Page 50 of Writing On The Wall

Ethan

I told her to break up with her boyfriend. Then she stomped off

Colton

You’re an idiot

How have you ever gottena date before?

Ethan

*Gif of Joey Tribiani’s shocked face*

I tried to be smooth, but I fumbled, okay?

Colton

Ya think?

Ethan

I can’t do this with you right now. I’ll call you later

Colton

While I look forward to hearing about your attempts to come back from this, you should do something nice for her

Show her you’re not an ass

Maybe my brother’s forgotten, but this all started with me doing nice things for Ivy.

Besides, it’s probably a good idea to give her some space, let her cool down while the effects of my foot-in-mouth syndrome wear off.

I go on to examine the bathroom, grateful to find it doesn’t need a lot of work. The shower and bathtub will eventually need to be replaced, but for now, new fixtures and fresh paint will suffice.

I grab a ladder next and follow the echoes of music to the room Ivy’s retreated into, hoping for a redo on not being a jerk.

She keeps her back turned to me while she sways and bops along with the country music coming from her phone. The room is empty aside from an ornate wooden wardrobe pushed up against the wall. The entrance to the room faces three large, slightly offset windows framed by floral curtains. I quietly place the ladder in the center of the room, then lean against it as I watch Ivy dance.

“Nice moves, Marsh.”

“Ethan! Gah! What is wrong with you?” She shoots me a venomous look, the tips of her fingers nudging her glasses up. “Jeez. I hope you know you’re not as smooth as you think you are, leaning against your ladder with yourI’m so coollook,” she says mockingly.

“Did you just try to imitate my voice?”

She responds by sticking her tongue out, which elicits a belly laugh from me. Every one of her attempts at being feisty just makes her more adorable.

“I’m sorry.” I shrug. “I figured I would’ve scared you either way. Whatcha scraping at there?” I frown at the seams in the wall.

“I’m not sure. There’s a weird line here.” She points.

I step closer, letting my fingers run along the wood, feeling for discrepancies. I’ve only seen something like this once before, but it would be amazing if this is what I think it is. I shove the wardrobe a foot over and marvel at the rectangular outline faintly visible along the wall. I push my fingertips against the panel, and my eyes dart to Ivy’s when there’s a soft click. The panel pops open, hinges squeaking as the door moves inward.

“No. Freaking. Way,” Ivy says in a breathy exhale.

She steps inside the opening, and I crouch to follow her into the tiny room. It’s so small that I doubt it could fit more than a twin-sized bed with little space left over. Two antique bookshelves hug the wall to our right, and a wine-colored wingback chair sits in the other corner. Ivy tiptoes further in and switches on a dim lamp tucked behind the velvet chair.

“I can’t believe Gran never told me about this.” She spins in a slow circle, her eyes tracing the two large paintings that face the shelves. “This must have been hidden here the whole time she was renting out the house—her trinkets have just been inside this room, gathering dust.”

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