Chapter 6 - Owen
"Maybe that's not a bad thing," I say, and I mean it.
Ivy looks at me like I've just suggested we jump off a cliff together. Which, in a way, I guess I have.
"Owen, you don't understand—"
"Then help me understand." I lean forward, trying to keep my voice gentle. Trying not to push even though every instinct I have is screaming at me to just ask her directly. To make her tell me what she's thinking. "Whatever you're afraid of saying, it can't be worse than not knowing."
She's quiet for a long moment, staring at her hands.
I can see her brain working, can practically see the spreadsheet she's creating in her head.
Pro and con lists. Risk assessments. Ivy's never been spontaneous, even in high school, she was the girl who color-coded her class notes and had her college applications done three months early.
I remember Levi complaining about it once. "She won't even pick a restaurant without researching reviews first. It's exhausting."
I'd thought it was charming.
I still do.
"I need time," she finally says. "To think. To process. This whole night has been..." She gestures helplessly. "A lot."
Disappointment settles in my chest, but I push it down. She's right. I've dumped fifteen years of feelings on her in the span of a few hours. That's not fair. That's not how this is supposed to work.
"Okay," I say. "Take all the time you need."
She looks up, surprised. "Really?"
"Really. I'm not going anywhere." I pause. "Well, I mean, I'm going back to the city on Monday. But I'm here all weekend. And I have a phone. And email. And I'm told there's this thing called texting now that the kids are really into."
That gets a small smile. Progress.
"I just don't want to mess this up," she says quietly. "Whatever this is."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do, actually. Because there's no version of this where you mess it up, Ivy.
There's just you, being honest about how you feel.
That's all I'm asking for." I lean back in my chair, trying to look relaxed even though my heart is racing.
"But I also get that you need time. You've never been one to make decisions without proper analysis. "
Her eyes narrow slightly. "How do you know that?"
"Levi told me about the restaurant incident."
"Oh God." She covers her face with her hands. "He told you about that?"
"He said you spent two hours on your phone looking up reviews before you'd agree to try the new Italian place. Then you made him send you the menu in advance so you could plan your order."
"I like to be prepared."
"I know. It's one of my favorite things about you."
She peeks at me through her fingers. "You think my neurotic planning is charming?"
"I think everything about you is charming. Including the fact that you probably have a mental spreadsheet going right now, listing all the reasons this is or isn't a good idea."
She lowers her hands, and there's something almost sheepish in her expression. "There may be a list."
"What's winning? The pros or the cons?"
"I'm not telling you that."
"Fair enough." I check my watch. It's almost ten-thirty. The reunion is definitely winding down. Half the room is empty now, and the DJ is playing slower songs, the kind that signal last call. "You want to stay here? Or should I take you home?"
She glances around the room, and I can see her weighing her options. Stay and face more awkward conversations with people who barely remember her? Or leave with me and risk... what, exactly? More talking? More feelings?
"Home," she says finally. "If you don't mind."
"I don't mind." I stand up, offering her my hand one more time. She takes it, and we navigate through the remaining crowd toward the exit.
Jessica Morton intercepts us at the door. "Leaving already? The night's still young!"
"Early morning tomorrow," I lie smoothly. "But it was good seeing you, Jessica."
"You too! We should all get together while you're in town. I'll make a group chat!" She's already pulling out her phone, and I make a mental note to ignore whatever group chat materializes.
We escape into the cool night air. The rain has completely stopped now, leaving everything clean and fresh-smelling. The parking lot is half empty, puddles reflecting the inn's lights.
"Where's your car?" Ivy asks.
"Right there." I point to my Subaru—practical, reliable, the kind of car that says "responsible adult with good credit." Granddad had laughed when I bought it. "You're thirty-three, not seventy. Get something fun."
But I'm not a fun car guy. I'm a "gets good gas mileage and has excellent safety ratings" guy. I unlock the doors and Ivy climbs in, looking around at the clean interior. "Do you always keep your car this neat?"
"Is that a weird thing?"
"A little bit, yeah. Most people have at least some trash. Coffee cups, receipts, something."
