Page 8 of Till Cupid Do Us Part

I make the final turn, and a beat later, the cabin appears at the end of the road. Ivy’s fingers curl into my jeans as she huffs like a dragon.

“You don’t have to say things just to say them. I know I’m different now than I was before,” she says reluctantly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play coy, Niko.”

“I’m not. I want to know what you’re talkin’ about so I can prove you wrong.”

“We’re here,” she mutters.

The moment I stop the truck in front of the cabin, she hops out and slams the door shut behind her. I scrape a hand down my beard and turn the truck off.

Clearly, despite my age, I have no fucking clue how to handle a woman. That’s been proven to me time and time again with Ivy. She keeps me on my toes, and I love that about her. The challenges and fun she brings into my life.

Knowing there’s something wrong with her has me out of the truck in a blink, already reaching into the back seat to grab our bags before she can try and take hers.

She meets my gaze across the back seat, the door open as she leans in to grab the bag I’ve already got in my grip.

“I always take your bags,” I say bluntly.

Her eyes soften for a moment. “Fine.”

My woman overpacks every single time we go somewhere. The weight of her bag is alarming, considering the size of it, as I toss it over my shoulder and shut the truck door.

“Here. It’s the bigger key,” I say, tossing her the cabin keys.

She catches them with two hands and scurries ahead, her boots kicking at the powdery snow that’s piled on the sidewalk. I’ll come out later and get it all shovelled. Maybe while she’s taking a long, hot bath.

“How many times have you been here?” she asks, inspecting the key ring.

“Too many to count. It was my grandfather’s.”

Her squeak echoes through the woods around us. “It was? Why haven’t you ever mentioned this to me before?”

“Didn’t think it mattered. I hardly ever went out here before the past few years. Figured I’d introduce you to it face to face.”

“So, this place is kind of like a Shaw family staple, then?”

“I guess so.”

Stopping at the door, she slides the key into the door and jiggles it around when it doesn’t immediately unlock. Same old, same old with this place. Old and in need of a fuck ton of maintenance that I don’t have the patience or time to give it.

Kind of like how I was a year ago, I guess. Only Ivy took pity on me and fixed me up right instead of leaving me to rot.

I grip Ivy’s hand and take over the movements of the key in the lock and help her jiggle it the way I know will work. Once it clicks, she yanks the door open and rushes inside.

“Don’t get your hopes up too much, angel. The place hasn’t been remodelled since it was built in the nineties. Everything’s original,” I explain.

She ignores me and continues her inspection of the place. I leave her be as she tears through the living room, immediately sorting through the piles of books and photos on the shelves. My first stop is the master bedroom. I leave our bags on the bed and inspect the dresser and nightstands for dust, not finding any.

There was a set of cleaners out here two weeks back and an inspector a week before that. I wasn’t about to bring Ivy into a filthy cabin with hidden mould or floorboards one step from collapsing beneath us.

It’s old and withered but safe.

My next stop is the furnace room. Thank fuck it kicks in when I flip its switch. I expected to have to use the fireplace all weekend.

“Is this you? Oh, my god! Junie looks just like you did as a baby!” Ivy shouts.

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