Page 38 of Fire

Micah

I grab a wine glass from the cabinet and open a bottle of Merlot, watching Ivy through the window as I pour. So much for moving on and saying goodnight. So much for not complicating things. So much for keeping things professional between us. There’s no way drinks and conversation won’t lead to something. Maybe forgiveness. Maybe understanding. Maybe her in my arms…my bed…

Or maybe we’ll find ourselves right back where we were in Nathan’s office. Angry. Defensive. Simmering in years of misunderstanding…

Either way, saying goodnight is a long way off.

When I open the fridge to grab a beer, I spy the box of raspberries I bought specifically because Ivy loves them. I grab those, then a hunk of gouda because who doesn’t love cheese with their berries and wine? Humming softly, I slice the cheese, sipping beer and arranging the snack on a plate, until movement in the doorway catches my attention.

Ivy smiles when she sees what’s on the counter. “You were taking so long, I thought you got tired of things being awkward between us, so you went to bed and forgot to say anything.” Her entire body tenses and she hurries to add, “That’s not a jab at you for, you know, breaking your phone and not telling me.”

I did tell you. You’ve just conveniently forgotten. Kind of like you forgot you broke up with me, which started this whole mess in the first place.

Look at that. Two minutes in and I’m angry and defensive. I really don’t want to ruin a good day with a fight, so I push the thoughts away and smile instead. There will be time for that conversation later.

“It’d be funny if it was a jab.” And a whole lot more like the Ivy I used to know. “But no. I got into the fridge to grab a beer and thought you might like a snack. I saw the raspberries at the store and thought of you. And the cheese? I mean, come on, right? They just go together like…” I start to say ‘you and me’ but stop.

“Like Sherlock and Watson?” Ivy folds her arms across her stomach, her eyes lighting up as she names one of our favorite shows when we were kids.

“Or salt and pepper,” I suggest.

“Shoes and socks.” She giggles, relaxing even more.

“Exactly. See? You know what’s what.” I shrug, sliding the plate and glass her way. “Bon appetit.”

Ivy stares at the berries with a strange look—sweet, almost nostalgic—then climbs onto one of the island chairs and sips her wine. “This is very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“You say thoughtful, I say distractible. Yours feels better, but mine is probably the truth.” I push off the counter and lean against the wall, trying to keep it cool.

What am I doing? No clue.

What do I want? No clue there, either.

I’m acting on impulse, on memories, on years of being certain Ivy was the one, but there’s so much left unsaid between us.

The tension is ridiculous. It’s like I’m fifteen again and not sure if she likes me, while being a thousand percent head over heels for her. Only, we’re adults, who used to be in love, and being with her still feels natural, which makes me uncomfortable because it shouldn’t feel natural. Too much time has passed. Too much has changed.

Ivy sips her wine, plucking raspberries off the plate and popping them into her mouth with little sighs of pleasure. I fold my arms over my chest and pretend not to watch. I’ve always been obsessed with her mouth.

“After dinner and ice cream, the last thing I need is more food.” She lifts her glass and takes a sip anyway. “But, you managed to pick all the favorites I’ve been missing since I left Seattle, so I’ll just have to make better decisions tomorrow.”

“Since when do you worry about your weight?”

“Since I had a baby that totally changed the shape of my body. You could always help me out by eating some of this before I can. Come on, Micah.” She pats the chair beside her. “Save me from myself.”

Sitting next to her would be a catastrophe. Every brush of her skin has driven me fucking insane today, and three beers later, my inhibitions are low enough that I don’t trust myself to behave. Given all the complications between us, the worst thing I could do is give in to my misplaced and mistimed lust.

I lift my beer to my lips and tip it up. “I’m good over here, but thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugs and pops a berry in her mouth.

I watch her chew, and suddenly I’m pushing off the wall and closing the distance. Call me an idiot, I know I will later, but I can’t ignore Ivy. I never could. She’s always been my whole fucking world and now that she’s here, I’m screwed.

I stop with the island between us, leaning on the counter to select a piece of cheese. “You feel like talking?” God, I sound like an idiot. “I mean, what we did at the foundation was more yelling and accusing and then shock and awe and walking away. And what we did at the bar was more planning. Shitty planning. Impulsive planning. But hey…you get what you get with me, and impulsivity is part of the package. We haven’t really talked.”

“We haven’t. Not really.”

“I want to know…” I shake my head and sigh. “Everything. I want to know everything.”

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