"Levi told you that too?"
"He tells me everything." I start the car, and the radio comes on. "Where am I going?"
She gives me her address, and I punch it into my phone's GPS even though I probably don't need it. Blackwater Falls isn't that big. But I like having clear directions. I like knowing exactly where I'm going.
The drive is quiet at first. Ivy's looking out the window, watching the familiar streets pass by. Main Street with its antique shops and the old movie theater. The park where they do summer concerts. The coffee shop that Levi says makes terrible coffee, but everyone goes to anyway because it has the best desserts.
"I forgot how pretty it is here," I say, more to break the silence than anything. "At night, especially. The city's always so bright. You can't see the stars."
"Can you see them from your apartment?"
"Not really. I'm on the eighth floor, but there are taller buildings all around. Mostly I just see other people's windows." I turn onto Oak Street, following the GPS's directions. "Sometimes I watch them. The people in the other apartments."
"That's kind of creepy."
"Not in a stalker way. Just... observing. Wondering what their lives are like. There's this couple across the way who have dinner together every night at seven. They light candles. They talk. They seem happy."
"And that interests you?"
"It reminds me that people still do that. Still make time for each other, even when life is busy." I glance at her. "My life is busy. Too busy, probably. I eat most of my meals at my desk or standing in the kitchen. I can't remember the last time I had dinner with someone that wasn't a work function."
"That sounds lonely."
"It is." I turn onto what the GPS says is her street, a quiet residential area with small houses and mature trees. "But I chose it. The job, the hours, all of it. I wanted to be good at what I do. I wanted to matter."
"You do matter."
"To my patients, maybe. But that's not the same as mattering to someone. As having someone who cares if you come home at night." I slow down, looking for house numbers. "Which one is yours?"
"The blue one. With the white shutters."
I pull into her driveway and put the car in park. The house is small but well-maintained. There are flower boxes under the windows, empty now, waiting for spring. A porch light glows yellow and welcoming.
"It's nice," I say.
"It's tiny. But it's mine."
"That's what matters." I turn off the engine.
Ivy doesn't move to get out. Neither do I.
"Thank you," she says finally. "For tonight. For the drink, and the dancing, and the ride home. And for... for everything you said."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do, though. Because you were brave enough to say things I've been too scared to even think about."
My heart jumps. "Ivy—"
"I'm not ready to talk about it yet," she says quickly. "But I needed you to know that I heard you. And it meant something. It means something."
It's not a declaration. It's not even close to what I was hoping for. But it's something. It's a crack in the door, a possibility.
I'll take it.
"Okay," I say. "When you're ready to talk, I'm here. This weekend, next month, whenever. I'm not going anywhere."
She nods, then reaches for the door handle. Pauses. Her hand rests there for a long moment, and I can see her having some kind of internal debate.
