Page 26 of Writing On The Wall

“You can’t sleep here. This house isn’t habitable.” I cross my arms as she takes determined steps toward me.

“That’s a violation of rule number one,” she announces with a tsk. “And I don’t remember asking you for permission.”

I groan, running my hand through my hair. “Seriously, Ivy, look at the ceiling!” I gesture with my palm.

“What about it?”

“There’s a giant hole in it!” I yell incredulously.

She leans forward, peering into the gaping portal above us, then shrugs a shoulder. “The roof is still there.”

“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath. “Whatever you needed my height for can wait.” My eyes scan over all the areas of concern, citing the red flags everywhere. “We need to write a list,” I announce, pursing my lips.

Her head turns my way, eyes locking onto mine. There’s a question swirling in her gaze. This woman is always armored up, on the defense, and the curiosity in her green eyes is the only sliver of vulnerability she’s showing me.

She won’t use words to reveal any of her weaknesses, but her expression tells me she’s desperately trying to figure out if I mentioned “writing a list” on purpose. I didn’t. I’ve picked up on the fact that, for whatever reason, she isn’t comfortable writing things by hand. But realizing she believes I’d purposefully say something to make her feel bad is a sharp blow to the gut. She really does think I’m a giant ass.

My words come out with a gentle rasp. “I’lltake notes.”

She swallows hard and nods before she goes into a different room. “I’ll get the paper,” she mumbles over her shoulder.

My hands rest on my hips as I walk the space, busying myself with taking mental measurements. But it’s either that or cataloging all the bits and pieces of the chaos around me that make up Ivy. I can’t help noticing some of it anyway, like the unopened boxes with misspelled labels scrawled over the sides.

Before I know it, I’ve unintentionally made a list of all the things I’ve learned about this woman.

There’s an attempt at order, but each area looks incomplete, like the next one distracted her before she could finish. The only flat soles in sight are the running shoes peeking out of a gym bag against the wall. Stacked boxes labeled “pots” and “kitchen utensils” await their unpacking, although I assume it’s because Ivy wants to do something about the outdated cabinets before stocking them.

Where is that woman, anyway?

“Ivy?” I call out.

“Keep your panties on, King. I’m coming.” She lets out an exaggerated sigh once she steps out from the room where she’d been bustling around, a fresh Olaf Band-Aid adorning her arm. How does she manage to go into a space for five minutes and come out with a new injury?

My jaw pulses as she nears. “What happened to you in there?”

“Rule. Three.”

I groan in response. “Did you at least clean it properly?”

“Yes, Nurse Ethan. I managed to thoroughly clean my gaping wound before stitching and bandaging myself up.” Another eye roll. She must practice those with Ember. “But I wasn’t able to find any paper.”

“No problem. Hang on to this.” I unclip the measuring tape from my belt, holding it out to her. “You can take measurementsin a minute.” I dig a hand into my pocket, searching for my carpenter’s pencil.

A few seconds pass before I realize she hasn’t moved to take my offering. I look up, finding Ivy gnawing on her lip again, staring at the tape measure like it’s a spider I’ve asked her to cuddle.

Then I notice the grooves etched on her brow. Just as I’m about to lower my hand, she reaches out slowly. Her fingers brush against mine, sending a tingle throughout me as she tentatively takes hold of the tape.

“I can?—”

“It’s fine.” Her words are clipped, and she flashes a tight smile. “What now?”

The air grows thick with tension as she avoids my eyes. It feels like I’m tiptoeing across a fragile glass ceiling, every step threatening to shatter it. But I’m not alone—Ivy is there with me, and one wrong move puts us both at risk of getting hurt.

I’m learning there’s a lot more to this woman than I thought. Yes—she’s still a porcupine with complicated written all over her—but seeing what makes her so prickly makes me want to put on a thick coat and hold her closely so she doesn’t fall through any ceilings—literally and metaphorically.

“Now, we make a plan.” I grin and walk to the end of the living room. Various stains and sun-bleached patches decorate the bare walls. I write ‘FIXIT LIST’ in big, bold letters across the center of the twelve-foot-wide wall.

A gasp echoes behind me. “What are you doing?”

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