
We stare at each other for a beat, then both start laughing.
"He's been matchmaking," I say.
"For years, apparently."
"Sneaky bastard."
"He's going to be so smug when he finds out this worked."
"The worst part is, he'll deserve it." I'm still crouching next to her chair, and my knee is starting to protest, but I don't want to move. Don't want to break this moment. "So, what do you say? Should we give my meddling brother the satisfaction?"
"Of what?"
"Of being right. About us."
Ivy looks at me. I can see her thinking, weighing, trying to decide if this is real or if I'm going to disappear like a dream.
I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not if I can help it.
"Okay," she finally says. "But if this goes badly, I'm blaming Levi."
"Deal." I stand up, my knee cracking in protest, and offer her my hand for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. "Want to dance?"
"To this?" She gestures at the speakers, which are currently blasting a song I vaguely remember from junior year. "I'm a terrible dancer."
"Good. So am I. We'll be terrible together."
She takes my hand, and I lead her to the small dance floor where a few brave souls are already swaying awkwardly. The song changes just as we get there, something slower, thank God, and I pull Ivy close.
She's stiff at first, like she doesn't quite know what to do with her hands. I guide one to my shoulder, keep the other in mine, and rest my free hand on her waist. We start to sway, and gradually, so gradually I almost don't notice, she relaxes.
"This isn't so bad," she murmurs.
"See? We're naturals."
"You're stepping on my foot."
"Am I?" I look down. I absolutely am. "Sorry."
"It's okay. I wasn't using it anyway."
I laugh, and she smiles, and we keep swaying to music that's too loud and slightly off-beat. Around us, other couples are doing the same thing. Some graceful, some not, all of them caught up in their own little worlds.
And for the first time in fifteen years, I'm exactly where I want to be.