Page 14 of Light My Fire Three Times
I take a deep breath and clutch my coffee cup like it’s my lifeline.
If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s pretending everything’s fine. But that doesn’t stop the sudden flood of guilt that hits me. Because, let’s be honest, I shouldn’t have slept with Jesse. That wasn’t part of the plan.
“Well, I’m enjoying it actually,” I say too quickly, my smile a little too wide. “I’m adjusting… slowly. Coyote Glen’s nice. I get why you decided to live here.”
I give her a look because it wasn’t so much the small-town charm that reeled my best friend in. More of the hot twins, Mitchell and Timothy, and her boss, Freddie, with whom she fell in love.
Something it’s hard to wrap my head around, even when I see it.
Ivy eyes me suspiciously, and I know that look. It’s the "you’re being way too calm, so something’s definitely up" look. I try to shrug it off with another sip of my coffee, but I feel her gaze like a laser beam.
“Anythinginterestinghappen yet?”
My cheeks burn.
Does sheknow?
I’d better say something, just in case.
“Erm, well, actually, on my first night, when you couldn’t make it to dinner, I saw Jesse and we went to eat instead.”
I am amessinside. I really hope she can’t read between the lines, because I will be in trouble with a capital T.
Damn it, why didn’t I just keep my hands off him?
“You did?” Ivy grins. “That’s so good, I was so worried about you. Did he show you around a bit?”
I can only just about manage to give her a one-shouldered shrug. “A little, yeah.”
“Auntie Olivia?”
I spin around to see Ivy’s other addition to the family, four-year-old Penny, burst into the room. Her tiny legs move like a blur as she races toward me with a piece of toast in her hand.
“Auntie Olivia, I made a mess!” she announces proudly, her face a mix of excitement and mischief.
She waggles her fingers at me, her grin wide enough to suggest she’s expecting a reaction.
“What kind of mess, sweetie?” I ask, leaning back on the couch to avoid her sticky little hands.
“I put jam on my shoes,” Penny informs me matter-of-factly, as though that’s the most normal thing in the world.
She holds out her shoe, the sticky red smear on it evidence of her latest culinary adventure.
Oh no.
Ivy looks like she’s about to say something, but seems to rethink it, clearly resigned to the chaos her daughter brings.
“Penny,” she says gently, “why did you put jam on your shoes?”
“Because I wanted to make themyummy,” Penny replies, eyes wide as though the answer is obvious.
I can’t help it. Laughter bubbles up from deep within me, and I snort into my coffee.
“That’s… a very creative solution, Penny,” I manage to say, trying to keep my words from cracking. “But I’m not sure jam shoes are the next big trend.”
Penny pouts, thinking this over.
“Maybe you should try them,” she offers, with all the serious charm a four-year-old can muster. Then, with all the grace of a toddler, she clambers up onto the couch beside me and settles herself right in my lap, ignoring the jam-covered shoe entirely. “You need to fix my shoes now, Auntie Olivia.”
