Ivy’s laughter rings through the brisk air. “Maybe he’ll sign something for you if you ask nicely.”
“I’m not famous,” I retort.
Ivy only shrugs, those red lips of hers still tugged up in a grin. I want to kiss her just to see if the color is a stain or if it would transfer to me. But of course, I wouldn’t—shouldn’t—do that in front of my daughter. At least, not yet.
Emmy is now giggling uncontrollably, picking up on the playfulness between Ivy and these High School Musical-looking teenagers.
“So, you two are together?” a kid with the most annoying haircut of them all asks us.
“Well, I . . .” Ivy stumbles.
“That’s not your business,” I answer sharply, the Grinch in me immediately agitated by the question.
“You’re right, sir.”
Sighing as Ivy gently touches my arm, an idea of how to wrangle these hooligans comes to me. I’ve dealt with plenty of their type as a boxing instructor over the years, but I think I know how to break the ice with them. “Boys, I could use help building some sets for an upcoming dance performance.” One of the teenagers snickers as the other elbows him in the ribs. I continue, “Miss Ivy, here, is the dance studio owner.”
Immediately, the boys straighten up.
“Are you dancers?” Emmy asks them, one of her eyebrows lifted in skepticism.
“Uh . . . no, but we can build things.” One of the boys steps up, joining the conversation and looking at Ivy like she hung the moon. I know the feeling. “Right, guys? We. Can. Build. Things.”
“Yeah.”
“Yep.”
“Sure.”
I chuckle and try to cover it with a cough. Oh, to be young again and trying to impress a pretty woman. Who am I kidding? I’m doing that. Except that I remember I’m now a man—a very tall man whose arms and limbs are proportionate to the rest of my body. And Ivy is here with me, with us. Lifting Emmy into my arms, I gather my boldness and wrap an arm around the woman next to me. To my shock and delight, she nestles in. The fact that she responds to my touch and doesn’t pull away thrills me. Even though we’ve got layers of winter coats between us, the side of me that is touching her is instantly on fire.
The teenagers shove sleds toward us, the three of them standing at attention.“Sir, sleds are on the house,” the one called Ryan informs me quickly.
“Good choice,” I say, allowing a level of faux intimidation in my voice. “Meet me at Wicked Good Farms, at the red barn, tomorrow night at five o’clock sharp. Wear clothes you don’t mind getting ruined.” They won’t be doing anything to ruin their clothes, but I can’t help but throw the command out there. I am rewarded with their wide-eyed stares and shaky nods.
“Thanks, guys. I really appreciate your help,” Ivy adds sweetly, the honey to my vinegar.
Their nods make their heads resemble tiny bobblehead toys. I’m sure that’s why Emmy giggles. Ivy pulls at my coat, and I follow her a few steps away, noticing how her shoulders are shaking with laughter as well.
“Well, that’s one way to get the help we need,” she quips.
“Eh.” I shrug. “I remember being that age. They need a job. They’re helping the community. They’re getting experience. And conveniently, they’re starting their lifelong journey of trying to impress a woman way out of their league.”
“And you get to babysit them,” Ivy says with a grin.
We shuffle through the snow toward the line to sled downhill, and Emmy exclaims, “Daddy can show them how to make a box! He built me a box with stars.”
At this, Ivy slows her pace. “A box with stars?”
“Uh-huh.” Emmy shifts in my arms to look more fully at Ivy. “Last Christmas. It’s to hold my dreams.”
Under Ivy’s knowing gaze, my throat feels tight. I will my feet to move forward until we reach the top of the hill, where Emmy and I nestle together on one sled. Ivy settles on the other. An image of the three of us floats through my mind, and I think of what it would feel like to wrap my arms around Ivy on our own sled while Emmy laughs all the way down the hill, snow flying in our faces. I shake my head to dissolve the image and let Emmy call out our countdown.
“Three, two, go!” she yells, and I push off. With a rush, the wind in our face is so strong that I feel snow fly up my nose, pummeling my teeth. Emmy’s happiness is worth it as we shoot down the hill until I put my boots down and pull us to a stop. Ivy slides to a stop only a few seconds behind us. I’m surprised she caught up so fast, given that there’s all my weight on one sled and only her tiny frame in the other.
“Ahh!” Ivy yells happily, her arms raised in the air. Eyes bright, she looks at us, and a smile lights her face, snow clinging to the top of her beanie and the end of her braid. She looks beautiful. “Again! Again!” she cries.
I shake my head in affirmation, trying to hold back how overwhelmingly good it feels to just have fun. When was the last time I had fun with someone who wasn’t family? Not family . . . yet. My mind inserts the thought sneakily, and I once again shake it away. It keeps doing that.
