by Kait Nolan
“It wasn’t life-threatening. You were there.”
His smile flashed white against his beard. “Yeah, but she doesn’t know that. You’re a writer. Control the image you portray. You were traumatized. Your laptop was killed in the accident. You’re going to have to start over because the cloud backup didn’t work.”
She arched a brow. “It’s a little disturbing how readily you have those excuses ready.”
“I’m motivated by purely selfish reasons.”
“Do those reasons involve getting me naked again as soon as we get home?” Ivy felt her teasing grin freeze. Home?
“They just might.”
She barely heard his reply. Had she really just called the cabin home? What was up with that? Yes it was a cozy little love nest. But thinking of it as home was ridiculous. It was neither theirs nor home. And how would she, of all people, even know what that felt like anyway? But the sentiment was there nonetheless.
Or maybe it wasn’t the cabin. Maybe it was Harrison himself. She felt more grounded and stable with him than she had in…years. Maybe ever. Maybe there was some kind of hero worship thing going on—and there was definitely phenomenal sex—but there was more, too. He was slowly but surely opening up to her. As she’d relaxed and settled, so had he, though he still had a tendency to err on the side of turning the conversation back to her or the book rather than talking much about himself. They hadn’t discussed anything beyond the now. The now was so very unexpected and wonderful, she was afraid to say anything to risk jinxing it.
But that hadn’t stopped her from thinking about it. The idea of a relationship hadn’t even been on her radar since grad school. She barely managed to keep up with her friends. And yet she was already wondering what she’d have to do to keep Harrison as part of her real life. Would he want that? Would the fantasy hold up under the harsh light of the everyday? She wasn’t ready to find out just yet.
If Harrison noticed her gaffe, he made no indication. “Would it help if I offered to reward you for being a good girl and making that call?” His devilish grin made it clear what kind of reward he had in mind.
“Do I get to pick the reward?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Okay, then after I make the call, I get to ask you a question about you and you have to answer.”
Some of his humor fled. “Why?”
“Because you’re really good at deflecting. We’ve talked a lot about me the last few days. I want to know about you.”
He shifted in his seat. “I’m out of practice with sharing anything about myself.”
“One question, Harrison.”
“Fine. With the qualifier that there’s stuff I can’t talk about because it’s classified.”
“Much as that intrigues me, that isn’t the stuff I want to know.” Ivy took a breath. “Okay. I’m doing this.”
She punched in Marianne’s number.
“Ivy,wherethehellhaveyoubeen? I’vebeentryingtoreachyoufordays!” Marianne’s greeting spewed out without a single breath or pause, loud enough that Harrison obviously heard from across the table.
He arched a brow.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call before now. I was in an accident last week.”
“Oh my God, are you okay?”
“I’m not permanently damaged. I can’t say the same for my Blazer. I went over the side of a mountain. It was…bad.”
“Ivy!”
“Nothing’s broken, but I’ve been pretty shaken up. I had to be treated for exposure and a minor head injury.” She looked up at Harrison and saw his eyes darken at the memory.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Well, I may not be when you get through with me. My laptop died in the crash. And my backup to the cloud failed. The book’s gone.”
Marianne sucked in a breath. “Gone? Like…gone gone?”
“Yeah.”
“How is that possible? Can’t they pull your hard drive and get the data?”
“It was damaged, too.” She was possibly going to a special writer’s hell for this lie. “I’ve already started rewriting, but I’m going to need an extension.”
“Wally’s not going to be happy about this.”
“It’s not like I planned to drive off the side of a mountain.”
“Of course not.”
“I’ve never asked for an extension in the entire time we’ve worked together, Marianne. I need this.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to him. But Ivy, I don’t know how much of an extension he can get you. They were counting on slotting you in for a summer release and you know how long the rest of the process takes. The only reason you’ve been able to get away with things this long is your first drafts tend to be so clean.”
“I know. Just…do whatever you can, okay? I’m going head down and writing as fast as I can.” A fresh flush of guilt crept over her. She hadn’t done that. Not yet. She’d been enjoying a very sexy distraction.
“I’ll call him now. If you can send me anything…anything at all. First chapter. First few chapters by tomorrow, it will give me more leverage.”
“Tomorrow?” Ivy’s stomach did a swoop. She had an outline now. One that she knew, deep down, would actually work. But tomorrow?
“I know you can do it. You’re my rockstar.”
Ivy blew out a breath. For just a moment, she considered telling more lies—anything to buy more time. But she’d done enough evading. “I’ll do my best.”
She said goodbye and hung up the phone, already feeling the pressure pressing down.
Harrison offered a rueful smile. “Playtime’s over, huh?”
“Yeah.” Knotting her hands she met his gaze. “I don’t want it to be. But there’s not a chance in hell I’ll get this book written if I stay with you.”
“Do you think you can write it now, away from me?”
She thought about the detailed outline she’d been weaving together for the last several days and didn’t feel the trepidation and blankness that had gone alone with her previous attempts. “Yeah. This one’s solid. Largely thanks to you.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Well, then I have a proposal.”
