Page 26 of The Holiday Honeymoon Switch
“I’m glad, Holly. Even though I definitely think you should tackle him and have some mind-blowing rebound sex, I’ll try to stop bugging you about that and just be happy that you seem to be where you need to be right now.”
“You will not. You’re the horniest person I know.”
“I love my body and I enjoy sex, what can I say?”
“Right—except for two weeks out of every year when you behave like a monk, and encouragemeto have sex instead. Remember last year, when you sent me all those new position suggestions when you were alone at that cabin in the Catskills?”
“I had rewatchedDirty Dancingand gotten some ideas. I had to share them withsomeone.”
“Enough,” Holly says, laughing. “I’m not sleeping with him. So, what’s your plan for today?”
“I’m going to sit on my terrace and draw a tree I saw yesterday, and what I can see from here. Then maybe I’ll hike for a while and try to find another perfect beach and draw it all day long. My ideal day.”
“I’m so glad you’re there,” Holly says, her tone sincere.
“I’mso glad you’re looking so happy.” Ivy ends the call and sits up in bed—but her happiness fades away as she considers all she left unsaid during the conversation with her best friend. Holly doesn’t even know where she’s really staying, and she certainly doesn’t know about Matt and Abby’s treachery. It’s clear Holly is starting to feel better—and Ivy can only imagine the setback that finding out Matt came on their honeymoon with someone else would deliver. It has to be better to protect her best friend from the truth, for now.
Ivy puts down her phone, shakes off the bad feelings about Matt and her dishonesty-by-omission with her bestfriend, and makes coffee. She dresses in a blue-gray crop tank and cutoff shorts, so different from the trendy pantsuits she wears to her job as a senior graphic designer at Imagenue in Manhattan. She pulls her ponytail through the back of a Montreal Expos cap that she “borrowed” from her dad and never gave back, then goes out to the deck with her steaming mug to set up the portable easel she brings on these trips, placing it close to the railing. At work, her day would often start with a creative meeting, where Ivy would bring her branding ideas to the table. She appreciates that there is at least some creativity in her day-to-day life—but this is different. At work, she thinks inside boxes, according to clients’ wishes, aligned with trends. On her art trip, she can be completely free.
First, she takes a sheet of canvas and draws the kiawe tree she saw at the hotel the day before, checking her phone to get the shape right, painting the colors by memory. As she swipes streaks across the page that perfectly mimic the straw yellow of the sand below the tree, Ivy is filled with satisfaction and a sense of purpose. The multifaceted shades of the tree come to life on the page next. Once she feels she has the browns and greens just right, she shifts her focus to the texture of the trunk.
An hour passes, but Ivy is so absorbed in what she’s doing, she hardly notices. She finishes her drawing and starts another, this one of the beach she can see from where she sits.She blends blues and aquamarines, shifts her focus to the froth of white where the waves hit the sand. She adds the finishing touches on the lather and spume of a wave, then puts down her pastels and stretches her arms above her head as she contemplates the mountains—which she knows she’ll need an entirely new color palette for. In the now full sunlight, the fertile mountains are a patchwork not just of green but also ocher, rust, blue-black in the shadows.
“Good morning!”
Larry is standing at the top of the stairs to the deck, holding a carton of milk. “I realized I brought you coffee yesterday but no cream or milk. Do you need to borrow some?”
“Oh, that’s really kind of you. But I take it black.”
Larry has approached and is looking at Ivy’s canvas now, her mouth a surprised O. “This is gorgeous! You did this?”
Ivy feels suddenly shy. All she can say is a humble “Yes.”
“This is spectacular!”
Ivy is blushing now. “It’s not quite done.”
“But it’s still wonderful.” Now she sees the drawing Ivy did of the tree, held down by stones and drying on the patio table nearby. “And that one.Wow.I know exactly which tree that is! Down by the hotel tiki bar, right?” Ivy nods. “You aresotalented.”
“Thank you,” she says, ducking her head and pretending to focus on putting away a few pastels that have fallen from the box.
“So, is this an art trip for you?”
“Yeah. I try to take one once a year, although I hate that I’m here because of my friend’s heartache.”
“At least something good is coming out of it,” Larry says. “Where do you show your work back home?”
“I don’t,” Ivy says. “This is just for fun. I’m a graphic artist by day—that’smy real job.”
There’s a sound on the stairs, and Oliver’s tousled hair appears, then his face and the rest of his body, clad in a black wetsuit that makes Ivy’s blush from all of Larry’s compliments intensify—because he looks exactly as good in a tight wetsuit as she’d imagined when she was crouched behind the bar yesterday. “Morning, Ivy.” He flashes his dimple at her. “Larry, I just wanted to let you know I’m heading out surfing.”
“Before you go, check this out! Ivy is secretly a talented artist,” Larry announces.
Oliver crosses the deck to the tree drawing, and when he looks up into Ivy’s eyes, she sees surprise in his expression—but something else, too. “Wow,” he says. “This really is great. You drew this of the tree at the hotel yesterday, the one you were taking pictures of?” Ivy nods. “It’s perfect.”
“Thank you,” Ivy says, “but really—”
Oliver now crosses the deck to the easel, standing behind Ivy to examine her drawing. She has the sudden urge to ask him where he buys his cologne, because even with hisgirlfriend standing right there on the deck, she wants to reach out and touch him.
