by Jill Shalvis
“Isn’t her daughter old enough to stay alone?”
“Yeah, but I’d have killed for a safe place to stay when I was fourteen,” she said. “Plus, she’s having trouble with math class and it’s my strong suit. Not to mention, I’ve got heat and Netflix.” She unlocked the front door, which led to a hallway and a set of stairs. The hallway had fake, cheesy holly strung along the walls, held there by duct tape. There were lights too, but they weren’t working.
At least someone had tried.
They began climbing, with Kel eyeing Ivy with a newfound respect. He was getting an idea as to what her childhood had been like and why she wore an armor of toughness, but it seemed that shell of hers hid a tender heart.
The second floor landing had even more holiday decorations and he took a moment to admire the resourcefulness of someone who’d stacked Heineken beer cans—green and white—to make small Christmas trees.
“Why are you doing this?” Ivy asked as they kept climbing, sounding genuinely confused.
“Someone broke into your place of business. Maybe they hit your home too.”
“I told you, it was random. Someone just needing food and money.”
“Probably,” he agreed as they came to the next set of stairs. She took off her hoodie and for a moment gave him a glorious view as he walked behind her on the steps. But then she tied the sweatshirt around her waist, once again covering a fantastic ass that had been perfectly showcased in her leggings. But now she wore only a tank top and that was nice too. “I just want to make sure you get home safe. Is that so odd?”
She didn’t answer.
Which was an answer in itself. In her world, it was odd.
They hit the third floor landing. No holiday decorations here at all. The next set of stairs narrowed and steepened. At the top, there was a single door, and they had to stand very close together as Ivy unlocked it. Close enough that he caught the scent of her shampoo and the fact that she had a tiny, dainty tattoo scripted on the back of her right shoulder—this too shall pass . . .
Ivy turned on a light. Kel poked his head in and took a quick glance around to make sure it was all clear. The open loft could be seen all in one glimpse. The steep pitch of the roof meant slanted walls, which limited much of her space, but open rafters allowed for a large fan to drop down and stir the air. The wood floors were scarred and scuffed, and dotted with throw rugs. Furniture was sparse. A small couch and coffee table, a nook in the small kitchenette with a couple of barstools, and a four poster bed in the far corner, covered with a thick quilt and what appeared to be at least a million pillows. All of it looked like it belonged in another time period.
She shrugged. “The price is right.”
His gaze slid to hers. “I wasn’t judging you.”
“BS.”
“Okay, so I was judging all the pillows. How do you sleep with that many?”
She laughed, that same sweet, infectious sound from earlier, but she didn’t respond, just shook her head. And remained firmly in her doorway, clearly blocking him from coming in any further.
Yeah. Serious trust issues.
“Can I see your phone?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
Afraid she wouldn’t give it to him if he told her he wanted to enter his number in, he just wriggled his fingers in a “gimme” gesture.
She shook her head, but fished the phone out of her pocket.
“Unlock it?”
“Alright,” she said, “but just so you’re aware, that’s not where I keep the nudes.”
He smiled and thumbed his contact information into her phone.
“You really think I’m going to call you?” she asked, amused.
“If you have any more problems, I hope you will.” He held out her phone. She reached for it, but he held firm for a second as their gazes met and held. “Ivy.”
She stared at him, then lifted a shoulder. Maybe, the gesture said. Which was the best he was going to get.
Then, still maintaining the eye contact, she took her phone, retreated a step, and slowly shut her door in his face.
He stared at the wood, thinking she was possibly the most fascinating and frustrating woman he’d ever met.
“Why are you still standing there?” came her voice from the other side of the door.
“I’m waiting for you to lock the door and slide on your security chain,” he said.
There was a beat of silence during which he imagined her prickly pride at being told what to do was warring with her common sense. But then came the sound of the lock and the chain sliding into place.
“Night, Trouble,” he said, and then he had no choice but to walk away.
Chapter 5
Less chitchatting, more ass-kicking!
