"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do, actually. Because there's no version of this where you mess it up, Ivy. There's just you, being honest about how you feel. That's all I'm asking for." I lean back in my chair, trying to look relaxed even though my heart is racing. "But I also get that you need time. You've never been one to make decisions without proper analysis."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "How do you know that?"
"Levi told me about the restaurant incident."
"Oh God." She covers her face with her hands. "He told you about that?"
"He said you spent two hours on your phone looking up reviews before you'd agree to try the new Italian place. Then you made him send you the menu in advance so you could plan your order."
"I like to be prepared."
"I know. It's one of my favorite things about you."
She peeks at me through her fingers. "You think my neurotic planning is charming?"
"I think everything about you is charming. Including the fact that you probably have a mental spreadsheet going right now, listing all the reasons this is or isn't a good idea."
She lowers her hands, and there's something almost sheepish in her expression. "There may be a list."
"What's winning? The pros or the cons?"
"I'm not telling you that."
"Fair enough." I check my watch. It's almost ten-thirty. The reunion is definitely winding down. Half the room is empty now, and the DJ is playing slower songs, the kind that signal last call. "You want to stay here? Or should I take you home?"
She glances around the room, and I can see her weighing her options. Stay and face more awkward conversations with people who barely remember her? Or leave with me and risk... what, exactly? More talking? More feelings?
"Home," she says finally. "If you don't mind."
"I don't mind." I stand up, offering her my hand one more time. She takes it, and we navigate through the remaining crowd toward the exit.
Jessica Morton intercepts us at the door. "Leaving already? The night's still young!"
"Early morning tomorrow," I lie smoothly. "But it was good seeing you, Jessica."
"You too! We should all get together while you're in town. I'll make a group chat!" She's already pulling out her phone, and I make a mental note to ignore whatever group chat materializes.
We escape into the cool night air. The rain has completely stopped now, leaving everything clean and fresh-smelling. The parking lot is half empty, puddles reflecting the inn's lights.
"Where's your car?" Ivy asks.
"Right there." I point to my Subaru—practical, reliable, the kind of car that says "responsible adult with good credit." Granddad had laughed when I bought it. "You're thirty-three, not seventy. Get something fun."
But I'm not a fun car guy. I'm a "gets good gas mileage and has excellent safety ratings" guy. I unlock the doors and Ivy climbs in, looking around at the clean interior. "Do you always keep your car this neat?"
"Is that a weird thing?"
"A little bit, yeah. Most people have at least some trash. Coffee cups, receipts, something."
"I have a trash bag." I point to the small bag hanging from the back of the passenger seat. "Everything goes in there."
She's trying not to smile. "You're very organized."
"Says the woman who color-codes her bookshelves."
