Page 21 of A Very Merry Matchup
“So when do you start your next travel assignment?” I ask Ivy as I look for a place to park. A man dressed as Santa rings a bell for the Salvation Army and points at the open parking space in front of his red bucket. Nice.
“Good question,” Ivy says with a little sigh. “I should probably figure that out.”
“You don’t sound very enthused.”
“Kind of getting burned-out on the whole travel thing to be honest.”
“So why are you still doing it?”
“Because that’s the plan and I just need to stick it out a few more years,” she says, unlatching her seat belt as soon as I park.
I reach for her arm before she can hop out of the truck. “What if you stumble across something great in the meantime?”
“I’ll hold out.”
“But what if now’s the right time? What if the right man is staring you back in the face this very second? What if he’s gone by the time you’re further down the road?”
“Then I’ll find another man.”
“Just like that?”
“I’m not picky.”
I snort and let go of her arm, so I can unlatch my own seat belt. “Sure. You’re not picky.”
“Only about his profession.” We climb out and meet each other on the sidewalk in front of the truck. “I’m not picky at all when it comes to just about anything else.”
I dig into my pocket so I can drop a few bucks into the bell ringer’s bucket, then grab Ivy’s hand to lead her the direction of the first store we need to pop into. “You’re telling me you’re okay marrying a guy who’s boringandugly?”
“Who says he’ll be boring and ugly? And even if he’s not GQ material, so what? Looks aren’t everything. I just want a man who promises to be there at the end of the day. Someone who chooses family over anything else. What’s so picky about that?”
“I still think you’re forgetting one tiny little thing.”
“What’s that?”
I tug her against me, then spin so she’s backed against the brick wall of the flower shop we need to go into for some candle donations. I lean into her with both hands propped above her shoulders. Her eyes widen when I dip my face closer.
“You’re forgetting...” My nose brushes against hers asI lower my voice to a whisper and begin fanning her jaw line with my own soft breaths until I’ve got my lips pressed against her ear. “The power of chemistry.”
Without another word, I straighten and enter the shop.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Baby, it’s hot inside
Ivy
All right. I see how it is. Beau wants to play hardball. Well, guess what, Beau? This girl can play hardball too.
I can’t actually play hardball. I’m not even sure how to play softball. At this point I’m questioning whether I can pick a tennis ball out of a lineup.
He wasn’t really thinking about kissing me, was he? Outside the flower shop earlier? Even if he was, why am I still thinking about it? I need to stop thinking about it. Especially since I’m sure he was just playing around. Everybody loves a good chemistry joke. That’s all that was. Just a couple of science nerds joking about chemistry.
I hate chemistry.
“You okay?”
“Hm?” I break out of the trance I’ve gone into trying to recall how many periodic table elements I can name—four, maybe five—to realize we’re pulling into the church parking lot.
