Page 16 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
“We really appreciate it, Jaquelyn,” I said smoothly.
Jaquelyn drew us closer, beaming. “Oh, this just makes me so happy. This is going to be the best Christmas ever. I know I keep saying this, but I knew you two would finally figure out that you belongtogether.”
I stole a glance at Ivy, hoping she might finally see it, too—but judging by her blank stare, she was officially trapped in the twilight zone. She’d whispered to me on the car ride from the airport that she felt as if she’d been dropped into an alternate universe. For that, I felt awful, but I hoped by the end of this trip she would see it was all worth it and we would leave here as more than friends.
That was, if she didn’t maim me first for making her endure not only Sienna but also, apparently, the press.
I already had a slew of texts and voicemails from Tori—my PR manager—and her team, all demanding to know what was going on. They would have to wait. First, I needed to make sure Ivy didn’t hate me. And—more importantly—to see which side of the bed she preferred.
Maybe Christmas wasn’t so terrible after all.
Walking through the house felt like stepping straight into the North Pole—if the elves were interior designers. Every room overflowed with holiday cheer: twinkling lights, garlands, and, of course, a perfectly placed Christmas tree in each one.
Ivy said nothing, moving numbly toward her room on the second floor of the sprawling open-concept home. Its crowning jewel? A towering two-story fireplace with what appeared to be a stocking for each person, hung with care.
Bradford stood by Ivy’s open bedroom door, the luggage tucked neatly inside, his gaze fixed anywhere but on me. Normally, he acted like my best friend. It made me question if he really was comfortable with me sharing a room with his daughter.
My guess was no.
Jaquelyn, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, chirped, “Oh, I probably should mention that we didn’t have time to redecorate Ivy’s room, so you’re stuck with her bunk bed. And just remember—it’s old, and it squeaks.”
Bradford smirked, like that was going to be a deterrent of some sort.
Not that I planned on making a move on Ivy or taking advantage of the situation. The last thing I wanted was for Ivy to feel uncomfortable. Or think that I was just looking for a friends-with-benefits arrangement. But the bunk bed reveal was disappointing. I’d at least been hoping for some friendly cuddling in bed or waking up and seeing her dark hair spilling across the pillow and knowing I wanted to wake up to that sight every day of my life.
Or who knew? Maybe Ivy would make a move on me. It was plausible.
“Mom,” Ivy groaned, pure mortification spilling into the single word.
Okay, maybe not that plausible.
“What? There are children in the house,” Jaquelyn said innocently. “I’m only trying to save you a little embarrassment.”
“Too late,” Ivy muttered, perfectly deadpan.
Jaquelyn grinned and patted her daughter’s cheek. “You’re so cute.”
“Okay. Well—good night,” Ivy sighed, ready to shut this conversation down. “Thanks for picking us up and bringing up our luggage.”
“Yes, thank you for everything.”
I made sure to make eye contact with Bradford. I didn’t want him thinking I was some dishonorable cad, here to take advantage of his daughter.
Bradford didn’t waste the opportunity—his stare carried one clear message: He damn well better not hear a single squeak from this room.
Message received—loud and clear.
Bradford stepped forward and kissed Ivy’s head.
“Good night, honey. Love you.”
I got a crushing handshake—delivered with a humorless smile.
“Good night, Jack.”
“Good night, sir.”
I hadn’t used formality like that in years. Truth be told, I hated the word. My father had made sure of that—demanding respect but never bothering to earn it. Bradford, though—he was a better man. A good man. The kind of man I wanted to be.
