Page 75 of Salvation
“Why?” I demand, stepping forward, but Ivy steps back, bumping into her car and still avoiding looking at me.
“Why what?” She stutters, and I grin because I know her. I’ve always known her. I just let myself forget that.
With another step forward, I box her in, wrapping my finger around her curl, but leaving enough room for her to run if she really wants to.
“Eyes on me, Ivy.” My voice is gruff, scratching against my throat, but I can still taste her lips on mine. I’m barely holding onto my control. With her this close, it would be so easy to reach out and kiss her again. But I don’t. I wait her out, letting her make the decision.
Slowly, she turns her face toward me. The wait is painful, but when her eyes finally land on me, that ache is soothed because having Ivy’s attention is a balm for my soul.
“Why can’t you do this?” I ask. “Because that kiss didn’t feel like you couldn’t do this. So give me one good reason why you can’t. If you can make me believe it—reallybelieve—I’ll go, and we never have to talk about this again.”
“I can give you a million reasons,” Ivy says defensively, and I smirk because whether she realizes it or not, she leaned into me when she said it.
“Name them.” We are so close that my lips brush over hers as I talk, but she doesn’t pull away. She stays where she is, sucks in a breath, and lifts her hand, counting off on each finger.
“I just broke up with my fiancé. We need to think about Willow. And I have a mural to finish, which is not going great because I can’t get out of my head every time I hold a paintbrush.” She says the last point with so much exasperation that I nearly laugh, but when I see the hurt that reflects in her eyes, I cut it off and shake my head.
“That’s three reasons, not a million, and none of them are good.”
“Campbell—” she starts, but I lift my finger, pressing it against her lips.
“Nope, you had your chance. You didn’t convince me, so now it’s my turn.” Lifting my finger from her mouth, I hold my hand up between us and tick off my counter reasons just like she had. “You might have just broken off your engagement, but you didn’t love him. And before you can argue, know that I saw how you looked at him. As far as Willow goes, she made it abundantly clear that I’d be an idiot if I didn’t chase you. And as for your art, I think I can help you with that.” Her brows dip down, and I can tell she’s about to argue, but I don’t let her. I’m not above begging, not for her. “Please, Ivy, don’t say no just yet. Give me a chance.”
“Okay.” Her answer slips out as a timid whisper. I can see it in her eyes. She’s terrified of this. I am, too, but I refuse to let my fear control me anymore—not with her.
“So you’ll stay?” I ask, my voice pitched as low as hers.
A wrinkle forms across Ivy’s forehead. “What do you mean? I wasn’t leaving.”
I pull back so I can look at her better. “Then what was that box you were carrying?”
Understanding lights up Ivy’s eyes, and she giggles, sending that light straight to my soul.
“I wasn’t leaving, Campbell. I’m cleaning out my grandparents’ stuff,” she says, spinning around and opening oneof the boxes in her trunk. “I figured if I’m going to be here a while, I should try to at least make it feel like home.”
Relief spreads across my chest and through my limbs.
“What all do you have in these boxes?” I ask, stepping forward to sift through the contents. Several dusty, leather-bound books sit on top, but it’s the corner of one peeking out beneath them that catches my attention. Ivy watches me as I dig through to the bottom, pulling out the Bible from the Cunninghams’ foyer. “You’re getting rid of this?”
“Why would I keep it? I don’t need it.”
“Are we ever going to talk about it?” I ask, scratching at my jaw.
“Talk about what?”
I press my lips together, giving her an unamused stare. “You know what, Ivy.”
She shrugs. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“And I think you’re wrong. Your grandparents hurt you, but this Bible didn’t.”
“You have no idea what hurt me, Campbell,” Ivy snaps, “You weren’t there.”
The truth is painful, and that truth is the most painful of them all.
“I’m sorry,” Ivy whispers, mistaking my silence for anger. “That wasn’t fair.”
With the Bible still in hand, I step forward and gently take hold of her wrist, placing the book in her hand. “Don’t apologize, sunshine. You have every right to be angry. I’m angry, but God didn’t do this. And I think one day you might want this.”
