Page 72 of Mistletoe & Magic
My chest aches with the old familiar knot of helplessness pulling tight. I hate this. I hate that I am still standing out here trying to calm down so I don’t scare my own daughter. I hate that Sloane has this power to shake us.
I drag both hands over my face and let out a sharp breath, watching it cloud in the air. Ivy and Junie are in there, waiting. They deserve better than me standing out here stewing like this.
By the time I open the door and step back into the bookstore, my hands are still trembling. My pulse is still hammering in my ears.
Inside, the warmth hits me, along with the low hum of voices. Ivy is on the rug with Junie, speaking softly, her hand rubbing Junie’s back as the kitten curls in her lap. Tate is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, giving me a look that asks if I am okay but does not push. Rowan has her arms wrapped around herself, watching me carefully.
Ivy looks up, and the concern in her eyes nearly knocks the breath out of me.
“You okay?” she asks quietly.
No, I think. Not even close. But I nod once and hang my jacket, forcing my fingers to work.
Junie looks over at me, hesitant. “Daddy?”
I crouch down beside her and smooth a hand over her hair. “Everything’s okay, bug. You did nothing wrong.”
I press a kiss to her head and stand, catching Ivy’s gaze again. There’s so much in her eyes, understanding, worry, something fiercer too, and it hits me square in the chest that I’m not doing this alone for once. For once, I have a partner who wants to do this with me. Take on anything, good or bad, and be with me.
For a second, all I can think about is how fragile this feels, how one unannounced visit can shake the ground under our feet. I hate it. It also isn’t lost on me how Junie shrank into Ivy’s side instead of running into her mother’s arms. And I hate that I have to be the one to hold the line between chaos and the quiet life we’re building.
But Ivy doesn’t look away. She holds my gaze like she’s saying she’s in this with me, no matter how messy it gets.
I nod once, the decision solidifying in my chest. Whatever comes next with Sloane, court, whatever storm might roll through, I’m ready to fight for this. For Junie. ForIvy. For all of us.
And when Ivy reaches for my hand, just the brush of her fingers is enough to remind me of what’s waiting for me when I do.
Chapter 21
Ivy
The heaviness of last night still lingers.
I pour Junie a mug of milk and slide it across the table. She loves to drink out of a mug, like we do at breakfast. She calls it her ‘coffee.’
“Want to help me make pancakes?”
She nods and hops down from the chair. By the time we’re cracking eggs, she’s talking again and telling me about what she wants Santa to bring her for Christmas. A Barbie house with a dog that looks like Lola and a Barbie that looks like her.
Christmas is in a week, and I’ve gotten almost everything ready for her. Wrapped, hidden and ready to see her face on Christmas morning and all of her treasures. I love making holidays special for her. And I love that Remy doesn’t mind me doing all of this. I love it so much.
When the first pancake hits the plate, I crouch to her level. “You okay after last night?”
Junie bites her lip. “She was mad at me.”
I brush her hair back gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes grown-ups say things when they’re upset, but that doesn’t mean they’re mad at you or that they don’t love you.”
Her eyes fill, and I hug her until she’s ready to let go.
After breakfast, we pull on boots and coats and head outside. The air is bright with morning light, the snow sparkling where it hasn’t been disturbed yet. That’s my favorite part—right after it snows. When everything feels perfect and peaceful. Junie runs ahead, giggling when the neighbor goats come trotting to the fence. Their owners went south to visit family, and Remy’s keeping an eye on them for a few weeks over here in the pasture.
He sees us from over at the barn and heads over to us, kissing me and grabbing Junie and lifting her up.
“Mouse tried to climb the gate yesterday!” she calls.
Remy chuckles, crouching to scratch Mouse’s nose through the slats. “Better not today. We just fixed this latch.”
I lean against the fence, watching him. His shoulders are still tense under his jacket, but when he glances back at me, something eases in his face. He stands, brushing his hands on his jeans, and crosses to me.