“I’m listening.”
“You came up here intending to take a room at the inn and write, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So do that. Stick with the original plan. And for every, say, ten thousand words you knock out, you take a break to see me and get to ask another of your questions. By the end of the book, you’ll have gotten in quite a few. Do you suppose that’d be sufficient motivation?”
He still wanted to see her. He wasn’t ready for this to end either. Relief tempered the pressure building in her chest.
“Yeah, it would. But even with me writing my ass off, that’s going to take some time.”
Harrison leaned both elbows on the table. “That’s fine. I’m not going anywhere.”
To have him waiting for her on the other side of all this—and all the milestones between—was a greater gift than she’d expected to get. So she’d take it.
“Then I guess I’d better see if I can get a new reservation.”
Chapter 11
“You wanna grab a beer?”
On the other end of the line, Porter hesitated. “It’s not even five yet, man.”
Harrison glanced at his watch, though he knew perfectly well what time it was. “It will be in about forty-five minutes. I haven’t made it all the way to town yet.” The town limit sign that flashed by the Jeep window made a liar out of him, but why mention it?
“Is everything okay?”
Sure it was. Except the cabin felt empty without Ivy.
Harrison had expected that the first night. They’d been constantly in each other’s company, in each other’s space, for the better part of a week. He’d known he’d miss having her in his bed. But he’d expected to re-acclimate to the solitude. That was, after all, his preferred natural habitat.
When he’d dropped her off at The Misfit Inn,
they’d made a plan to meet up tonight for dinner. Since she had no car and there was no way to reach him at the cabin by phone, it was the only logical option. Two days was enough of a span for her to get a serious start on the book. After all the brainstorming about Annika and Michael, he felt jazzed to go back to his own work. He didn’t have the deadline she did, or anybody else depending on him, but he did have to decide what came next in his own books. He figured he’d follow her example and go head down until she surfaced again. That had been forty-six hours ago, and he’d still found himself looking up at every sound, expecting her to be there.
It was better than the alternative of having his ghosts come back with a vengeance, but he missed her, damn it. Like some lovesick teenager, he’d even been counting down the hours until it was time to leave for Eden’s Ridge. He didn’t miss women. Well, in all fairness, he hadn’t been truly involved with one in years. But he missed Ivy, and he didn’t know what to do with that. How could he miss someone who hadn’t even been in his life before the last week? Disgusted with himself, he’d decided to head into town early. Anything would be better than being left to his own devices.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. You up for meeting at the Tavern when you finish up at the job site?”
“Sure. See you there.”
Good. Maybe a visit would help mitigate this itch he’d had.
Knowing he had time to kill, he parked at one end of Main Street and figured he’d walk a bit. The sidewalks had been cleared, but there were still patches of white in corners and cracks where the salt hadn’t reached. In the little park, a parade of misshapen snowmen were in various stages of death throes, as they melted with rising temperatures. Soon they’d be nothing but a puddle of memories.
He wondered if the same could be said of his affair with Ivy. That was really what was at the heart of this restlessness. For all he hadn’t been looking and hadn’t expected to find something with her, he had. What if she’d come to her senses the past couple of days? What if he really had been nothing more to her than a distraction? What if the easy intimacy they’d shared was gone and this dinner he’d been so looking forward to was awkward?
And what if you get a damned grip on yourself and stop making problems where there are none?
But it was his nature and his training to consider the possible disasters and how to handle them.
So start with the problem directly in front of you. You missed her. Do something to show her that.
Spying a shop with a profusion of blooms in the display window, Harrison crossed the street. The interior of Moonbeams and Sweet Dreams smelled lush and sweet, the fragrant flowers scattered around the store perfuming the warm air. Music played quietly from hidden speakers—some kind of Celtic fiddles and drums. From the back, a dog barked, and a woman’s low voice quietly shushed it. A few seconds later, she emerged from a doorway behind the counter. For a moment, he could only blink at the crown of baby roses woven into her auburn hair, and the long, flowy skirt and top. Had he walked through a portal back to Woodstock?
“Can I help you?”
He blinked. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re a florist?”
The woman beamed. “I am. I’m Misty Pennebaker. Do you need some flowers?”
Flowers. Yeah. He’d take Ivy flowers. They’d be a a nice gesture. His mom had always appreciated unexpected flowers.
“I do.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“A woman.”
Misty’s lips bowed up in delight. “The very best occasion. Tell me about her.”
How was he supposed to reduce Ivy to a simple list of descriptors? “She’s smart and funny and interesting. And gorgeous.” All true, but not the heart of who she was. He was still learning that.
“A romantic interest, then. And what do you want to tell her?”
“Tell her?”
Misty slid onto a stool behind the counter, grabbing a pen and notepad. “Sure. Flowers are their own language. So what do you want to tell your lady?”
“She’s not mine. Exactly. It’s…complicated, I guess. We haven’t defined it.”
“But you want to. Define it, that is.”