"I have a trash bag." I point to the small bag hanging from the back of the passenger seat. "Everything goes in there."
She's trying not to smile. "You're very organized."
"Says the woman who color-codes her bookshelves."
"Levi told you that too?"
"He tells me everything." I start the car, and the radio comes on. "Where am I going?"
She gives me her address, and I punch it into my phone's GPS even though I probably don't need it. Blackwater Falls isn't that big. But I like having clear directions. I like knowing exactly where I'm going.
The drive is quiet at first. Ivy's looking out the window, watching the familiar streets pass by.
Main Street with its antique shops and the old movie theater.
The park where they do summer concerts. The coffee shop that Levi says makes terrible coffee, but everyone goes to anyway because it has the best desserts.
"I forgot how pretty it is here," I say, more to break the silence than anything. "At night, especially. The city's always so bright. You can't see the stars."
"Can you see them from your apartment?"
"Not really. I'm on the eighth floor, but there are taller buildings all around. Mostly I just see other people's windows." I turn onto Oak Street, following the GPS's directions. "Sometimes I watch them. The people in the other apartments."
"That's kind of creepy."
"Not in a stalker way. Just... observing. Wondering what their lives are like. There's this couple across the way who have dinner together every night at seven. They light candles. They talk. They seem happy."
"And that interests you?"
"It reminds me that people still do that.
Still make time for each other, even when life is busy.
" I glance at her. "My life is busy. Too busy, probably.
I eat most of my meals at my desk or standing in the kitchen.
I can't remember the last time I had dinner with someone that wasn't a work function. "
"That sounds lonely."
"It is." I turn onto what the GPS says is her street, a quiet residential area with small houses and mature trees. "But I chose it. The job, the hours, all of it. I wanted to be good at what I do. I wanted to matter."
"You do matter."
"To my patients, maybe. But that's not the same as mattering to someone. As having someone who cares if you come home at night." I slow down, looking for house numbers. "Which one is yours?"
"The blue one. With the white shutters."
I pull into her driveway and put the car in park. The house is small but well-maintained. There are flower boxes under the windows, empty now, waiting for spring. A porch light glows yellow and welcoming.
"It's nice," I say.
"It's tiny. But it's mine."
"That's what matters." I turn off the engine.
Ivy doesn't move to get out. Neither do I.
"Thank you," she says finally. "For tonight. For the drink, and the dancing, and the ride home. And for... for everything you said."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do, though. Because you were brave enough to say things I've been too scared to even think about."
My heart jumps. "Ivy—"
"I'm not ready to talk about it yet," she says quickly. "But I needed you to know that I heard you. And it meant something. It means something."
It's not a declaration. It's not even close to what I was hoping for. But it's something. It's a crack in the door, a possibility.
I'll take it.
"Okay," I say. "When you're ready to talk, I'm here. This weekend, next month, whenever. I'm not going anywhere."
She nods, then reaches for the door handle. Pauses. Her hand rests there for a long moment, and I can see her having some kind of internal debate.
"Owen?" she says, not looking at me.
"Yeah?"
"Do you... would you want to come in? For tea?
" She says it quickly, like she might lose her nerve if she doesn't get it all out at once.
"I know it's late, and you probably want to get to your grandfather's, but I have this really good chamomile blend, and I just thought—" She cuts herself off.
"Never mind. That's stupid. It's late. You should go. "
"Ivy." I wait until she looks at me. "I would love to come in for tea."
"Really?"
"Really." I'm probably smiling too wide, but I can't help it. "I'm not ready for this night to end either."
She lets out a breath that sounds like relief. "Okay. Good. Just... don't expect too much. The house is small, and I wasn't expecting company, so it's probably messy—"
"Ivy."
"What?"
"Stop apologizing. I don't care if your house is messy."
"It is, though. There are books everywhere. And I left my breakfast dishes in the sink this morning."
"Two dishes in the sink. The horror." I open my door. "Come on. Show me this house you're so worried about."
We get out of the car, and I follow her up the path to her front door. She fumbles with her keys for a second before getting it unlocked. She flips on the light as we step inside.
"See? Books everywhere," she says, gesturing around.