Page 102 of Writing On The Wall

“Relax. I’ve got you,” I reassure her with a tap on her thigh. “Get ‘er done, cupcake.”

She stretches and uses the paintbrush to fill in the spot we both somehow missed. “NowI get a nickname? Do explain.”

“I kinda just want my lips on you all the time… Same as how I want a cupcake all the time.”

“Hmmm,” she hums, and I can hear the mischief in her voice. “Even when I do this?” She reaches down and paints a dot on my cheek. “And this?” Another splotch on my forehead.

She’s got me. I’m so tempted to give her leg a pinch, but we both know my greatest fear is this woman injuring herself, so I’m stuck, my grip on her thighs tightening as she happily brushes a streak of paint down my nose. I walk her to the sofa, and she belts out a terror-filled giggle when I dip to the side, catching her behind the back as she topples from my shoulders.

“You’re playing with fire, Ivy June.”

“Does that make you the fire?” She arches a brow in question. Now that she’s not in danger of falling from my shoulders, I walk us to the nearest wall before lowering her feet to the ground, freeing one arm as the other holds her close.

“Well, Ihavebeen called hot before, so…”

“Cocky much?” She laughs, swatting my arm, and I use the moment to try to snatch the brush from her hand. I pin her free wrist above her head, and we end up scuffling playfully and spreading paint all over our hands before the brush falls to the floor. I couldn’t care less about the time it’s going to take to clean this mess, not when Ivy is biting her lip and staring up at me with those half-lidded eyes. I drop her wrist and lift her up against the wall as my free hand tilts her jaw up. Then I press my lips against hers, and it’s like finding the missing piece of a puzzle. It all just feels so…right.

We finally come up for air many minutes later, and Ivy has paint smeared over her cheeks, down her arms, and across her butt and thighs. She throws her head back, laughing at the handprints plastered over my arms and neck. I suspect I’ll find some paint in my hair later, too.

“This stuff doesn’t come off easily, does it?” she ventures, wipingat her cheek.

“Nope. Totally worth it, though,” I add, wiggling my eyebrows.

I lower her back to the ground, and she turns shining eyes up at me. I catch a tremble in her lips.

“Ethan, thank you for what you did for Ross. It means the world to me.”

“Told you, I’m here to be your rock. I’ll always have your back.”

“Just ‘cause you’re my rock, doesn’t mean you have to be strong all the time, though. You can show me your softer side, too.”

“You have all of me, Ivy. And, you’ve already seen my softer side—every time I have a run-in with a spider. You’ll need to be the one dealing with all the eight-legged creatures in this relationship.”

“Deal.” She nods and walks to the fridge to pull out two glass bottles filled with root beer. She pops the lids off, handing one over as she nudges me onto the sofa, then turns her back to snuggle against my chest.

“It’s a good thing we put an old sheet on this couch.” I sigh, pulling her close.

She hums, taking a long sip before sobering. “So… I know you’ve only known me while my life has been in turmoil. And I’m hoping things calm down a little on that front.” She pauses, playing with my fingers before inhaling a deep breath. “But things may still be a little chaotic for a while longer. I wanna go back to school… To study O.T.”

“I’ll one-hundred-percent support you in your endeavor to become an outdoor tickler.”

She snorts out a laugh before turning to me with narrowed eyes. “You don’t know what O.T. stands for, do you?”

“Pfff, of course I do—ostrich therapist is a noble profession. Some might say, unnecessary? But I’d disagree.”

Her lips roll in as she stifles a laugh. “Occupational therapist.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but you love me.” I grin against her cheek.

She takes both our bottles, placing them on the floor before pushing my shoulders so I’m forced to lie back on the sofa. Although, technically, my legs are mostly hanging off the edge, because as I said—this place and its furniture aretiny. Ivy squeezes in beside me, gripping the front of my shirt as she pulls me closer. “I do love you,” she says on an exhale. Her fist tightens again as she yanks me in and presses her mouth to mine. I relax into the kiss, feeling utterly content in her arms, but it isn’t long before I’m overcome with the need for more…more of her…more of us. I want more of these moments for the rest of my life, but only with her.

Things continue heating up until we can’t get close enough to one another. Just as my brain threatens to relinquish all control, both of our phones begin vibrating on the kitchen counter.

We break apart, our eyes still locked and Ivy’s hands resting on my chest as we pant for air.

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