Page 25 of Battle of the Exes

Her brows shoot up. “No!”

I shrug. “It made it halfway across Michigan Avenue.”

Her eyes widen, and she lets out a laugh—a genuine, resonant guffaw. Before I know it, I’m laughing too.

As her laughter settles, I catch her gaze, longer than necessary. For a second, the room feels smaller, and I’m reminded of how easily we fit together, even now when we’re at each other’s throats.

The light moment seems to defuse whatever tension was hovering in the air.

I gesture to the sofa, and we sit across from each other. A bowl of chocolate-covered cherries sits on the coffee table between us. They’re her favorite. Or they were.

“Okay, let’s hear about this literary festival.”

“It’s a pop-up. We’re calling it Peaks and Prose.”

“Peaks and Prose Pop-up?” she asks, popping a cherry into her mouth.

I feel absurdly validated by her delighted chewing, even while she’s mocking me. “Yep, like a pop-up sale with little forewarning. It’s meant to spark curiosity and interest.”

“High season won’t start until July 4th.”

“Can’t wait that long. The Quill’s doors would be shut by then. It’s now or never. If you build it, they will come.”

I catch the slight curl of her lips at theField of Dreamsreference.

“I grew up in this town. It’s the slow shoulder season. And this is all very last minute.”

“That’s why it’s called a pop-up, Ivy. It’s a marketing strategy—less lead time, but we go hard in the days leading up to it.”

“Sounds like a gamble.”

“We literally have nothing to lose but time.”

The smile vanishes as quickly as it arrived.

“Who’s going to fund this pop-up?” The disdain is poorly veiled. Whatever ground I’d gained, it’s lost now.

“I have significant contacts.”

She pauses. Then, “I can’t believe I’m working with you.”

Her tone tells me she doesn’t mean it in the positive sense.

I offer my most brilliant grin. “Look on the bright side, darlin’. You get to spend time with someone charming, competent, and devastatingly handsome.”

“Perfect. Where is he?”

She’s yanking my chain, so I up the ante. “Keep pretending you’re immune to me. It’s adorable.”

I’m not sure why I’m antagonizing her. Maybe because Ivy is, once again, raining on the parade. Why can’t she just go with the flow? Mostly though, what’s bugging me is that she doesn’t think I can pull this off.

Ivy ignores my last comment and pulls out a sheath of papers. “Here’s a list I compiled of all relevant businesses within a fifty-mile radius of Silver Pine.”

She’s deftly steering the conversation back where it should be—about the festival. I decide to follow suit.

We spend the next hour talking about sponsors—the smaller ones she’ll reach out to and the corporate ones I already managed to nab. We agree that Gary and Lulu will man the tent for The Silver Quill, while Rue will welcome the crowd and interview Jasper on stage. Ivy and I will hobnob with industry reps and sponsors.

“How much have you brought in so far in sponsorships?” Ivy asks.

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