At five thirty in the morning, Ivy was flat on her back on the mats. With a groan, she rolled to her knees and got back up. She was in kickboxing class with her friends Tae, Abi, and Haley, and they were all lined up facing a row of punching bags.
Ivy’s had punched back.
Sort of the theme of her life.
“Dig deep!” her instructor yelled.
“I’d like to go deep,” Haley whispered on Ivy’s left. Haley was an optometrist who worked on the second floor of the Pacific Pier Building. “Deep back into my bed.”
“Less chitchatting, ladies, and more ass-kicking! If you never change, you’ll never change!”
Ivy glanced at their personal trainer. Tina was dark-skinned, dark-eyed, and thanks to sneakers with a three-inch rubber-soled heels and black braids piled into a mountain on top of her head, she was also well over six feet tall. Tina’s day job was running the coffee shop at the Pacific Pier Building, and in the coffee shop she was all sweet and kind.
In the gym, she was a tyrannical drill sergeant.
Ivy turned to Tae, who was Jake’s sister and a mathematical wizard and insurance adjuster. “I thought she’d be as gentle here as she is at her coffee shop.”
Tae laughed. “She’s about as gentle as my brother. And they both learned it in the same place—the military.”
“That’s right, sweet cakes,” Tina said. “Don’t be fooled by this gorg hair and figure. Back when I was Tim and right out of the army, I was a middleweight champion.”
“Wow.” Haley looked impressed. “So you kick ass for real, not just for show.”
“Nah.” Tina smiled. “I like my face too much now. So class it is. But there’s something immensely satisfying about kicking the shit out of a bag, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” Ivy agreed. If there was one thing she liked about getting up early and having to exercise, it was the satisfaction of beating the shit out of a bag.
“Then let’s get serious,” Tina said. “Come on, ladies. This isn’t elementary school and you’re not on recess. Look at Abi, she’s brand spanking new here and she’s kicking your asses.”
Everyone looked at Abi, who ran the wedding shop in the Pacific Pier Building. She always looked perfectly together, but at the moment, she was drenched in sweat and breathing like she’d just run a 5K. But she waved cheerfully at everyone, looking like she was having the time of her life.
Ivy sighed.
“You’re on Tina Time, ladies,” Tina barked. “So start moving.” She was hands on hips, back to serious tyrannical taskmaster.
And let’s face it, Ivy needed a taskmaster.
“I want to see you go at it like you’re eighteen again!” Tina yelled.
“I was stupid at eighteen,” Ivy muttered.
“Hey,” Tae said breathlessly. “If you can’t look back on your younger self and say wow, I used to be stupid, you’re probably still stupid.”
“More energy!” Tina yelled. “Again! One-two punch, jab, cross, and then a big front kick!”
Ivy repeated the routine to herself as she went through the motions, her limbs liquefying.
“We’re targeting your shoulders, triceps, and core, as well as the quads and glutes,” Tina said. “You
ladies want nice asses, right? Go hard or don’t go at all!”
“Going hard isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be,” Tae managed to gasp out breathlessly, sagging against her bag, hugging it in order to stay upright. “I’m whupped.”
“Leave it all in the room, ladies!”
Haley sighed. “I always do,” she muttered. “Not that it’s getting me anywhere.”
“You gotta rise up and take the challenge, don’t hide!”
Ivy managed to keep up with the nonstop punching and kicking to the rhythmic beat, barely, but she was with Haley. She’d rather be back in bed.
When the torture—er, class—ended, they all crawled out of the gym whimpering and sweating. Ivy hit the showers, dressed, and had to run to catch the bus. Sagging back on her seat, she took a moment to close her eyes. She was exhausted from too little sleep and spending much of the few precious hours she’d had staring up at the rafters and the ancient old fan that hung from them, slowly whirling round and round.
Worrying. Stressing . . .
