Page 6

Chapter Six

Ivy

I’ve never been so addicted to checking my phone than I have been this last week.

Since Pops’ health scare had me canceling our dinner date with promises to reschedule, Scott and I have been having one long, continuous conversation. I’d learned so much about him. He spent more hours awake than asleep—a fact I knew because whilst I did my best to stay up talking to him each night, I still failed and woke up to not one but two texts from him from the night before and then from earlier that next morning.

I’d learned his parents were both incredibly intelligent and from family trees littered with political powers and scholars. I’d learned that he’d finished a psychology degree and graduated top of his class at UCLA. He loved going to the gym. Hiking. Peanut butter toast. The colorful socks his mom buys him every year at Christmas time.

I’d also learned that he didn’t like to talk about his job, the only time he’d bought it up was when he mentioned that Flynn Reed was a friend from college. Before I could pry further, he’d changed the subject. He also didn’t respond well when I asked why he’d moved here. He’d answered a short no when I’d asked if he liked Boston yet and then changed the subject again.

He is so open about everything else that I just left it. Despite his closed off attitude when it came to his work and Boston, Scott has me smiling at my phone every single time his name appears on the screen .

I may as well build a huge, flashing arrow pointing directly at me and illuminating the path to my heart for him. Catching feelings is inevitable and I don’t even care.

Katie’s been giving me shit about it all week.

It’s because of her constant pestering and jokes that I opt to relieve her of her best friend duties of helping me set up my classroom. School goes back next week and the principal allows us to get into our classrooms the Friday before to get organized. Bless him for trying, but one day isn’t enough for me to get my bare room ready for a new round of kindergarteners.

Last year, I hadn’t tried that hard and the amount of comments the parents made got on my nerves. So, over the thanksgiving weekend, Pops had helped me deck it out with color and posters and pretty much any learning tool I could get my hands on at the time. The kids had been amazed walking in after the break.

Their tiny faces, the wonder and the excitement in all of them, is why I’ll do it again. From the start of the year this time though.

I reach up on my tip-toes, stretching my arm into the corner with one end of the banner’s string in my hand. “Damn it,” I huff, dropping my heels back onto the chair. It wobbles beneath me and my hand slaps against the wall in an attempt to steady myself. Falling off and landing myself with a broken bone just in time for school to go back would be the worst-case scenario.

I’m starting to regret relieving Katie of her duties.

I got a jump start on decorating and have been in the room since seven this morning. My stomach is threatening to begin growling if I don’t feed it and I could probably use a coffee— with a hit of sugar, of course. I jump down from the chair, heading for my bag to dig for my phone when it chimes loudly, as if it knew I was coming for it.

Scott: What’s your coffee order?

I smile, and then try to smooth my features. Fight back against the smiling and maybe I can protect my heart from completely falling in love with the man before we even have a first date.

I’m so done for.

Ivy: Something too sugary for you, Mr.-I-workout-seven-days-a-week.

Scott: Maybe I work out because I have a huge sweet tooth I have to counter …

Ivy: Do you?

Scott: No.

Ivy: I do love to be right.

Scott : Coffee order, if you will.

Ivy: Can I ask why?

Scott: Coffee is your second love. You’ve said that every morning for the past week.

I wanna know what specific coffee I’m up against here.

Ivy: … cheeseball.

Scott: Please?

Ivy: Venti iced latte with two pumps of vanilla, a pump of sugar syrup and extra cold foam.

Scott: I hope you're covering the walls of your classroom with something soft.

You’ll be bouncing off them with the amount of sugar you inhale.

Ivy: Helps me stay on the same level as the kids.

How was your morning?

Scott: Good, just spent it in the gym for a work out.

I text back a reply asking him what he did in the gym, and push my phone into my back pocket before eyeing the chair and the corner of the banner that is now lying on the ground. My stomach growls as I walk back over to the banner and try—and fail—to muffle the sound with a hand.

I’ll put the banner up and then go for coffee. Scott asking for my go-to order now has me craving the sugar hit. With my venti iced coffee in mind, I step back up onto the chair with the end of the banner in tow.

It takes me another eight sweaty minutes to secure it to the hook in the corner and by the time I’m done with it, I’m cursing my decision to go into kindergarten teaching and not something that doesn’t require so many colors … like middle school teaching. Middle schoolers aren’t impressed by anything. I wouldn’t have to work so hard to impress their parents with my colorful posters and educational knick-knacks lying around the room.

I step back from the wall, hands on my hips, admiring my work .

My thoughts begin to drift towards the venti iced latte I’d promised myself earlier—surely I’m deserving of a muffin now too—when a low, appreciative whistle comes from the doorway of my classroom behind me, interrupting my thoughts.

“Looking good.” I whip around on my heel, trying desperately to keep myself from blushing as I realize who’s interrupted my self-admiring. “Very … colorful.”

