As she began to assemble a plate for Addie, she nodded toward the fridge. “You can grab a beer if you want one. Or there are glasses for water to the left of the sink.”
I crossed to the fridge and looked in. “Should I be insulted that you have beer from another local brewery but not mine?”
I caught her smirk that she aimed at the counter. This woman.
“Sorry. I love their hazy IPA. And I typically have yours too. I’m just out.”
She put the plate to the side, then called out, “Addie, your snack is ready.”
Before I could even reply, the pounding of Addie’s feet announced her impending arrival. She swooshed around the corner, tutu flying. Grabbing her plate, she called, “Thanks, Momma!” and took off toward the living room again.
“No crumbs on the floor!” Ivy called.
“’Kay!”
I shook my head as I looked in the fridge once again. “Okay, so I’ll bring you someBlack Hole Suntomorrow. Do you want a beer now?”
Ivy didn’t look over from her spot returning the crackers. “Nah, I’ll grab some white wine in a minute.”
I controlled the urge to roll my eyes at this woman. God forbid I actually get something for her. Instead, I grabbed my beer, her wine in the door of the fridge, and moved to the counter to look for glasses.
“Oh, um, thanks,” she said as I handed her a glass moments later. “So it went okay?”
I nodded as I thought over the time I’d spent with Addie today. “Yep. Addie filled you in on most of it. Dinner with the Sullivans was great, as always. Anna loves to spoil me since my parents live a whole three hours away. I think she thinks that is simply a hardship no parent should have to face, so she asks me to come over often.”
“And you don’t say no,” she pointed out, leaning back against the counter across from me and crossing her legs at the ankles.
“You clearly have never had Anna Sullivan’s cooking if you’d even consider saying no. It’s amazing.”
“Well, they picked the perfect dinner for Addie. She loves pasta.” Ivy looked at her wineglass, not meeting my eyes.
I studied her for a moment, then figured I’d just ask. “How about your parents? Do you see them much?”
Ivy looked out the windows to her backyard. “No, not much.”
I watched her, waiting, hoping if I didn’t say anything, maybe she’d fill the silence. Just as I was getting ready to break the spell, she looked back to me.
“My parents are pretty traditional. We don’t have a lot in common.”
I blinked, then grinned. “You mean you don’t consider yourself traditional?”
She lightly kicked me, then returned to her spot. “No, not in the way of conservative bankers and country clubs.”
Now that got my attention. “So how did all this gloriousness”—I motioned to all that was Ivy in front of me—“come from that?”
Her cheeks heated a bit, which was a total turn on. “My nana.”
“Nana?”
Leaning to the side, she set her wine on the counter, then put her hands behind her to help as she hopped up. Grabbing her wine again, she took a sip. “My nana lived in Highland Falls when I was growing up.”
My eyes widened. “Who?”
“Lorelai Bailey, my mom’s mom.”
Whoa. This all made so much sense as the memory of Mrs. Bailey came back to me. Super-kind soul. Died-in-the-wool hippie. “I remember Mrs. Bailey. She lived above your bookstore.”
“Yup. She owned the building and left it to me when she passed.”
