Page 14 of Unwrapped

Ivy

My apartment twinkles with the soft glow of Christmas lights strung across my bookshelves and the small tree Tessa and I picked up last weekend when I dragged her to the local Christmas tree lot down the street. It’s cozy in here, the kind of atmosphere that’s supposed to be soothing. But instead, my mind is a chaotic mess, tangled with nerves about the Mercer holiday party tomorrow.

I sit cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper, ribbons, and half-wrapped gifts. My hands fumble with a roll of silver ribbon, but I’m too distracted to manage a decent bow. The idea of being at that party has my stomach in knots, and I can’t seem to shut off the anxious thoughts running through my head.

Tessa claims it’ll be good for us—a chance to network with people who might help make our bakery dream a reality. And I know she’s right. But it’s not just the thought of making small talk with potential investors that has me on edge.

It’s Asher.

“Come on, you’re making that face again,” she says, flopping down beside me and nudging me with her shoulder.

I glance at her, trying to act casual. “What face?”

She arches an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look. “That face. The one you make when you’re overthinking something to death. What’s got you so worked up?”

I shrug, not meeting her eyes, focusing on the ribbon in my hands instead. “It’s just… the party. I’m not sure I belong there.” I fidget with a piece of wrapping paper, smoothing out the wrinkles that don’t actually exist. “You should have seen his office, Tess, and him…” Her eyes grow wide. “You could smell how expensive he is, not to mention that his suit had to have been custom and his watch—probably a Rolex or something.”

Tessa’s expression softens, the teasing fading from her eyes. “Look, I know you’re nervous, but just be yourself. You don’t have to impress him or anyone else. Who gives a shit if he’s a gazillionaire? He’s still just Asher Mercer from high school, right?”

I nod, trying to absorb her words, but my chest still feels tight with uncertainty. This is the part of business that terrifies me, the rubbing elbows with important people and trying to convince them you deserve their money or even worse, their business. “It’s just… I don’t know if I’m ready for this. And we do have to impress people if we’re looking to network and find investors or whatever. What if I mess up or say something awkward or?—”

Tessa lets out a snort, cutting me off. “Ivy, you have literally faced down furious college professors, tricky yeast doughs, and Chicago traffic during rush hour. I think you can handle a holiday party. Oh, and that insane lady who had a rat on a leash in the train that one time; she was terrifying!”

I let out a shaky laugh, despite myself. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Besides,” she reassures me. “That’s my job. I’m the face of the bakery, the business side of things. And you know I never shut the hell up, so trust me. I can handle schmoozing some richfolks. You just focus on having a good time and hanging out with Asher.”

“But I still don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him. We barely knew each other back then, and now it’s like… I don’t even know if he remembers me at all. It feels stupid to reminisce about high school when we have basically no memories together and I have zero idea what a big-time CEO even talks about.” I can feel my throat tightening again, my anxiety getting the better of me.

Tessa pulls back slightly, looking me straight in the eye. “He remembers you, Ivy. Trust me. Guys like Asher don’t invite you to parties for no reason. And besides, this is amazing; you have a blank slate with him. You guys can flirt, do that super sexy touching of his arm, flick your hair, press your tits together!” I laugh, that anxious feeling melting into excitement. “That is arguably one of the most fun and sexy times with a guy—the talking phase.” She swoons.

“Really?” My nose scrunches. “I always felt like it was the most stressful time. Trying to relate and find things to talk about; you know I stress about small talk. Most people don’t want to talk about quantum or atomic theory and I really am not interested in hearing about another man’s investment portfolio.”

“Did I teach you nothing?” She scoffs before jumping up dramatically. “Remember in high school when I’d tell you to watch me when I walked over to Darren Thompson and he’d just melt in a puddle of goo at my feet—that’s what you need to channel at this party with Asher.”

“Uh, that was like ten years ago and I’m pretty sure tying a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue isn’t going to impress him.”

“Not that.” She grabs my arms and places me so I’m standing in front of her. “I’m talking about when you’re engaging with him, lean in.” She shows me, her eyes softening as she smiles likeshe’s laughing at something I’ve said. “Touch his arm, like this.” She demonstrates, then cocks her head. “Make him think you’re hanging on every word he’s saying. Guys eat that shit up.”

“The problem isn’t that I can’t remember this stuff, Tess. I’ve seen all the rom-coms too. The problem is I get in my head and clam up because I’m either overthinking or I trip, stumble, and then swan dive into an unrelatable topic of such insane proportions the guy sneaks out of my apartment when I get up to go the restroom.”

“You brought out a model of an atom, Ivy.”

“It was a polyhedron molecular model actually.”

“Not the point.”

“Right.” I sigh. “I really don’t want to be alone forever, I swear. I just feel like I’ve completely lost myself along this bakery journey. Not that I don’t want it, it’s my dream. It’s just—I guess I naively didn’t realize just how much of it would consume me to the point I feel like I’m just existing.”

It feels good to finally admit that out loud.

“I’m sorry, Ivy.” Tessa’s face softens and we sink down to the floor, talking like we did when we were sixteen. “I didn’t realize you felt that way. At times I wondered if you were avoiding the world, seeing you lock yourself away and work on recipes and concepts while also trying to give your job one hundred and ten percent.”

“I think it happened subconsciously. I know I’m safe in the kitchen, safe in a book—but I’ve never met someone I felt safe enough with to truly be myself and not feel like I’m always putting on a show of what they want to see.”

“Ah, shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that with my little lessons about flirting.”

“No, no, I know that. It’s me. I’m the one who gets in my head. I convince myself it’s easier to just stay in the lane I know rather than see what else is out there. And as much as I don’twant to admit it…” I smile at her. “Us being together twenty-four seven has also given me an out to not seek companionship elsewhere.”

---