Chapter 5 - Ivy
I'm dancing.
Actually dancing. At my high school reunion. With Owen Harper.
This has to be a dream. Or a very elaborate hallucination brought on by car-related stress. Because things like this don't happen to me. Men like Owen don't look at women like me and decide we're worth fifteen years of pining.
Except his hand is solid and warm on my waist. His other hand is holding mine, gentle but sure. And he smells like rain and something woodsy, cologne probably, or just him. I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and real.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice close to my ear.
"I'm trying to figure out if I'm dreaming."
"If you are, I'm having the same dream. Which is either really romantic or really weird."
I laugh, and I feel him smile against my hair.
We sway in silence for a moment. Well, not silence. The music is still too loud and someone near the DJ booth is singing along off-key. But it feels quiet somehow. Like we're in a bubble separate from everything else.
"Can I ask you something?" Owen says.
My stomach clenches. "Okay."
"Earlier, in the bar. You said you've never—" He pauses. "And then you stopped yourself. What were you going to say?"
Oh God. No. We are not having this conversation. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
"Nothing," I say quickly. "It wasn't important."
"Ivy."
"Owen, please. Can we just… Can we not?"
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at my face. "Hey. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to tell me. I'm not trying to push."
"I know. It's just embarrassing."
"I highly doubt that."
"You would be wrong."
He studies me for a second, and I can see him thinking. Piecing things together. His eyes widen slightly. "Wait. Are you saying you've never—"
"Don't." I close my eyes, mortified. "Please don't make me say it out loud."
"Ivy." His voice is so gentle it hurts. "There's nothing embarrassing about that."
"I'm thirty-three years old."
"So?"
"So, most people figure that out in high school. Or college. Or literally any point in their twenties."
"Says who?"
I open my eyes to find him looking at me with nothing but kindness. No judgment. No pity. Just... understanding.
"Says everyone," I manage. "Says every conversation I've ever overheard, every movie I've ever watched, every book that treats it like this transformative experience everyone has by the time they're twenty."
"Well, everyone can fuck off." He says it so confidently that I almost laugh. "Ivy, there's no timeline for this stuff. No rules. If it hasn't happened yet, it's because it hasn't been right yet. That's all."
"Or because no one wants—" I cut myself off, but too late.
His jaw tightens. "Don't finish that sentence."
"It's true."
"It's absolutely not true." He pulls me closer, and now we're barely swaying anymore. Just standing in the middle of the dance floor, holding each other. "You want to know what I think?"
"Not really."
"I think you're so convinced you're invisible that you can't see how wrong you are.
" His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I didn't realize had fallen.
"I think you've been overlooked by people who weren't paying attention.
And I think anyone who actually sees you, really sees you, would be crazy not to want you. "
"You don't know me well enough to say that."
"Then it's a good thing we have all night to fix that." He smiles, and it's devastating. "Dance with me. Talk to me. Let me get to know you. The real you. And by the end of the night, I'll say it again and you'll believe me."
I want to argue. Want to list all the reasons he's wrong, all the evidence I've collected over thirty-three years that proves I'm exactly as forgettable as I think I am.
But I'm so tired of arguing. So tired of being the one who talks myself out of things before they even start.
And Owen is looking at me like I'm precious. Like I matter. Like he meant every word he said in the bar about being in love with me.
I'm in love with him too. I have been since I was seventeen years old and sat on his back porch talking about Jane Eyre while the sun set behind the trees.
Since he looked at me like I was saying something profound instead of just rambling about books.
Since he asked questions and listened to the answers and made me feel, for three perfect hours, like I was someone worth knowing.
I've never told anyone. Not even Levi, who would have immediately told his brother and probably tried to lock us in a room together.
I carried it through college, through my twenties, through every disappointing date and every quiet night alone.
I told myself it was just a crush. That it would fade.
That Owen Harper was living his life in the city and had probably forgotten I existed.
Except he didn't forget.
He kept my book. He looked for me when he came home. He came to this reunion hoping to see me. I should tell him. I should be as brave as he was in the bar and just say it.
