She’s fucking gorgeous.
“It’s surprisingly underrated,” I admit. “And some of Britney’s best work.”
Her eyes widen comically. “Wow. You just said that with your whole chest,” she says, but there’s so much humor in her eyes I can only laugh.
I’ve never been a poet, but fuck, I want to try.
The hallways vary from quiet to curious, music or conversations giving small insight into the lives of the people who live here. As we disperse the many flowers throughout the building, I take note of names and faces, of small issues that need addressing— some paint chipping here, a carpet stain there— but mostly, I’m taken with Ivy.
“Am I imagining it, or are you humming ‘Diamonds Are Forever’?” I ask when I finally recognize it. This explains why she and Manny get along so well.
She immediately stops, and I wish she wouldn’t be so quick to dim her own spark when it’s what drew me to her in the first place.
“I might be.” She faces me head-on, shoulders back, chin high, her hair tied back. I long to see it flowing as freely as it did that night. Watching her let go was the most wondrous vision. “I have a lot of Bond in my running playlist. It makes me feel like I’m in a movie.”
There’s a sting to her, like a scorpion. Quick to attack but protective. She’s smart too, a little underhanded. A sharp tongue that belies the hint of vulnerability under the surface. It’s beautiful.
I drag my gaze along her body, top to toe and back again. “I can see you as an assassin.”
Ivy says nothing, but her smile tucks in at the corners as she turns and lays the next bouquet on a welcome mat that saysnice package.
I don’t know how to quantify what we are to each other— strangers, lovers, friends— it feels like a little of all and nothing I’ve had before. All I know is that I want more of it.
More of her.
When we’re down to the final two bouquets, my heart is bursting and my calves burn with the effort of a good workout. I’m shocked when I see it’s the afternoon. It’s incredibly easy to spend time with her.
“You don’t have to do all this, you know.” Ivy’s voice is careful, and I have to walk ahead of her to see her expression. Her brow is furrowed. “If you think you need to shower someone with gifts to sell them on you, you don’t. There’s a lot of you to like without it.”
It’s the nicest thing she could have said to me, but I need her to know that I’m not doing any of this to buy her affections. That was the old Lincoln, the self-indulgent beast of a boy who fooled himself into thinking he was better than his peers because he didn’t care about money, all the while throwing lavish parties and lapping up the attention they brought him.
Now I know money isn’t worth having if I can’t take care of the people I care about, and to be a man worthy of Ivy’s attention would be worth more than Deacon’s entire fortune.
I set the flowers on the ground before cupping her cheek. “However I can help you, Ivy, I will. No matter who we are to each other, you’ll never have anything to worry about. I’ll make sure of that. But you don’t owe me anything in return.”
“Wow,” she whispers.
I can’t help the way my eyes drop to her mouth. The need to kiss her is all-encompassing, but I don’t want her to believe that today was only a ploy to seduce her. If I really want to make this work, and I do, I can’t let lust distract me.
“Ah, shit,” she says under her breath, her face crumpling. “Did I even thank you for the roses? I didn’t, did I?” She shakes her head as she steps out of my reach. “God, I’m such a dick. Thank you. They are really lovely, and I’m a hard person to buy presents for. Ask anyone. I’d rather have no gift at all than one that’s had no thought put into it. But these are really nice.”
“I’m glad you like them,” I say, warmth spreading through me. “And that we’ve been able to share it with everyone.”
“Me too.” She places her last bouquet down, and then it’s just the two of us. “So, what about you? It’s got to be hard to buy something for a man who has access to everything he wants.”
Not everything.“I’m happy to receive anything you want to give me.” Anything and everything, for the rest of my days.
“Oh really?” she asks, wonderfully incredulous. After growing up surrounded by the collective emotions of a cairn of rocks, I can’t get enough of how expressive she is. Up, down, silly, superfluous. I want it all.
Shoving her hands into her pockets, Ivy continues down the hall, completely unaware of how intensely I want to grab her and press her against the faded wallpaper until she’s panting my name.
“So your girlfriend comes home all excited and says, ‘I got you something you’ll love,’ only you open it and it’s not what you asked for at all. It’s…” She stops walking, turns to me. “What’s something you hate?”
“People clapping off rhythm.”
Her laughter flows as free and wild as a waterfall. “Okay, fair. But come on, gimme something.”
I shrug. “Fine, I don’t like avocado.”
