Page 66 of The Holiday Honeymoon Switch
Ivy wakes at dawn and hears Oliver in the shower. Her body is pleasantly sore from the night before with him—and, knowing he’s leaving soon for his camping trip, she goes to join him in the shower. “Merry Christmas,” she says, stepping into the hot water’s stream.
He groans at the sight of her. “Best Christmas present ever,” he says, reaching for her right away. “But honestly, I can’t believe I, Mr. Crazy About Christmas, am leaving on today of all days. What was I thinking?”
She kisses him as the water sluices between their bodies. “You were thinking your work is important to you. Your art.” She presses herself closer. “And that’s sexy to me, too…”
After their shower, they sit on her deck and have breakfast.
“So, what do you think you’ll do while I’m gone, other than pine for me?” Oliver asks with a wink as he bites into a wedge of pineapple.
“Well,” she says with a laugh, “once I’m done pining, I’m going to draw all morning, as much as possible—make the best use of my time without you.”
Her portfolio is sitting nearby, and he glances over at it and says, “Mind if I look, before I go?”
“Sure,” she says, and tries not to feel shy about it. He’s seen her naked; surely she can show him her artwork.
He flips through the plastic-clad pages, doling out appreciative compliments. “So, really?” He looks up at her when he’s done. “These are just for you, and for friends, family? You never show them at galleries?”
Ivy shakes her head. “Not anymore.”
“They’re so good, Ivy. You really should be showing them somewhere. I don’t get it.”
Suddenly, Ivy feels defensive. The afterglow of the night before and that morning in the shower dissipates. “I’m fine,” she says. “I like my life this way.”
He puts down the portfolio and looks at her thoughtfully. “So your art—it’s just two weeks a year, that’s it?”
“I’ve already explained to you how my art holidays work.”
A long pause. “And me?”
She looks up, surprised. “What about you?”
“I mean, where would I fit into all that? Because I don’t want this, us, to be just a two-week thing. I want to see you again after this.”
“I want to see you again, too.”
“In New York City, though. That’s where we’d see each other?”
“I don’t know. I guess I haven’t thought that far ahead. But yes, I’ll be in New York.”
“Right. We can talk about this later, I guess. I should go pack up.”
She sits alone on the deck after he’s gone inside, but then gets up and follows him in, the defensiveness still flowing through her.
“What am I supposed to do, tell you that now that we’ve met, I’m going to change everything about my life?”
He zips shut his pack and turns to her again. “That’s not what I’m saying.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in that familiar way. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of this. Not this morning. I’m getting ahead of myself.” His expression softens as he looks down at her. “I really like you, Ivy.”
She reaches for him. “I really like you, too,” she says. “We can figure it out.”
He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, speaks into her hair. “You’re right.”
“And thank you for saying such nice things about my artwork.”
“It’s incredible,” he says. “I mean that.”
“So is yours.” She pulls away and looks up at him again. “And you need to get to that waterfall. Meanwhile, I need to work on your Christmas present, which, I’m sorry, is going to be a day late.”
He raises an eyebrow, flashes his dimple at her. “I thought I got my Christmas present in the shower?”
