Chapter Twenty
An incredible thing about living in a town the size of Bluebell Cove was that Ivy didn’t have to think twice about where Elliot Rhodes’s house was. She knew the map of Bluebell Cove as though it were written on the back of her hand and could have navigated it during any snowstorm, blindfolded and wearing noise-canceling headphones. She knew, too, that he’d be there that evening, that he’d finish with his work at the flower shop, maybe grab a beer or two, and sit at the window of his house, watching yet another snow flutter down outside. She knew he could be a loner, like she was. But she also knew that Elliot’s sister was right. Nobody should be alone.
Ivy took Tyler back home and told him her plan. She had to go tell Elliot how she felt before it was too late. She told him about the flowers he’d left for her at the flower shop and how he’d said he would wait as long as it took. “But I don’t want to wait for love anymore,” she said.
Tyler swatted his hand through the air. “Get out of here!” he called to his mother. “Go tell that carpenter you’re in love with him! Perform one of those silly romcoms you and Lily always want to watch.” He wrinkled his nose in mock-disgust and cackled.
Ivy spent a few minutes upstairs doing her makeup before she headed off. During the brief yet snowy drive to Elliot’s, she considered her conversation with Georgia and felt endlessly befuddled that she’d run into her at the grave of her first husband. But nothing in life was really a coincidence. Everything happened for a reason.
Ivy parked in front of his brick single-level house, a house fit for a man of forty without a wife or children, a house she hoped he would vacate soon, when they hurried to build a life together. “When you know, you know,” she muttered to herself as she checked her reflection in the mirror a final time and bolted through the snow and up onto the porch.
She knocked twice and told her heart to stop beating so frantically. She thought she might faint.
The door opened, and there stood Elliot Rhodes. He wore a pair of dark jeans and a thick flannel, and his dark eyes were filled with curiosity and, Ivy hoped, longing. The wind cut up from the road and pushed the door open wider.
“Ivy,” Elliot whispered.
Ivy’s teeth clattered.
“Come in!” Elliot cried, beckoning for her.
Ivy stepped into the calm darkness of his living room. She saw that he’d been reading in the chair by the window, a book about a famous carpenter named Larry Haun. It filled her heart to think about how much beauty Elliot and these other carpenters had brought to the world.
They remained standing in the living room, looking at one another. Ivy realized her coat was dripping, so she removed it and hung it on the coatrack. In her turtleneck and jeans, and with a layer of lipstick on her lips, she felt overdressed. She wondered what Lily and Flora would say if they saw her taking this risk. Would they say she was foolish?
“I wanted to tell you,” Ivy began, realizing that it was up to her to speak. But she repeated it instead. “I wanted to tell you.”
Elliot stepped toward her and swept a curl behind her ear. The tips of his fingers brushed across her cheeks. “I know I said I wanted to talk to you in my letter,” he said.
Ivy’s heart lurched. She felt a “but” coming, and she knew it would change everything. Maybe Elliot hadn’t meant what she’d thought he meant. Maybe he’d already met someone else. Attractive men like him were meant to move swiftly. She thought of the blond woman at her husband’s funeral and felt suddenly mortified.
“But I was wondering,” Elliot continued, “if you’d be open to kissing instead?”
Ivy’s eyes widened. Kissing instead of talking. It felt like a better-than-average trade.
“I just think that we’ll have plenty of time to talk later on,” Elliot said. “And you look so pretty in this light, with all the snow melting in your hair.”
Ivy let her chin drop just the slightest bit in answer. And then, Elliot stepped toward her, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her gently, gently, and then deeper, with more urgency. Her heart exploded. She felt as though they were two souls, locked in a decades-long dance that had finally allowed them this moment of reprieve and genuine joy.
When their kiss broke, Ivy blinked to find that night had fully fallen outside, that the living room was a strange violet color, maybe from the television. Or maybe falling in love with Elliot had given everything a romantic tint. She laughed, throwing her head back. She thought of all the divine things of her day: the pancakes and the conversation with Georgia and the feeling of letting go.
“How do you know this is the right thing?” she asked Elliot, surprising herself.
Elliot smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ve always known it was right,” he said. “Haven’t you?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Georgia Rhodes married Roger Scotland on a blissfully warm spring day just a few months later. In her arms, she carried the most brilliant bouquet that Ivy had ever crafted: one of tulips and hydrangeas and roses, one that drifted gently and organically to the ground but never threatened to trip the bride. As the music soared to the rafters of the First Presbyterian Church in downtown Bluebell Cove, Ivy watched, filled with wonder, from the second pew, her fingers laced through Elliot’s, and she wept openly when Georgia and Roger kissed to seal the deal.
She couldn’t believe she was at the wedding of Daniel’s affair partner.
She couldn’t believe how thrilled she was for Georgia and all Georgia had overcome.
As Georgia headed past their pew, Georgia caught Ivy’s eye and mouthed, “Thank you!”
Ivy blew her a kiss and watched as she headed down the aisle and out into the glorious sunshine. Roger looked like the happiest man she’d ever seen.
Once outside, Elliot and Ivy were ushered into countless photographs with Georgia and Roger, Elliot’s and Georgia’s mother, and cousins, aunts, and uncles. At first, Ivy insisted that it wasn’t appropriate for her to appear in so many photographs. But they soon insisted. It seemed that everyone was sure that Elliot and Ivy were “the real deal.”
