Page 35 of Unwrapped

Ivy leans back slightly, her arms still wrapped around my neck, and she looks up at me with a steady gaze. “I can handle it,” she says firmly. “As long as I’m with you, I can handle it.”

Her words send a surge of warmth through me, and I lower my head to kiss her, slow and deep, letting the weight of everything we’ve just said settle between us. When we finally pull apart, I press my forehead against hers, holding her close.

“I can’t wait,” I murmur, my voice low. “We’re going to have an amazing time.”

Ivy smiles, her fingers gently trailing down my arm before she steps back, looking more relaxed than she had when she first arrived. “Me too,” she says, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

The next fewdays pass in a whirlwind of meetings, plans, and constant back-and-forth calls. Ivy and Tessa have been hustling nonstop to get everything in place for the bakery, and I’ve been doing everything I can to help where needed, but mostly I’ve been trying to give Ivy the space she needs to take the lead. Iknow how important it is for her to feel like this business is hers, not something she’s been handed.

The memory hits me in the middle of a board meeting.

Someone's droning on about quarterly projections, but all I can think about is that Shakespeare project junior year - and what a fucking coward I was.

I wasn't sick. Not even close.

I'd spent that entire morning psyching myself up for our study session. I remember pacing my bedroom, rehearsing casual opening lines."Hey Ivy, have you noticed how Lady Macbeth kind of reminds me of that one teacher..."God, I'd been so lame.

The truth was, I'd been terrified. Ivy Calloway was brilliant in English class. The way she dissected themes, how she'd quote passages from memory... Meanwhile, I was skating by on charm and decent writing skills. The thought of spending three hours trying to match her intellectual depth had sent me into a panic.

So I'd faked sick. Called Jessica Martin, knowing she'd spread the word. Spent the afternoon lying in bed, imagining Ivy in the library, probably looking beautiful in that soft way she had, waiting for me.

I'd watched her present our project the following Monday, in awe of how she commanded the room with her quiet confidence. Her analysis was perfect - everything I'd hoped to discuss with her, she'd figured out on her own. She didn't need me at all.

"Mr. Mercer? Your thoughts on the projection models?"

I snap back to the present, clearing my throat. "Sorry, could you repeat the question?"

Zane shoots me a knowing look from across the table. He's the only one who knew the truth back then - how I'd chickened out because I was afraid of looking stupid in front of the girl I couldn't stop thinking about.

The meeting drones on, but my mind keeps drifting to Ivy. To all the missed opportunities. To how fucking ironic it is that I'm still terrified of looking stupid in front of her, but now for entirely different reasons.

I'd give anything to go back and do that project with her. To have those extra hours, those early moments. But maybe this is better. Maybe we needed all those years apart to become the people we are now - people who might actually have a shot at something real.

Still... I owe her a Shakespeare discussion.

I pull out my phone under the table, typing quickly:

Asher

Ever wonder what would've happened if I hadn't been 'sick' for that Macbeth project?

Her response comes seconds later:

Ivy

Funny, I was just thinking about that. You weren't really sick, were you?

I smile, my heart racing just like it did back then. Of course she saw right through me.

Asher

No. But I'm ready to make up for lost time. We can finally have that discussion about appearance versus reality...

The three dots appear as she types, and I hold my breath, feeling sixteen all over again.

Ivy

Hmmm, sounds like you just want to cheat off of me Mr. Asher

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