Page 18 of Mistletoe & Magic
“Fine,” I mutter. “But stop subcontracting my family for repairs.”
“Your family is great,” she says, light again, giving Finn a hug. “Thanks for helping, Finn.”
I stand there watching this like I’m going to crash out watching him touch her. Finn smirks at me over Ivy’s shoulder and wiggles his eyebrows. I narrow my eyes at him.
She brushes past me to hang a strand of lights under the shelf. The scent of her shampoo hits me. Orange and something sweet, I can't figure out. I step back and close my eyes as if the smell is dangerous.
“Careful,” I grumble. “That ladder isn’t very solid.”
“Don't worry,” she says, climbing anyway. “Finn is spotting me.”
Finn grins up at her. “I am the best spotter on this side of Wisteria Cove.”
I’m going to murder him if he keeps grinning at her like that. I don’t want him spotting her. I don’t want him to do anything with her.
I hate how quickly they get along. She did not ask me to help. She did not even look to see if I would help. And she’s barely glanced at me. It’s like I’m not even here. She made that comment the other day about my not liking her. Why would she even think that? Maybe it's her who doesn't like me. And I get that. Hell, sometimes I don’t even like me.
I grumble and head to the back to grab more twine, so I have something to do. Then, I circle out the side door and come back in, as if it was always my plan. Ivy is down from the ladder, taping the cocoa flavors to the front of the counter. Her eyes are bright, and she hums along to music she has playing.
“You know this is temporary,” I say. It sounds like a reminder to her, but really…it’s a warning for me.
“I know,” she says in a singsong voice, still not looking at me. “Through the holidays.”
“Through the holidays,” I repeat dryly.
She lifts her chin. “Plenty of time to make it magical for Junie.”
I want to say something, but she’s right. This is about Junie. Not about me. Not about me wanting her. Junie deserves this. And I can’t mess it up for her. Junie’s had enough people let her down in her life. Especially her own mother.
Ivy climbs back up, moving too fast, her hands too loose on the wrung of the ladder. The legs wobble, tilting the whole frame. She stumbles. Her gasp is soft but loud.
I move without thinking.
One second she’s flailing, and the next, she’s in my arms.
Her body collides with mine, so soft, warm, and real, that I freeze, my hands instinctively tightening around her waist. She smells like cinnamon and cold air and whatever lotion she uses that’s been driving me quietly insane for days.
My heart kicks hard in my chest. She looks up at me, startled, cheeks flushed, and for a beat too long, neither of us moves. Or speaks.
I blink, like that’ll shake it off. “You are a walking red flag, Ivy,” I mutter, shaking my head as I set her gently back on her feet. My palms are still burning. I wipe them on my jeans, trying to play it cool, but I curl my hands in on themselves. I’m not sure if I’m trying to keep hold of the sensation of her warmth in the center of my palms, or I’m trying desperately not to reach for her again. But God help me, I am so screwed.
I set her down and step back, giving her room to stand on her own. Her mouth opens. Then she smiles slowly and surely. “You call them red flags. I call them ten fun facts you did not know about me.”
Finn, fixing the outlet, laughs.
I should shut this down and send her back to the house. Instead, I hear myself say, “Name three.”
She taps the marker against her lips as if she’s thinking. I should not watch her mouth. I do anyway, wishing I were that pen.
“One. I can parallel park a truck and trailer in one try,” she says with a confident smile. “Two. I can make homemade marshmallows that taste like a campfire and a fluffy cloud had a baby. Three. I can get your kid to brush her teeth and go to bed without a fight.”
My reply dies somewhere behind my teeth. I set the twine on the counter and look anywhere except at her. “Good, she needs extra brushing if you’re making marshmallows with her.”
“This looks so much better than the shitshow you had going on in here,” Finn says, helpful as a shovel to the face.
“I noticed,” I say.
We fall into work, and Ivy keeps moving. She loops ribbon through the wreath display, then shifts a crate three inches and somehow makes the entire wall look better.
