“Ivy, what the hell are you doing?” She’s walking towards me, eyes focused on the ground in front of her. Her hood is down, I’m guessing thewind made it impossible for it to stay on. Her hair, usually a soft brown, looks jet black as it’s soaking wet.
Her eyes snap to mine. “Me? What the hell are you doing?” She bites back.
I grab her by the shoulders, “What are you talking about?”
She steps back, giving herself room, and unzips her pocket. When she pulls out the folded paper, I know I’m in trouble. The offer papers.Fuck.
“You’re selling the lodge? What is wrong with you?” she yells out of what I’m guessing is anger, and the wind makes it hard to hear.
“I might be selling the lodge. Nothing’s been decided,” I say, taking a step forward. Ivy holds the papers out so I grab them.
“Why should I believe you?” she shouts, stepping back. My heart hurts with the space she’s putting between us. “This is an offer, an actual proposition to buy the lodge. You never said anything.” Her voice goes from angry to sad and it’s breaking me open. “You’ve had this for over a month.”
A wind gust blows through and Ivy puts a hand up in front of her eyes, shielding them.
“I was going to. I swear—”
“When were you going to? When I had to pack my things? When you started a new job?” Her voice is sharp and cuts through the rain and wind.
“Fuck. It’s not like that,” I reply, but as I say the words, I hardly believe them myself. I know this looks bad, probably worse than what I imagined. The anxiety I felt earlier in my office is back, stronger than ever, flipping my stomach and invading every inch of me.
Ivy shakes her head, a sarcastic smile painting her lips.
“We need to talk about this but we need to get out of the road,” I look around, thankful there’s noone else around.
When Ivy crosses her arms, putting weight on one leg, and stares at me, I know I fucked up. I mean, I knew it before this, but seeing her like this shows me the severity. She’s soaked, standing in the pouring rain—her lip trembles with tears or the cold. Maybe both.
Long seconds pass before she walks over to the passenger seat. When she gets in, she doesn’t look at me.
Fuck.
We drive the short distance back home. As soon as I put the truck in park, Ivy’s hand is on the handle, and she’s already half out.
I take a deep breath and rest my head on the steering wheel, just for a second. I’m trying to figure out what to say first, when it’s just her and I inside. No wind or rain to fight with.
As ready as I’ll ever be, I open the truck door, fighting the wind, and what is now ice, all the way to the front door.
Once I’m inside, I see Ivy on the leather couch. Eyes on her hands, which sit in her lap.
It’s not much better in here than it is outside.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ivy
4 DAYS UNTIL REDCARPET EVENT
If it wasn’t for the panic and anxiety running through my body, I’d be freezing. When I made the split-second decision to walk to the lodge and confront Holland, I didn’t account for the weather—ironic considering that's a key part of my anxiety. In hindsight, I needed more layers and a hat that would stay on, no matter the wind.
Now, I’m on the couch, my hair soaking wet. I pull the brunette strands into a bun, not wanting to drip all over this leather couch, which I’ve always loved. I wipe my hands dry on my shirt, before setting them in my lap. Slate ran over to me the second I walked in the door. I pick him up and he sits down next to me, touching the side of my thigh.
The cold in my fingers makes them almost numb, something I didn’t notice until now.
Holland pauses in the doorway, the door slammed shut by the wind. I don’t look up because I’m afraid I’ll just keep talking. Questioning. It’s Holland’s turn. I focus on my fingers, rubbing them together, keeping my eyes down.
Holland takes a blanket out of the basket on the side of the couch and wraps it around my shoulders before he sits in the chair across from me.
“Ivy, I’m sorry. I kept trying to bring it up and it never felt right,” Holland says as I keep my eyes down, even though I know that’s now how people effectively communicate. Sometimes, I want to be a little childish and stomp my feet. This is one of those times.
