Page 48 of Writing On The Wall

“Just talk to her man,” he says, still looking entirely too happy about my predicament. “Tell her how you feel…or show her what she’s missing out on. Stop messing around and get serious about a future with someone.”

“Yeah, okay.” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat awkwardly. I’m never this awkward. What is this woman turning me into? It’s not enough that I’m game for doing the whole DTR thing, but now I’ve got to deal with her having a boyfriend and all. Sure, I could tell her about the feelings I’ve developed for her, but I have no clue what her response will be. I’m still not sure she’d be willing to help me if I were on fire, instead of pulling out a bag of marshmallows.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

IVY

Ethan’s latest message stares at me from the wall, a little reminder that my life is still a giant mess.

I like that you’re fun-sized.

Below the message I only discovered late this afternoon is a brand new pair of lilac Crocs. I’ve been staring at them for the past ten minutes while they teasingly coax open that lid on my emotions. But those feelings got crammed into that jar for a reason, despite the way they’re so eager to escape.

It’s not like I could do anything about my growing fondness for Ethan, anyway. I’m in a fake relationship with another man, and I don’t see a way out of it that would allow me to protect the sense of security I so desperately need. If Gran finds out I’mnotdating Toby, there’s a chance she’ll take the house back—or in the very least be debilitatingly disappointed in me.

So I’m standing here, staring at these darn Crocs like they’ve got all the answers, my feet yearning to experience the comfort they promise. Theyaremy favorite color, after all.

I growl as I pivot sharply toward the kitchen. The new cabinets were delivered and installed yesterday while I spent myday off at school, painstakingly organizing the recital schedule. And it would have taken even longer if Toby wasn’t there to help.

You should stop saying yes to things that are out of your depth.

Yeah. I know.

The kitchen looks drastically different with the new cupboards. The wood is painted a soft white, accented with black handles and paned-glass uppers. All of this lower cabinet space has me itching to unpack the boxes that have been shoved against the wall since I moved in. I spend the next hour meticulously finding a place for every piece, desperately trying to ignore the Crocs calling me from the next room.

“Ugh!” I grunt after I realize I’ve been wiping the same spot on the table, and I toss the washcloth onto the floor.

Fine. But I’m only trying them on.

Standing before the alleged pillow-soft shoes, I take a deep breath and remove my platform Vans. This is like the opposite of Cinderella. I don’t know how Crocs have managed to become trendy, because teenage Ivy still cringes at how uncool they once were.

I slide my feet into the Crocs and start with slow steps around the room. I’m aware of their lack of height, butwow. They weren’t lying when they said it’s like walking on a cloud.

I smile with giddiness. I definitely get the appeal now. In fact, I feel the need to apologize to every person I condescendingly questioned about their Crocs-allegiance. It’s like asking why people like watchingFriends.

I’m so enamored with my new footwear that I don’t notice the footsteps treading up my porch until Ethan is swinging my door open with a “knock-knock.”

His eyes drop to my shoes, and the corners of his mouth immediately curl up. I feel like I’ve been caught in the middleof a shameful hobby instead of trying on a popular brand of comfort shoes.

“Look away! Avert your gaze!” I shout.

“Nope. You can’t be grumpy while wearing those. Those are happy shoes,” he points, taking measured steps toward me.

“Don’t try to convince me you own a pair of these.”

“What? Of course I own a pair of Crocs. They’re like therapy for your feet. I stomp around in these heavy work boots all day. My feet deserve some TLC, too.”

I narrow my eyes as he steps closer.

“The difference is, you’re actually wearing them.” He smiles softly.

“Yeah. Thank you. It was very thoughtful. Bold, but thoughtful.”

“Handsome, thoughtful, bold… Any other compliments you want to give me?”

I roll my eyes, taking a step back and putting some distance between us. I don’t wear perfume or fragranced lotions because they give me a headache, but whatever subtle scent Ethan uses is like catnip. It doesn’t smell like anything from an aerosol can. It’s earthy and fresh, with a hint of wintergreen, and I want to get a good ol’ whiff of it. And I mean the kind of whiff you only get from a creeper sniff. These shoes must be doing something to my endorphins, because I’ve never been so tempted to press my nose against a man’s skin before.

“I never said you were handsome,” I reply, clearing my throat and gesturing to our list. “What’s next?”

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