Page 147 of Head Over Heels

I smiled. “Me too.”

Ivy fell asleep quickly after that, and while I memorized the rise and fall of her ribs while she breathed deep and even, I tried not to think about sleeping in this bed without her in it.

Chapter 29

Ivy

Everything inside Tim and Sheila Wilder’s home looked like a fucking Norman Rockwell painting, and a massive part of me was still trying to figure out how the hell I ended up right in the middle of it.

It wasn’t even cold out, but a roaring fire in the massive rock fireplace served as the anchor to the middle of the house.

I was on the couch with a book of crossword puzzles perched on a pillow in my lap.

Poppy sat on the opposite side of the couch, her Kindle sitting in a similar position.

Ian was in the kitchen with Sheila, helping her with something that smelled borderline narcotic.

Cameron watched football with his dad, and if I was being honest, it sounded like they were speaking a different language.

“Why would you run it on fourth and fifteen?” Cameron asked.

Tim motioned for his water, and Cameron leaned over to hand it to him. “Because their offensive coordinator is an idiot.”

The game played out quietly in the background, and I watched the bodies scrambling around. It didn’t look like there was any plan to what they were doing, just scrambling like ants on that emerald-green field.

Ever since Cameron pointed it out, I could feel that damn furrow in my brow when I was thinking.

I’d probably wrinkle there first.

“What?” Cameron asked. He wasn’t sitting by me. We’d decided that copious displays of physical affection in front of his family was a bad idea. Mainly because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other when we were within touching distance and mounting him on the couch might make meeting the rest of his family a little uncomfortable. “I can see you thinking over there.”

Tim smiled. “Isn’t she always thinking?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I agreed. Except when I was having brain-altering sex with his son but I decided to keep that to myself. “Just trying to figure out how anyone can make sense of what’s happening on that field.”

“I take it you don’t watch much football at home with your dad?” Tim asked. He was clear-eyed and more energetic than I’d ever seen him, clearly anticipating the arrival of the rest of his kids, who’d begin descending on the home at any moment. I only sort of felt like I was going to puke, hence the death grip on my crossword puzzle book.

“None,” I told him. My head tilted slightly as the talking heads behind the desk switched to a different game replay. “Their pants are nice, though.”

Cameron gave me a heated look, and I smiled sweetly.

Poppy snorted.

Greer came inside with her daughter Olive in tow. In Olive’s hand was a wilted bunch of wildflowers, and she skipped over to Tim, shoving them toward him without a word. Her eyes were big, and her expectant smile made my heart clench.

“My goodness, are these for me?” he asked. Then he held open his arms, and she carefully climbed up into his lap, minding his oxygen tube. “Beautiful flowers from a beautiful girl,” he said, then kissed the top of her head. “I bet Grandma Sheila would get some water for these if you go ask.”

Her eyes shined with pleasure, and she hopped off his lap with a happy smile on her face. Sheila was working on something in the kitchen with Ian, but paused to lean over when Olive asked her something so quietly I could hardly hear her. Sheila set her hand on the little girl’s back and whispered by her ear, following up with an encouraging smile.

Olive glanced up at Ian a little nervously.

Couldn’t blame her there. Even with our tentative peace, from a young girl’s perspective, he probably looked terrifying—big and tall and bearded, with a bear-like presence and a gruff demeanor. Which was why it shocked the absolute hell out of me when he motioned her closer and gently lifted her up in his arms and opened a cabinet door above the fridge. She leaned up, tongue tucked between her lips, flowers pressed so tightly against her chest that she was crushing them, and grabbed a small vase with her other hand.

He took it from her with a tiny wink, and then set her on the kitchen counter while he filled it with cold water. I watched over the edge of my book, feeling like some voyeur peeping through a crack in the wall. She was a quiet girl, and they all treated her with infinite patience.

And over the next couple of hours, the house would double with the amount of Wilders.

Insert the sound of my panicked laughter that I couldn’t quite lock down in my mind.