Scott.

Freaking Scott, in the flesh and not just over text.

In my classroom.

Surrounded by the hand drawn posters I spent hours over the summer making.

Oh. Shit.

He’s more attractive than I remember. Why was I such a lightweight? My single shot and a beer induced mind had dampened the memory of his looks. But now, with him standing in front me, still as tall and as broad as ever there is no way I’m ever going to forget this.

He stares at me, his cap pulled low over his eyes again and his hair beneath it curling at the ends. It’s damp. He must have showered after his workout.

Images of him in a towel, seeing exactly what all those workouts are doing to his body plagued me. He probably has a six pack … no, an eight pack.

Most definitely a pack.

“Are you drooling over me or the sugar drink in my hand? I can’t tell.”

The heat I’d been trying to suppress crawls up my neck and I’m sure my ears are bright red by now. I give myself an internal shake and zero in on the coffee in his hand.

“Heaven,” I whisper loud enough to earn a laugh, and move closer to him.

“The drink then,” he says. “Damn, this is my tightest t-shirt. ”

I take a sip of the iced latte, glancing up at him through my lashes as the heavenly liquid slides down my throat. “Oh no, it’s working for you fine. But this right here.” I take another small sip. “This is pure, unadulterated, heaven. Takes a lot to get on this coffee’s level.”

This earns me another small laugh and I pocket it just as I do all the others I get.

I pat his chest, moving past him to set the coffee down on my desk. “Don’t worry big guy. You’ll get there one day. Maybe.”

If I’m being honest with myself, he’s probably already there but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I like your classroom.” He stares at the posters I put up, the banner that hangs from one end to the other, the name tags that sit on the desks already.

“You’re about five minutes too late to make yourself useful. I was struggling for ages with the banner and getting it hooked up on the corner over there.” I wave my hand around, sinking into my chair and sipping from the sugary goodness he brought me.

“I can stay and help if you like. I’ve got nothing else to do today.”

I look up from the drink. A mistake. It had been a mistake to sit down in his presence. It only makes him look bigger. Taller. More imposing. More attractive.

Get. It. Together.

“I don’t … that’s nice but … I mean, you don’t have too.”

He shrugs, looking around at the boxes scattered across the floor. “This looks like a lot for one person.”

“Usually Katie helps but I relieved her of her best friend duties today.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Why?”

Shit. “She’s annoying and persistent. But really you don’t have to stay. Thank you for offering but it’s really fine. I can do this. It’s boring, and a lot of me changing my mind on where things need to go. You don’t want to be on the receiving end. I can be annoying. Really, it’s—”

“Where do you want this one?” He cuts off my rambling and I finally force my eyes to refocus on him. He’s holding the birthday balloon chart I drew—a balloon for each month of the year with all the kids’ dates written in so we wouldn’t forget to celebrate.

My mouth opens, closes, and then opens again. This man is really standing in the middle of my half ready classroom, on a Friday—which is surely a work day for him, although I won’t ask—offering his help.

Katie will murder me in broad daylight if I turn him down.

So I don’t.

“Over by the door, on that pin board.” He nods, following my instructions, and carefully pinning up the poster. He even smooths it out with a hand when he’s done.

And it's decided.

I’m done for.

***

The first week back at school always kills.

It’s like I forget every summer just how brutally tired I am at the end of every day and just how I’m supposed to manage the energy to come back and do it all again the next day.

The kids are the most emotional that first week too. It’s their first school experience. They’re leaving their parents for the first time, all day, and meeting all these new people. It takes longer to calm them in the morning, they’re weary of the teachers and the other kids.

Safe to say, between the teachers and the kids, the first week back is a rollercoaster filled with more tears than laughter. Thankfully it gets easier as the semester goes on. But god, the first week kills.

This year though, I have a new secret weapon to keep a smile on my face through the drop off tantrums and the ‘I don’t know how to share’ arguments my five-year-olds are experts at.

Scott .

He’d stayed the whole day with me in my classroom, helping me get through my set up faster than I ever have before. We ended up sitting against the wall at the front of the class talking for almost two hours before I had to call it a day and get to the hospital to see Pops.

I’d hoped that Scott might ask to reschedule our date for last weekend but he’d told me that he would be out of town. Sure, I’d been disappointed but I hadn’t pushed.

He’d turned up at my classroom with coffee and muffins and spent the day sticking up color posters. I’m not about to get sulky over the fact he had to work. Besides, he still texted me with what must have been every free moment because every time I’ve looked at my phone in the past week, his name has been front and center.

My favorites are the morning texts.

I told Katie by Tuesday that even if whatever was going on with Scott and I fizzled out, he’d raised the bar when it came to morning texts.