Yeah. He did. He wanted this to be…something. He didn’t know how, didn’t know exactly what, but he knew he couldn’t just walk away from the connection they’d shared. So he nodded. “But I don’t want to be pushy. Or needy. I just want something that says…I’ve been thinking of you. Something that will wow but not overwhelm.” Might as well go all-in.
Misty was nodding. “I can do that. Are these for delivery?”
“I was hoping I could take them with me when I pick her up for dinner tonight.”
“I can work with that.”
And she did. Half an hour later, Harrison walked out with an explosion of bright blooms, almost none of which he could name. Misty had assured him they were perfect, but he wondered if it was too much. Maybe he should’ve gone with something simpler, like daisies or tulips.
“Aw, flowers. You shouldn’t have.”
Harrison jerked his attention up from the bouquet to find Porter grinning at him from the sidewalk. The back of his neck heated. So much for getting a chance to stash them in the Jeep before hitting Elvira’s.
“I didn’t think you’d be done yet.”
“It sounded like you had something on your mind, so I wrapped a little early. I’m guessing it’s not so much something as someone.”
Harrison resisted the urge to tuck the flowers behind his back. “I was just…” Just what?
Porter crossed his arms, his smile widening as Harrison floundered for something to say.
“Fine, I’ve got a date later.” Why did he feel so stupid saying that? He was sharing a meal with the woman he’d been sleeping with. What else did you call it?
“Uh huh. With the woman you rescued, I take it. The one you were hanging out with shirtless when Xander showed up.”
“So?”
“He said you two looked awfully…cozy for a couple folks who didn’t know each other before this snowstorm.”
Had the two of them been gossiping like a couple of teenage girls? Harrison scowled. “If you’re gonna bust my chops, you’re buying.”
“With pleasure, brother.”
Porter didn’t give him a chance to stow the bouquet before heading to the tavern. This early it wasn’t crowded, so they had their pick of tables.
A waitress sashayed over as soon as they sat down. “What can I get you boys?”
Porter held up two fingers. “Two beers, Trish. That new lager on tap. Thanks.”
“Comin’ right up.”
With nowhere else to put them, Harrison laid the flowers on the far side of their four-top. He felt horribly conspicuous, like he’d accidentally worn hunter’s orange instead of camo to a covert op. The sensation only increased as Trish came back with their drinks.
“Oh, those are simply gorgeous! Who’s the lucky lady?”
Did she honestly expect an answer to that? Her expectant stare suggested she did.
Evidently taking pity on him, Porter flashed a smile at the waitress. “This’ll be all, Trish. Thanks.”
As soon as she’d walked away, Harrison took a healthy swallow of beer. He hated being the center of attention.
“So, you’ve had an eventful week for a guy who planned to be a hermit.”
“Guess so.”
“From what I hear, Ivy’s pretty lucky you came along. Xander said the wreck was bad.”
Harrison thought of the terrain on the side of that mountain. “The whole thing could’ve gone FUBAR pretty easily. Another few feet in either direction and she wouldn’t have survived the crash. As it was, she came out with minimal injuries.”
“Obviously you couldn’t get her to town that night because of the weather. But I find it very interesting that when a ride presented itself, she elected to stay with you. I find it even more interesting that you let her.”
“Was I supposed to just kic
k her out? Say, ‘Oh, glad you’re okay. You’re no longer my problem. Good luck and Godspeed?’ I’m not that much of a dick.”
Unperturbed, Porter just lifted a brow. “Did you want to say any of that?”
“Does it matter?”
“I think it does.”
Harrison sipped more beer. “No, I didn’t want to say any of that.”
“You actually wanted her to stay.”
“Yeah. I did. So what?”
“So, it’s telling. You connected with this woman.”
Uncomfortable with the truth of his observation, Harrison curled his lip in a smirk. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
Porter didn’t bite. “You don’t buy flowers for a woman you’re just hot for. You don’t let her stay for days, interrupting your planned solitude. This woman is important to you.”
She was. And that Porter so easily recognized it made Harrison realize he must be walking around with his heart on his sleeve. Which meant he was in this a helluva lot deeper than he meant to be.
“It looks good on you,” Porter continued.
“What does?”
“Living. You’ve been going through the motions the last few years. It’s good to see you really reaching for something.”
Harrison stared at him. “You got all that out of some gossip from your sheriff buddy and some flowers?”
“I got all that from the look on your face when you talked about her.”
“What look?”
“The look that says you found somebody who’s worth staying in the now and looking to the future instead of hanging in the past.”
“The alternative is that she looks at the opportunities she’s presented with and actively chooses life, chooses to engage, chooses to feel.”
It really was a crying shame not to take time to linger in the claw-foot bathtub, but Ivy was far too hyped up to simply sit, languishing in bubbles. The book was cooking. So much so that she’d set herself five alarms to make sure she was ready early for her dinner with Harrison, lest she get sucked in again and still be in her author’s uniform of leggings, an ancient sweatshirt from her alma mater, and a messy bun, with no makeup when he arrived. Not that he hadn’t seen her looking the worse for wear, but she wanted to wow him when he came to get her, in case he’d been rethinking the wisdom of their involvement.