Page 33 of Writing On The Wall

Great. This probably means Ivy has been downplaying her struggles for everyone and not just her coworkers.

Except for Toby. She’s clearly confided in him, seeing as she’d been seeking his help that day at school when I stepped in.

“It’s nothing. I was just wondering if she knew anything about it. I gotta go though. Love you, bail bro.”

“I’ll answer the call, but I didn’t say I’d pay your bail.”

“Too bad. It’s an all-or-nothing position.” I hang up before he can reply.

My steps falter as I ascend Ivy’s porch, my gaze drawn to a silky teal hair ribbon trapped beneath a chair leg. I stoop to free it before tucking it into my pocket. Just as I raise my hand to knock, a shriek pierces the air.

The hell?

“Ivy?”

Another shrill scream follows, and I call out again. I get no answer. Panic claws at my chest and clenches my lungs in a vice.

Stuff it—I’m going in.

My hands fumble frantically for the spare key I kept. By the time I grip the handle to insert the key, the door opens.

It’s unlocked. Are you kidding me?

This woman haszeroself-preservation.

I shove my way inside, feeling a scowl take over my face and wondering what it might take to get her to be more careful. I take three steps forward and come to an abrupt stop. Ivy iswalking down the hallway, absentmindedly drying her damp hair with a towel, completely unaware of my presence.

I’d try to speak, but my tongue feels like it’s been nailed to the roof of my mouth. The woman stands barefoot before me, clad only in the towel wrapped tightly around her body.

She’s not tall by any means, so the towel actually covers everything from her knees to her shoulders. But it does cling to her like a second skin, drawing my attention to her curves. And…dang.

I’m only human, right?

She lifts her head for the first time in the ten seconds that have passed since I’ve been standing here, freaking out internally. This isn’t helping my aspirations to be less of an ass. I raise my hands in a staying motion as she lets out another ear-splitting yelp.

“William freaking Shatner! Ethan? What the heck are you doing in here?”

She gets the fright of her life and still manages to cuss innocently enough for a toddler’s ears. It’s a cute little fact that I shouldn’t be noting, but I do.

“You screamed, Marsh! What was I supposed to do, stand outside and wait for your murderer to finish the job?”

She scurries behind a wingback chair and holds on for support. “You couldn’t have just minded your own business? And why do you always jump to such dark conclusions? What goes on in that mind of yours, anyway?” Her face scrunches with a hint of disgust. She’s probably hoping I won’t notice, but I observe her gradually growing taller from my vantage point. She’s on tiptoes now, one hand still pressed against her chest as if she’s still trying to calm her racing heart.

Nope, I’m not thinking about Ivy’s body parts—organs included.

“My mind is a wonderful place right now,” I reply, flashing a flirty grin.

What are you doing?

Just like pressing her buttons came so naturally in the beginning, this new flirty side seems to be springing forth of its own accord.

“Ugh,” she scoffs with an eye roll. “Typical.”

The floorboards creak as I step forward, and she pulls the towel in tighter around her. And to be honest, I’m growing more jealous of that damned towel by the second.

“What are you doing here?” she repeats with halfhearted scorn.

“Why did you scream?” I ignore her question and take another step closer. She doesn’t back away.

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