Ivy wraps her scarf more tightly around her neck and resumes walking forward. I exhale, wanting to express every word I’ve ever longed to say to her, hoping it’s enough to right these wrongs. All I can think of is how much I want to wrap her in my arms.
Instead, I trail along beside her. Ivy pauses near a station where you can create your own ornament. Her slender fingers wrap around an ice skate, and I swallow against the memory.
“You don’t look happy,” she observes.
She’s right.
The last time I was truly happy—besides the joy Emmy has brought to my life—was the night we met. That was the last night I hugged my little sister, my best friend. I take in Ivy’s profile, willing the years to reverse, to give us a do-over. She makes me want to return to who I was before the happiness turned into heartache.
“I want to be happy again.” My voice halts, the confession shocking me. I shouldn’t have admitted that. Ivy releases the ornament, placing it on the table as laughter echoes around us. Shopping bags from unsuspecting shoppers bump usabsentmindedly, and someone with a coffee cart near the gazebo is yelling, “Get your eggnog!”
“So what happened to your happiness?”
Her concern is tangible, but it confuses the part of me that has convinced myself I’ll never be worth that level of care and attention. I open my mouth to tell her just how unsure I am that I could ever be fully happy again when a child dressed as a reindeer with a red nose crashes into my legs. He nearly bounces off me from the impact while I barely move. I reach down to steady him to make sure he doesn’t get thrown to the pavement.
As he rushes off with a group of other children, someone’s mother trailing behind and advising them that reindeer need to fly straight and not bump into people, I make a mental note to order one of the costumes online for Emmy tonight. I think she’ll love it since Rudolph is her favorite Christmas character.
“More pressing question: When do you leave?” Ivy’s body language is attempting to be nonchalant, but her voice is strained.
Seeing her tension punches me in the gut harder than any match I’ve ever been in. “Emmy and I are planning to move to Florida by Christmas,” I manage to get out. “My parents moved there recently, and it feels like a chance to be near them. To start over.”
She bobs her head up and down a little too vigorously. “But Edgar and Angie are staying around here?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.” Her shoulders rise nearly to her ears before I see her take a breath and close her eyes.
When she opens them again, the fierceness in their hot-chocolate depths almost knocks me out once more. At this rate, I’m going to be involved in a technical knockout where a figurative referee will call this before I’m able to get up. Nothing about this situation is what I expected it to be. I thought I’d seeIvy in town and then get back to my life. She would have moved on; I wouldn’t have. But I’m struck with the feeling that if I leave this town now, I might as well stay down for the count on the mat of my love life.
After seeing her again, I can’t deny how I feel. I want Ivy to know me again.
Despite the truth that I want to ignore, I dare to step a bit closer, close enough to smell her warm scent of vanilla and some musky, spicy note that I’ve associated only with her since the night we first met.
Slowly, we continue walking through the booths, Ivy stopping next at a homemade candlemaker. I open the tops of a few jars, half-listening to the world around me and half-trying to figure out how I can find out more about her life. I’m surprised she isn’t doing everything she can to escape me now that the crowd has cleared some, but maybe she is as stuck as I feel. I shouldn’t ask questions about her life, but something in me knows I will. Because as disciplined and strategic as I am and have been—in my business and the boxing ring—I let my guard down on love and have never won a round.
After Ivy purchases a vanilla-candy-cane candle, I grab the bag for her, careful not to make contact with her hands.Touching Ivy only to have her reject me is something I know I wouldn’t be able to recover from right now.
“Oh, what a gentleman,” the older man behind the counter croons, wrapping his arm around the woman I assume is his wife. “It’s nice to see young people who have some chivalry in them still.”
Now that I’m in my mid-thirties, I’m not that young, and I’m not dating Ivy. The thought is depressing. I give some sort of nod and a grunt, not having the heart to correct them, and turn to move to the next booth.
“Oh, we’re not together,” Ivy hastens to correct him.
The words cause my insides to churn. I picture her here in this life. One day, she’ll be with someone else who will hold her bags and wrap his arm around her. And I’m furious at just the thought. Her future hasn’t even happened yet, and the sickness in my stomach is enough for me to grimace.
A few feet away stands a man dressed as an elf. He’s holding a basket of candy canes that says Take One in what can only be described as a font from the North Pole. The candy calls to me. I take one and rip some of the plastic off with my teeth, shoving the end of it into my mouth while holding the hook. The sweet, cool peppermint immediately takes effect, and I sigh.
It’s only then that I register Ivy looking at me, her eyes so wide it’s almost comical. Repositioning the candy cane, I draw it out slowly.Her eyes grow even wider. We stare at each other for a few seconds, or perhaps it’s minutes. I don’t know what to say or do, so I casually put the candy back into my mouth and clock how her eyes linger on my lips.
Wait. Does she find this attractive? A candy cane?
Testing my theory, I pull the candy cane out of my mouth once again and flash a grin, not because I’m trying to be cool, but because I feel so totally uncool at this moment. Yet, her composure is clearly affected by what I’m doing. Is this my newfound way to get Ivy to think of me as she used to? Do I need to start hoarding candy canes?
“You all right, Starlight?” The once-upon-a-time nickname slips out with a hint of disbelief.
Her breath hitches. She focuses on the edges of my mouth as, for a third time, with a little influx of confidence, I let the candy hang from my mouth. I raise my chin slightly, not able to help the widening smile that breaks across my face as I hold it with my teeth.
Her eyes drop from mine, and it’s my turn to focus on her full lips, painted a holiday red. I want to know if she still tasteslike candy cane hot chocolate and wishes. I could never taste peppermint again without thinking of her, so I banned it from my life years ago. But not anymore. Peppermint is back in my life. The thought of it has me grinning even wider.
