Page 29 of Battle of the Exes

No, I mean you’re not a red flag. You’re the hazard sign, blinking lights, sirens, and a roadblock, all rolled into one.

Flattered, really. Means I stand out.

Like a gas leak, yes.

I change direction.

Did you ever consider putting out a collection of your most popular Dear Ivy’s? You’d sell out a first print run. Maybe we should work on it together.

Dots pulsate then stop.

Like I’d let you take credit for my genius. You’d turn the whole thing into a competition of who gives better advice.

I’m about to set the phone aside, quietly amused, when one more text comes through.

I’ll think about it.

Never have four words made me happier.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ivy

I’m at the library when it opens, surprised to see Cameron still works here. The librarian looks just as I remember him from my teenage years, hanging out in the reference section doing my homework. It was quieter than going to the Quill after school. Also, I had a mad, ridiculous crush on Cameron.

His blond hair is mostly gray now, but he’s stayed in enviable shape.

“Hey, Ivy,” he says, as if I’ve been coming in here every afternoon for the last two decades.

I gesture to the lanyard dangling from his neck. “Head librarian? Congrats!”

“Thanks. Mae told me you were back in town.”

Ah. That explains his low-key reaction. Of course, Cameron always was low-key. It’s why I used toovercompensate, bouncing around him with extra perkiness to make up for the energy void.

“The whole town’s excited,” he says, his tone flat. “The Peaks and Prose Festival looks like it’ll be fun and a much-needed boost to Silver Pine’s economy during the slow months. Mae’s prepping for a crowd next week.” He sounds like he moonlights for the Chamber of Commerce. His monotone reminds me why my teenage crush fizzled.

We catch up on old times and old classmates until a woman about my age interrupts to ask for help. Judging by the way she’s twirling her hair and white-knuckling a book about vegetable gardening, she’s far more interested in Cameron than growing cucumbers.

I take the hint and move on, finding a spot in the far corner with a leather chair and a desk facing the back window. The view stops me short. Snow still dusts the mountain peaks, even now, just weeks before summer.

I catch myself thinking about Beau. The first day we met was bone-chillingly cold. He could barely stay upright on his skis, but by the end of the lesson he was conquering the green runs, and we were halfway to smitten.

I push the memory aside and focus on work. I log into my email, finding notes from my editor with tweaks to my last column. Then I click on a message from Mimi, a batch of reader letters she’s narrowed down to either the most interesting or the most scandalous.

One jumps out. Immediately, I know it’s the one.

For the next hour, I slip intoDear Ivymode, craftinga response that’s amusing, informative, and will hopefully go viral.

When I take a break, I replay the conversation with Rue from last night’s dinner at Joe’s. By the time we left I promised not to let whatever’s happening between me and Beau land on her front door ever again. This time I mean it.

Now, I glance at the wall clock overhead. Almost time to meet Beau again.

I shut my laptop and slide it into my bag, thinking about the weirdly flirty texts we exchanged last night. He’s been reading my column.

As I take the back exit and cross the street, I’m startled by an intrusive thought.What if I’ve been misreading him?

Chapter Twenty-Four

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