“Stop by anytime, Ivy,” Edgar says kindly, and I give him a nod of thanks while I take a deep breath. He’s giving me an out from overthinking.
“Star—Of course you can, Ivy.” I shake my head. “Always feel free to stop by.”
“Good, that’s good.” Her mittened hands lift, attempting to take off the scarf, but somehow, it gets stuck around her neck even more. “If you guys are leaving, I can just walk out with you, Jace.”
She’s adorable. Did I say that already? Once again, I have to clench my jaw to hold myself back from blurting aloud how attractive she is, even when she’s trapped by yarn.
Stepping up next to her, I zip up my jacket as Ivy swings back toward the door. Our hands brush. The feeling is electric, even through her gloves. She gasps, going perfectly still, and I growl faintly. Thankfully, if she catches my instinctive sound, she doesn’t mention it. But Edgar chuckles just as his watch chimes, signaling a new hour.
My brother turns away. “I forgot I needed to take care of something before I lock up. I’ll give the two of you a couple of minutes to chat.” He walks toward the back of the gym.
I lift my hand to indicate that I’ve heard him, and Ivy’s eyes narrow in on my knuckles. Within seconds, she’s clumsily pulled off her mittens and thrown them in a pile on the ground. Her warm hands wrap around my own. My fears urge me to pull back, but I force myself to be still and leave them to be held by the woman before me.
“What happened to you?” Ivy says softly, her touch gentle as the edges of her fingers hover around my still-reddened knuckles. The concern in her eyes and her willingness to touch me without hesitation nearly knock me over. I use the last bit of my strength to fight to keep my hand still. Forget sparring in the ring (the irony is real since we’re at In the Ring); all Ivy would need to do to wipe me out is, apparently . . . question me about this.
“Training,” I grit out.
Her brow furrows, her eyes searching mine. For the first time in years—maybe since we first met—I try not to hide. I let her gaze scan my soul. I don’t answer her questions but just let her observe. Maybe I’m simply too tired, or the exertion wiped out all my defenses, or maybe it’s because she’s helping me forget the throbbing in my hands, but I don’t put up my guard.
Edgar, God bless him, has busied himself with reorganizing the equipment on the other side of the room to make it less awkward. I owe him a drink.
Ivy’s eyes shift noticeably from amusement to attraction, her pupils dilating and then returning to their usual state, and my heart is following along for the ride. I let myself look at her, really taking her in for the first time after all these years. Even though we almost kissed the other day, I didn’t get the chance to fully enjoy her without my brain on overdrive. I study the little creases around her mouth as she concentrates on massaging my hands. Her eyes still remind me of hot chocolate, the slope of her nose is still charming, and the wisps of hair around her face arestill alluring. But when her expression turns to sadness, I catch tears brimming at the edges. Suddenly, they’re swimming, but the tears don’t spill over when she gives my hand a light, final squeeze and releases it.
“You’re okay,” she says quietly.
Not a “you’ll be okay.” Just a simple “you’re okay.” Present tense.
The words fill me with relief, and I realize I didn’t know how much I needed them until now. She swallows. My hands want to reach out to pull her close. Instead, she gathers herself. “So, tomorrow, when you drop off Emmy at the studio, I thought I could show you a few more mockups for the sets?”
“Of course.”
Relief relaxes her taut posture. “That’s perfect. I’m hoping we can get these backdrops done before Christmas. The performance is right after, you know. Birch Borough may be generous, but a good turnout and an excellent-looking production really make a difference with those donations. I just want these scholarships for my students so badly.”
“I’ll be there. We’ll crush it,” I repeat, admiration lacing my tone. She’s so selfless with her talent, pouring it into others faithfully. “Emmy will be thrilled to spend some extra time at the studio anyway. She’ll show you the “Waltz of the Snowflakes” dance,” I add in case she needed another reminder that my presence is a package deal.
A bright smile breaks across her face. “Can’t wait. I mean, I love all my students, but Emmy really does have something . . .” she says with a laugh.
Her assessment of my daughter makes my posture rise a little higher in pride. “She does, doesn’t she? And she already loves dancing with you, so thank you again, for taking her in and letting her be a part of the Christmas production.”
Seeing that our conversation has turned to less personal things, Edgar wanders over. It’s getting late, and the snowflakes have increased outside the window. We need to head out if we don’t want to drive on icy roads.
Ivy gives us both a smile and shrugs. “Of course. She deserves to dance if she wants to. Everyone does.” She walks toward the door.
I bend to pick up her mittens, then hurry after her, hand outstretched. She turns back to me at the door, her head tilted. “Thank you.” She takes the mittens. “And get some ice,” she says with a sudden emergence of sass. “I need your hands.” Her eyes widen in instant horror. “For the show! I meant—mean—for the show. Okay, bye!” With that, she’s through the door onto the street, and I can’t help but smile freely into the brisk air, my heart warming like mulled cider on a stove.
Edgar’s laugh is enough to ground me back to reality, because there’s something about the way Ivy gets flustered around me that sends hope pounding into my heart.
“You still didn’t get her number,” he reminds annoyingly.
We exit after Ivy, and I watch her retreating red coat walk down the street through the snow. Edgar locks the door and waves to a family walking past with to-go cups of warm beverages in their hands. I look at my brother, in too good a mood to give in to his teasing. I inhale the frozen air and pull out my own keys.
“Yeah, well, I’ll get that tomorrow.”
A genuine smile is his only reply as we walk to our cars. Determination settles into my tendons and bones. It’s a struggle these days to trust, especially when it comes to a one-of-a-kind woman like Ivy. But I think being torn out of her life again right now would feel like breathing stale air after finally having a hit of real oxygen. I’ve been living for my daughter, but I forgot that I’m also a man. One who is desperately trying to believe that ifIvy’s kindness toward me is any indication, maybe I’ll be able to reframe my perspective and find my worth again.
I walk down the street, something nagging at my subconscious. And then it hits me just as I reach my Jeep. The clock. The moment we met and just before we kissed, a clock signaled the time. And tonight, Edgar’s watch chimed soon after Ivy walked in the door.
“Christmas magic?” I whisper to myself as I look up to the sky. The lights and decorations strung around town make it feel like a movie set. “It can’t be magic. I know it can’t be.” I close my eyes and clench my hands, which welcome the cold air with relief. Opening the door and sliding into my car, I take a moment to lean back against the headrest and close my eyes.“God, if it’s possible to make it happen within the time I have left here, please help me find my home again this Christmas.”