Yes, she played at being the tough girl on the block, but the truth—her truth—was that she was really a big fat chicken. So the knowledge that someone had helped themselves into her truck, the one she’d worked her fingers to the bone for, the one she’d bled for, heart and soul, killed her. It was her personal space, the first she’d ever had, and she felt incredibly proud of it.
And yet someone had broken into it like it was nothing, destroying her door, a whole bunch of food, and stealing her hard earned cash.
And more . . .
She closed her eyes on that thought and shook her head, knowing it was far more than that. She’d played it off to Kel like it was no big deal because she didn’t need his help, didn’t need anyone’s help, but it was a big deal to her. From a lifetime of living where creaks in the night meant something bad, she’d always had a hard time falling asleep. Living in San Francisco the past year in one spot, the same spot, even with the rough neighborhood outside, she’d somehow started to believe she was safe.
But she was never safe, and she was far too alone. And last night had seriously shaken her sense of privacy and security and safety. Except . . .
She hadn’t been alone.
Kel had stood there in the opened truck door, gun drawn, eyes cool, calm, and sharp.
Shock had been Ivy’s first emotion, and right on the heels of that had come a different emotion altogether.
She still wasn’t ready to put a name to it, but she did know one thing. With a panic attack looming and a helpless rage making her shake, she’d felt backed into a corner and she’d never been good at that. So of course, she’d reacted predictably, which meant she’d been cold and rude.
He hadn’t deserved it. Not when he’d gone over and beyond, helping her clean up. The image of him at two in the morning, on his knees wearing pink latex gloves, helping her scrub the truck floor like it was the most important task in the world brought a reluctant smile.
With a sigh, she got off the bus two stops early to hit the market, and grabbed some fresh supplies to replace what she’d lost, along with some extras that she had plans to use to apologize to Kel with. Then she walked to her truck, shivering in the morning chill. She’d always thought California was the land of the eternal warm sunshine, but whoever had coined that phrase had never been to San Francisco in December.
Inside her truck, she left the Closed Until Lunch sign in place and took a quick moment to access her bank app. She robbed her savings account to cover the unexpected costs of restocking for the week, then got to work.
Last night she and Kel had disinfected everything, but she was obsessive about the kitchen and needed to put her stamp on it all. So she filled her extra-deep sink with hot water, and added in some of the gentle cleanser she used to clean the expensive copper pots and pans that she’d spent more money on than her clothes with no regrets.
When she’d finished, she put everything back in its place and cleaned and dried the sink. Then she pulled all her ingredients down from their various shelves. She’d organized everything perfectly and could find anything in seconds. She knew what she had at all times, which was how she’d been able to tell so quickly what had been taken last night.
And in spite of what she’d let Kel think, it hadn’t been just food and her petty cash.
Beneath the petty cash box had been another box, filled with a few things that represented the only happy spots in an otherwise terrible childhood. A postcard of the Golden Gate Bridge framed by the California hills and the azure blue of the bay. She had no idea where she’d gotten it, but she’d had it for years and years, and was a big part of the reason that when she’d decided to settle somewhere, she’d landed here.
She also had a picture of her mom on a stage at a piano, singing with a melancholy look on her face that made Ivy ache, though she had no idea why. She’d rarely seen that soft side of her mom.
The third and last pic she had was of her and her aunt Cathy, her mother’s sister, at a state fair. Ivy had been five, her hair rioting in wild red waves around her face. Her smiling face, because she’d been in Cathy’s arms in front of a Ferris wheel. Cathy, the only true mother figure Ivy had ever had, had died from cancer the year after the photo had been taken. She didn’t remember a whole lot of that time, but she could still remember Cathy always telling her:
Be smart.
Be brave.
Be vulnerable.
Her heart pinched at the memories. She’d hopefully done the smart and brave parts, but she’d actively done her best to never be vulnerable. She figured Cathy would understand.
