Page 20 of Baby, It’s You (Clairesville #1)

Olive

E arly the next morning, Ivy looks at me across the table at our favorite cafe, Violet’s Cup, utterly confused.

“So, you're now going to make YouTube videos with the guy who dropped the barstool on you? The weirdo that you don’t know?” she asks for the tenth time, bouncing around on her side of the booth. She has way too much energy for it being seven in the morning right now.

“Oh my god, you make it sound so bad.” I roll my eyes at her. “He is going to try and help me raise money for the bar. That’s it. You know what that place means to me.”

She nods and sighs dramatically. “Yes. We both agree that Tripp is a huge ass and Whiskey's needs to be saved. Buuuut, I think it's a little extreme to let some creepy old dude make videos with you.”

I scoff. “Well, when you say it like that it does sound creepy. But he’s not old, why would you assume that…I told you he makes skateboarding content.”

“I just thought if he was at the bar, he was old.” She shrugs. “No offense but you know there is usually an older crowd at the bar.”

“None taken.” She is right and that's probably why the bar isn't making money like it used to. Many of the longtime patrons don’t drive in their older age now or have passed away; as morbid as that is, it’s true.

Ivy continues, “I just want to make sure you aren’t getting too invested in this idea. That’s a lot of money to raise and probably a short amount of time.”

“I agree, I'm just going to see what happens.”

"If you think this is going to help Whiskey’s, I will help in any way I can.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “I will let you know if I need your aid with anything.”

She takes a big sip of her coffee and I change the subject. “So have you heard anything from Douchey Dennis?”

“Surprisingly, it's been radio silent on his end,” she responds, while picking at the edge of her lid. I can tell it bothers her that he isn't contacting her.

“That is good news, Ivy. Any contact with him will just open that wound again and you will have to start over with your healing.”

“I know.” She nods. “It just really sucks to see someone I wasted years of my life on truly not give a shit.”

I feel sad for her in this moment. She wants love so badly.

“Want me to go slash his tires? Just say the word and I will,” I tell her. “Actually, you don't even have to say a word, just blink and I will do it. I will go to jail for you.” Leaning forward I take her hand. “It would be the honor of my life to destroy him for you.”

She yanks her hand away. “Oh, shut up. I get it. He sucks.”

“That he does.”

“I don't want to think about him anymore.”

“That makes two of us. So how has work been?” I ask her.

“Pretty good.” She sighs. “But I’ll never get to wear my dream dress now.”

Ivy works at a bridal store as a consultant and helps brides find their perfect gowns for their big day.

Just like in the show Say Yes to the Dress .

This means she is constantly yearning for when it will be her turn to get married.

She has already picked out her dream gown, of course, and tries on the sample dress every chance she gets.

“You would not want to marry him anyway.” I stare at her. “That would be an absolute nightmare.”

She nods and then looks down at her lap, unable to hide her lip tremble as she tells me, “I just want it to be my turn. I see love around me every day at work and it’s hard sometimes. I want someone to think I’m special enough to marry. I want someone to cherish me.”

I can't fault her for that. Deep down, I wish I could find that, too, someday. My guard is up so high when it comes to men, though, that I don't think I will ever let someone in as a potential partner.

I get out of my seat and slip into the seat next to her. Her teary blue eyes meet mine. I grab both of her hands and squeeze them.

“You are so special to me, and I cherish you. I understand you want a romantic relationship and that will come when the time is right. But know that in the meantime, you always have me. I will always be your companion, and I am always on your side.”

Ivy sniffs and wipes her nose. “Why can't you have a penis?” she jokes. “You would be a perfect boyfriend.”

I laugh. “Yeah, right. I’m emotionally unavailable, and don’t you remember when we lived together? We were ready to kill each other daily. We would never work, even if I was a man.”

She laughs along with me as we recall the two years we lived together that almost ended our friendship multiple times.

We used to fight over everything. Stealing each other's clothes, her partying and coming home drunk, slamming the cabinets when I finally fell asleep after a long shift at the bar; we even fought over whose turn it was to clean the bathroom. Maturing taught us that we are the best of friends, but can’t live under the same roof, and that's fine. We have lived in our apartment complex one floor apart since then and it’s the perfect amount of distance for us.

Ivy finishes off her last gulp of iced coffee and gets up to toss her cup in the trash can.

I check my face in the reflection of my phone screen, starting to feel nervous about having to see Hunter.

The other three times I saw him were not in my control.

He just popped up in front of me, so I had no time to think about it in advance.

But now that I know I’m going to see him, I feel anxious.

After he left Whiskey’s yesterday, I went into full-on creep mode on the internet and searched “Hunter, skateboard, YouTube” and was able to immediately find his channel.

He has a big following. Over two million subscribers and millions of views on his videos.

I spent way more time than I should have watching playlist after playlist of skateboarders and his tutorials for aspiring filmers.

I couldn't look away from his smile as he explained equipment parts in his videos, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

I couldn't care less about learning about cameras, but I watched his videos like I would be getting a pop quiz today.

When she notices that I’m analyzing my reflection, Ivy squints her eyes at me in suspicion. “Wow, you must like this not old, not creepy bar stool guy.”

I scoff. “Yeah, okay.”

“I mean, you made yourself look cute today,” she points out. “You always dress cute, that's not a dig at you, but you know what I mean. Not usually before a work shift…”

I get up from the table. “Yeah. It’s in case I’m on camera,” I respond defensively.

She’s right, though. Today I put some extra effort into my appearance.

I was able to cover my leftover bruises with some amazing concealer.

They completely disappeared. I also put waves in my mid-length dark hair and applied a little extra blush to my fair cheeks.

I’m wearing a red cardigan with a black mini dress and my white converse.

I even pulled back some loose strands of hair with a red bow.

I brought my uniform to change into before Tripp comes to work, so I don’t even really know why I dressed up.

Now that Ivy mentions it, I’m feeling a little self-conscious.

I don’t want to give off the wrong impression because the last thing I want is for Hunter to think I am interested in him.

Ivy interrupts my train of thought. “Well, once they see you on camera, I’m sure plenty of men will be asking for your number. So be prepared, babe.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re a hot tamale.”

I ignore the comment and put my phone in my tote. “Okay, thanks.”

“Let me know how it goes,” she continues. “Text me after work.”

“Will do.” I give her a hug and walk off to conquer the day. Once I get to my car and put the key in the ignition, I silently cheer when my Barney car starts. I really need to get that battery; I’m pushing my luck.