Page 69 of Mistletoe & Magic
His answering smile is slow and devastating to my lady parts. “Promise.”
Chapter 20
Remy
Islip out of bed, careful not to wake Ivy, and pad to the kitchen. The coffee pot gurgles, filling the air with the warm coffee smell I love. I pour a mug and sit at the counter, taking my first slow sip.
This is my favorite time of day. The sun isn’t up; the world is still fast asleep. No customers yet, no chores, no questions. Just me and the sound of the heater kicking on and keeping us warm on this cold winter day.
I let my eyes wander around the room, taking it all in. Every morning, I notice something new these days. Ivy is always quietly fixing things up, making the house homier without making a big deal about it. It’s like it’s her love language to make this house a home for all of us, and one of my favorite things is seeing what she’s done.
Today, it hits me all at once. There are framed photos everywhere now. On the mantle, on the entryway table, even by the kitchen sink. Me and Junie grinning in front of the tree lot. Me and Finn with fishing poles on the dock. My mom holding baby Junie, her face soft and proud. There’s even one of me, Tate, andFinn when we were barely out of high school, arms slung around each other and grinning like idiots.
She must have gotten these from my mom. My heart warms at the kind gesture of doing this.
Then my throat tightens when I see the one of me and my uncle, taken years before he passed. He’s got his hand on my shoulder, both of us covered in dirt from working at the tree farm all day.
I whisper into the quiet, “I hope I’ve made you proud.”
It hits me right in the chest that Ivy thought to put that photo out where I could see it. She knows how much he means to me.
But then my gaze moves across the wall, and I notice something else. There are no pictures of Ivy. Not one in any of them. Not in the kitchen, not on the mantle, not even tucked by the coffeemaker.
My stomach knots. What if she doesn’t see herself staying here after all? What if she left herself out of those photos on purpose because she doesn’t want to take up space?
The thought makes my blood run cold.
I grip the mug a little tighter and force a slow breath. No. I tell myself not to think like that. Not after everything we have been through. Not after the nights we’ve shared and the way she looks at me like I’m hers. We talked about this, and we were on the same page. I thought so, anyway.
She is meant to be here. Surely, she has to feel that, too.
I finish my coffee and rinse the mug in the sink. The sky outside is starting to lighten with the sun trying to break through. Time to get to work.
Before I leave, I stop by Junie’s room. She is curled up under her blanket, hair a mess, breathing deep. I press a kiss to her head and whisper, “Love you, bug.”
Then I go back to my room and pause in the doorway. Ivy isstill asleep, dark red hair spread over my pillow like a halo. The sight of her there makes my chest ache in the best way.
I sit on the edge of the bed and lean down to kiss her temple. She stirs, sighs softly, and settles again.
“My girls,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
I grab my coat and head out into the crisp morning air. My boots crunch on the frost as I cross the yard, my mind already turning over the thought that won’t let me go.
She belongs in those pictures.
And I am going to make damn sure she knows it.
The house is quiet when I come in from the barn that night, only the soft glow of the lamp over the couch lighting the room. Ivy’s curled up under one of the quilts, reading. She looks up when she hears my boots and smiles that small smile that always hits me low in the gut.
All day I replayed this conversation we’re about to have in my head, and I braced myself for the worst. Even though I know that’s not how it is with Ivy. It would always be the worst with Sloane. I had to brace myself for everything. But with Ivy, she makes everything easy and for that I am grateful.
“Hey,” she says softly, setting the book aside next to her.
“Hey.” I hang my jacket on the hook and sit beside her, my knee brushing hers under the quilt. For a second I just sit there, staring at the pictures on the wall.
“You did all this,” I say finally, my voice rough. “The photos.”
Her smile widens, shy but proud. “Yeah. It felt…right. I wanted Junie to see pictures of her family and feel loved here.”