There were also a few trinkets: a teeny little notebook she’d used as a journal for a few years. A Beanie Babies bear dressed as a chef, given to her at her first cooking job by her boss, one of the few positive male role models she’d had up until that point. She’d been fifteen. Of course, he’d thought she was eighteen, but that was the story of her life. Pretending to be what she wasn’t in order to get what she needed.
The last thing in the box had been a gold and diamond necklace, the one she’d taken with her when she’d run away from home. It’d been given to her by her aunt Cathy who’d worn it every day of her life. About six months before her death, she’d carefully coiled it up and put it into Ivy’s palm. “For when you need me,” she’d said quietly.
It’d been years after her death before Ivy had understood what her aunt had meant. The necklace had turned out to hold not just sentimental value, but was worth several thousand dollars. Aunt Cathy had known that if Ivy ever needed money fast, she could sell it.
She’d been wearing it until recently, when the clasp had broken when she’d been at work. She’d been meaning to bring it home, but it’d slipped her mind. And now it was gone.
And she hadn’t told Kel. She didn’t know why.
Okay, she did know why. Because although it could’ve been just a random thief who’d stumbled upon it, she wasn’t feeling that explanation. Nothing was ever that simple, at least not in her life. In her mind, there was only one person on the planet who’d known she had that necklace.
Her brother.
She had no idea what that meant. Had Brandon found her? And if he had . . . what did he want?
She got out the utensils and cooking implements she needed and then quickly started measuring and mixing dry ingredients. She preheated a pan, added the wet ingredients into the dry, mixed everything, and then gently folded in fresh blueberries.
While the pancakes cooked, she put everything meticulously away and got out some eggs and a thick slice of ham. She preheated another pan and flipped the pancakes. Cracking the eggs in a perfect break—so satisfying—she put them in next to the ham that was almost hot all the way through. She slid the pancakes onto a plate. Toast went down. Then she slid the eggs and ham onto another plate. Turned the pancakes, buttered the bread, and quickly and efficiently cleaned up after herself before packing the prepped food up in a special to-go protective co
ntainer, slinging the strap over her shoulder.
She opened the back door and found several people standing there waiting, most of them her regulars. “I’m so sorry, I’m closed until eleven,” she said, pointing to the sign.
“But you’re making bacon,” Sadie said. “I could smell it across the courtyard. I’d kill for bacon.”
At Sadie’s side, Haley and Tae both nodded.
“We earned bacon this morning at the gym,” Tae said.
“I earned bacon in a much more satisfying way,” Sadie said with a smile.
Sadie was possibly the only person Ivy had ever wanted to be her best friend. She’d never really had one, so she wasn’t quite sure. But she imagined that Sadie would be a perfect BFF. She was a tattoo artist at the Canvas Shop, the tattoo parlor on the other side of the courtyard, and was no-holds-barred, tough in her own right. She was kind, but she was also a sarcastic smartass, which Ivy related to on a core level.
“I’m sorry,” she told them. “But the truck was broken into last night and—”
They gasped in tandem and Ivy shook her head, holding up a hand, which didn’t stop them from all talking at once.
“Was anything taken?”
“Are you okay?”
“What can we do?”
“I’m fine, it’s all fine,” Ivy said, admittedly a little surprised and also warmed by their obvious concern. “They got some petty cash, but the fridge was left open and a bunch of the food spoiled. That’s why I’m closed this morning.”
Sadie reached out and took her hand. “I’m so sorry. You’re really okay?”
“Yes. I wasn’t here when it happened.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be freaked out,” Haley said, pushing her red-framed glasses farther up on her face, looking like the cutest little bookworm worrywart Ivy had ever seen. “I was robbed once, and even though it was my ex-girlfriend, it was still terrifying.”
“Need some cleanup assistance?” Tae asked, always the efficient, calm one.
“I’ve got it handled, but thanks.” The genuine outrage on their faces, along with the empathy, was new for Ivy, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it all or how to respond. And they did seem to need a response. “Thank you,” she tried, relieved when they all nodded. “But it’s really okay. Kel helped me clean up the mess.”