Page 37 of The Holiday Honeymoon Switch
“Did you guys set an official date yet?” Oliver asks Larry, to Ivy’s confusion.
“Shira’s still waiting to hear from a venue in LA, but I’m hoping I can convince her to do it here, on the beach. Who knows, maybe we’ll just have two ceremonies?”
“Wait—who’s Shira?”
Larry pours the concoction into martini glasses, tops it all off with prosecco, and garnishes it with jalapeño rings, which float like little lifeboats in the sunny yellow cocktail.
“There you go. The Hawaiian bonfire. My jalapeño-infused pineapple juice will make you forget all about being caught in the rain. And what do you mean, who’s Shira?” She points at one of the photos, one with just Larry and the woman, who has a blunt blond bob, amber eyes, and a smile just as infectious as Larry’s. “She’s my fiancée.”
Ivy looks between Oliver and Larry. “But I thought…”
“You thoughtwhat?” Oliver says, a slow smile stealing over his face.
“That you and Larry…” Ivy feels embarrassed now, and it doesn’t help that Oliver seems delighted by her mistake.
“Thatwewere a couple? I thought I mentioned to you that Larry is my best friend.”
“I thought you were one of those smug couples who says you’re also best friends,” Ivy mutters, and Oliver laughs, then clinks his glass against Ivy’s, takes a sip, sputters dramatically. “Whoa, this is your hottest batch ever, Lar.”
“Shira is a film director and lives in LA, but she’ll be here for Christmas. She gets here tomorrow.” Larry hops up and down now. “I’m so excited. And no, Oliver is not my boyfriend.”
Ivy takes a sip of her own drink to cover up how flustered she is. She tries to ignore what she suspects is relief coursing through her body at the fact that Oliver and Larry aren’t a pair.No flings on art holidays, she reminds herself, but her inner voice is already growing weak.
Larry is wiping the counter and singing along to the Janis Joplin record again. “Hey, Lar, you’re a great singer and all, but it’s the holiday season!” Oliver says. “Tonight was the tree lighting! Don’t you think you should be playing carols?”
Larry looks at Ivy and rolls her eyes. “Honestly, he’s like a child this time of year, right? No, I donotthink I should beplaying bland Christmas carols, thank you very much. Me, Janis, and Bobby McGee here are perfectly fine.”
“Agreed,” Ivy says, and she finds herself smiling as Larry starts singing again—because her joy is infectious, but Ivy knows there’s something else behind her own happiness. Now Oliver leans his head close.
“Hey,” he says as Larry goes off to serve a small group of patrons who have come through the door, as rain-soaked as they were. She turns her gaze toward him, feeling that electrical zing again, this time causing a tantalizing throb between her legs. If all he has to do to make her feel that way is look at her, Ivy can’t help but wonder what sort of magic would happen if they actually touched.
But no.No.She will not.
“Did it bother you, when you thought Larry and I were a couple? Were you disappointed, by any chance?”
“You think highly of yourself, don’t you?” Ivy says, taking a large sip of the spicy drink, grateful that the hot sensation on her lips and in her mouth gives her something else to focus on other than him.
He shrugs, flashes his dimple at her. “I guess I’m just trying to think about how I would feel, seeing you with a guy I thought you were with. I think I’d be a little jealous. I like you, Ivy.”
This must be how he does it, Ivy thinks. He’s probably getting laid left, right, and center, with his good looks andextreme confidence. Who just comes out and says,I like you, Ivy?
Exactly the kind of guy you’re most attracted to. The sexy, self-assured kind. The kind who would probably, if you gave him the go-ahead, push you against this bar and kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before.
He had spoken the final words close to her ear, and the soft rumble of his voice sends another shiver through her body.What the hell, Ivy? He’s just a guy. Get a hold of yourself.“I like you, too,” Ivy says, her voice schoolmarm-prim, somehow, when it could just as easily be full of the desire she can’t seem to get control of. She takes another fortifying sip of the spicy cocktail, while Oliver raises his eyebrow, making her feel like he can read her mind and knows exactly what she wishes they could do, possibly right against this bar. “But these two weeks every year are sacred to me. I don’t have room for anyone or anything other than my art.”
He leans back and nods. “Right. You only make those gorgeous pastel landscapes once a year, for some reason.”
She looks away from him and back at the photos behind the bar. Beside the personal ones of Larry, Oliver, and Shira, there are other, professional-looking photos, all framed, all very similar to the photographs of ocean waves at the apartment. “Those are spectacular photos,” she says, hoping a change of subject will make her feel less powerless against her attraction. “I saw some like that at the apartment. Who’s the photographer?”
Now, all at once, Oliver’s expression changes. And Ivy knows that sort of look. “Wait a minute,” she says. She raises herself on her barstool, leans over, and squints at the images in the framed photo, and, all at once, sees the tiny silver signature at the base of each one: “Oliver Donohue.” She turns to him. “Youtook those.”
He waves a hand as if it’s nothing that he’s so talented.
“Oliver, come on, these are great. Like, good enough to be inNational Geographicor something. I’ve never seen waves and water captured like that. It feels like they could come right off the paper. The movement, yet the stillness. They’re perfect.”
He looks even more bashful now. “Well, actually, my photos have been inNat Geoa few times. I’m working on a photo-essay for them right now. That’s what I was doing this morning.”
So he isn’t just a bartender-surfer. He’s a bartender-surfer-photographer. Which, unfortunately, means her attraction to him is now in overdrive. “The amount of patience it must take to catch the waves like that,” she says. “I’ve never seen anything like these.” Maybe if she can keep the talk centered around art, she’ll be okay.
