Page 30 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
I grinned, picturing her in the hat that Jaquelyn kept on standby for any “Grumpy Gusses,” as she called them.
“And while we’re on that subject, you can just admit I’m right about men and women being friends,” she chided me.
Wrong. She was so wrong. But . . . maybe she would relax if I let her think she was right. She was clearly holding on to her delusion. How many people had to tell her I was a keeper, and we were meant to be together, before she believed it?
“Seven years of friendship, baby,” she added smugly, reveling in her self-proclaimed victory.
Seven years of beautiful torture.
“Okay, fine, you got me. I bow down to you. You’re right.” The words came out flat, as I didn’t believe them. Thankfully, she seemed to buy it.
She flashed me a toothy grin. “Ha! I knew it.”
“What can I say? You proved mewrong. Happy now?”
“Very.” She snuggled into me, and this time I didn’t hesitate to pull her close.
Look at that. She was playing right into my plans. Stubborn woman. At least we were both happy now. She thought she was right, and I really was. Not only that, but she was in my arms, and I had a feeling she was going to stay there for the rest of the night.
I stroked her silky hair, undoing her messy bun. Her gorgeous locks spilled out, and I breathed in her coconut shampoo, utterly intoxicated.
Did she realize with every slow stroke of her hair, she melted more into me?
“So, who did you have to make a handmade gift for?” Her words were light and giddy, like a puppy soaking up attention while being petted. She loved this arrangement as much as I did. Even if she wouldn’t admit it . . . yet.
I thought about the Santa hat with folded up names in it that Jaquelyn had passed around at dinner and the instructions that came with it: Keep the name secret, skill level doesn’t matter, but all your effort was mandatory. Admittedly, I felt inadequate, especially since I’d pulled Ivy’s name.
I’d been racking my brain trying to think of what I could make for her. It wasn’t like my parents had passed down any useful skills to me. Meanwhile, Bradford had a workshop, and Jaquelyn had a craft room that could rival Joanna Gaines’s. Both had taught their children how to make things with their hands. Not to say I hadn’t been told my hands were magical, but I don’t think that’s what the Wellses had in mind for thisactivity.
Too bad. I’d love to show Ivy what my hands could do. Maybe someday.
“There’s no way I’m telling you and risking the wrath of your mom.” That, and I wanted to think of the perfect gift to make for Ivy.
Hell, while I was at it, I should probably start thinking of additional gifts to buy her and her family. I’d never shopped for Christmas gifts before. Maybe Ivy’s nieces and nephews would just like cash. That was easy enough. But knowing Ivy, she’d be sentimental, which meant I’d have to put some actual thought and effort into her gifts.
Gift-giving wasn’t my forte, but it was Ivy’s, and I didn’t want to let her down. Maybe I could get her a history book. She loved those. But that didn’t exactly scream sentimental or romantic.
“Okay, fine, but if you need some help, let me know. I know this isn’t your thing.”
It wasn’t my thing. Not at all.
Ivy was my thing.
She yawned and let out a deep breath, settling into me. No argument about where she was going to sleep.
“Good night, Jack,” she murmured, already drifting off to sleep.
“Good night, Ivy.” I smiled to myself.
There was no denying it.Damn, I was good.
Chapter Nine
“I’d take a Nerf bullet for you.”
Anonymous
Ivy