But I can't. Not yet. The words are stuck somewhere between my heart and my throat, too big and too terrifying to let out. Maybe if I drink more wine. Maybe if we talk for a few more hours and I can convince myself this is real.
Maybe if I can just be brave for five more seconds.
"Okay," I say instead. "Ask me something. Something real."
"Real?"
"You said you want to get to know me. So, ask me something you actually want to know. Not small talk."
He considers this, still swaying with me even though the song has changed to something faster. People are starting to give us looks, but he doesn't seem to care.
"Alright," he says finally. "If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?"
"Here."
He blinks. "Here? Blackwater Falls?"
"I know it's boring—"
"It's not boring. I'm just surprised."
"Why?"
"Because you're smart and talented and you could probably get a job at any library in any city. I guess I assumed you stayed here because it was easy. Or safe."
"It is safe," I admit. "But that's not why I stay.
I stay because... because this place feels like home.
Because I know everyone and everyone knows me, even if they don't always remember me.
Because Mrs. Silver makes my coffee without me having to order it.
Because I can walk to work when it's nice out and I recognize every house I pass.
Because the library has these huge windows that look out over the park, and in the fall the trees turn gold and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. "
Owen is staring at me.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing. Just... the way you talk about this place. I've never heard anyone describe Blackwater Falls like that."
"How do other people describe it?"
"Small. Boring. The place they couldn't wait to leave." He shakes his head. "But you make it sound magical."
"It is magical. If you pay attention."
"I'm starting to think I haven't been paying attention to a lot of things."
The song ends, transitioning into something even more upbeat. Around us, people are really dancing now, the kind of dancing that requires actual energy and rhythm. Owen and I are still just standing there, swaying slightly, completely out of sync with the music.
"We should probably move," I say. "We're blocking the dance floor."
"Or everyone else could dance around us."
I laugh. "That's not how dance floors work."
"It should be. I'm comfortable right here."
"Owen—"
"Fine, fine." He takes my hand and leads me off the floor, back to our table in the corner. "But for the record, I was having a good time."
"You were stepping on my foot."
"I said I was having a good time. I didn't say I was good at it."
We sit down, and I realize my wine glass is empty. Owen notices too.
"Want another?" he asks.
I should say no. I should keep my head clear, stay in control, not do anything stupid like confess feelings I've been hiding for fifteen years.
"Yes," I hear myself say.
He grins and heads to the bar, leaving me alone at the table. I take a breath. Try to process everything that's happened in the last hour.
Owen Harper is here. Owen Harper has been thinking about me for fifteen years. Owen Harper told me he was in love with me.
And I'm sitting here like an idiot, too scared to tell him I feel the same way.
What is wrong with me?
"Ivy Rose?" A woman's voice interrupts my spiral.
I look up to find Amanda standing next to the table.
She was in our class: cheerleader, honor society, one of those people who was good at everything without seeming to try.
We weren't friends, but we weren't not friends either. We just... existed in parallel.
"Hi, Amanda," I say, trying to smile.
"Oh my God, I thought that was you! How are you?" She sits down without being invited, which is very Amanda. "I feel like I haven't seen you since graduation."
"I'm good. Still here in town."
"I heard you work at the library! That's so perfect for you."
I can never tell if comments like that are compliments or insults. Perfect for me because I love books? Or perfect for me because it's quiet and safe and requires minimal human interaction?
"Thanks," I say neutrally. "What about you?"
"I'm in Richmond now. Marketing consultant. It's super busy but I love it." She leans in. "And I saw you dancing with Owen Harper. Tell me everything."
My face goes hot. "There's nothing to tell."
"Girl, please. He was looking at you like you're the only person in the room. And Owen Harper grew up fine." She fans herself dramatically. "Is he single? Are you two together?"
"We're just... catching up."
"Uh huh. Sure." She grins. "Well, good for you. He seems sweet. And those glasses? Very sexy professor."
"He's a doctor, actually."
"Even better." She glances over her shoulder. "Oh, there's Sarah. I should go say hi. But we should get coffee or something before I leave town! I want to hear all about you and Dr. McDreamy."