Over the weekend it had simply been a ‘ morning ’ but when I woke up on Monday and checked my phone, there was a good morning and a request from him.

Scott: Morning. First day back to school. A big one. What’s your ‘first day of kindergarten’ outfit? Has to be good in order to set the tone for the whole year.

No pressure of course.

This is more of an excuse to get another glimpse of your pretty face.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I squealed and kicked my heels up when I read it. The smile on my face had been so wide and unmoving, I’d had to take a few deep breaths before taking a picture of my outfit for him in the mirror.

He’d told me that I made a good choice and that I looked amazing .

Cue more squealing.

He’s asked for one every morning since and every morning I’ve obliged.

Even on Thursday when I had to dress in my gym leggings and the school branded polo top because my kindergarteners had their first official gym class on the school field. Those morning messages managed to keep a smile on my face throughout my entire day no matter what the kids threw at me.

Friday afternoon I kick my shoes off inside the door. A sigh of relief leaves my mouth and I feel the stress of the week float from my body. My phone chimes as I reach the kitchen, setting my bag down on the nearest stool.

Scott: Home?

Ivy: Just walked in … my feet are killing and the couch is calling my name. How’s work?

He’d told me yesterday that he was away for work again. The curiosity of what he does is starting to eat away at my insides. I really want to know what the hell he does that has him moving to Boston for work but traveling every other week.

I sink into the couch as his reply comes in, rolling onto my stomach to read it.

Scott: Home this morning. Was fine though. Work is work.

I decide it might be best to steer clear. I want that date and bringing up his work, as I’ve learned, causes him to shut down faster than a kindergartener being questioned for taking their friend’s toy, rather than sharing.

Ivy: Well, I’m exhausted. First week is always a killer.

Scott: I imagine it would be. Everyone survived though. I call that a win.

Ivy: Everyone survived, yes. Barely, but we made it. Haha.

Scott: What are your plans this weekend?

Ivy: Not a lot … standing morning date on Sunday with Pops but that’s about it.

You?

Scott: Reckon you’d still be able to fit in that date with me?

My breath hitches and my heart skips a beat. Finally . The date.

Ivy: I reckon I might be able to pencil you in.

Scott: Free around one tomorrow? Send me your address, I’ll pick you up.

I let out another squeal and kick my heels up. I’m doing that a lot lately and really, I don't want to stop.

***

Scott’s black car pulls up two minutes to one and I am not ready.

“Shit,” I curse under my breath, throwing my Converse sneakers at the front door and heading for the kitchen. My perfume is stashed in my work bag—still sitting on the stool where I dropped it last night. God, I really need to clean this thing out. I find the small bottle, spraying lightly on my wrists and dabbing my neck. I also spray behind me and step back into the light mist of scent. A habit I picked up from Nan. She used to joke that it was how she got Pops to follow her everywhere. I was so young I don’t remember if I believed her or not but now it’s a habit that makes me think of her every day.

I drop the bottle of scent back into my work bag and head to the door.

The doorbell rings. I stare at the closed door knowing Scott’s the one on the other side and force myself to take a deep breath.

One … two … stop smiling so wide Ivy, god … three.

“Hey.” I smile up at him in his signature cap and black t-shirt. I hope it’s a good, natural looking smile. I hope my nerves aren’t plastered all over my face.

His lips twitch up. His eyes gaze down my body before they meet mine again. I’m not sure how impressive I am in denim shorts and a white t-shirt but I feel like melting under his gaze.

Then he grins. “Hi, ready?”

“Yep. Just need to pull my shoes on. Come in.”

He hesitates in the doorway before stepping inside. “This is quite the place,” he says, glancing down the hallway behind me.

“My grandparents bought it in the sixties I think. Family home, renovated a couple of times over. Pops was bored after retiring.”

He simply nods and I pull on my shoes.

“Am I dressed okay for wherever we’re going?” I ask holding out my hands and turning on the spot. The action gets me a quiet chuckle. Deep and rumbling and soul soothing.

“Yes. Come on, I’ve booked so we don’t want to be late.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask him. My curiosity is eating at me.

“Nope. You’ll see when we get there.”

“Is it far? ”

“Not really.”

I close the door behind us, triple checking it’s locked before throwing my keys into the bag across my body. The black Mercedes SUV doesn’t necessarily stand out amongst some of the other cars in the street but it certainly makes my red Toyota pale in comparison.

“Nice car.” I smirk a little as I follow him toward the street.

“Job perk. I prefer my truck but I left it in California.”

“Why?”

He studies me for a second, hand reaching for the door as he goes to open it for me. I climb into the passenger seat as he answers. “Wasn’t planning on staying in Boston long term.”

I sense the same shut down I get whenever work comes up in conversation so I switch subjects as he rounds the car and slides in beside me. I let him pepper me with questions about my first week back at school. I’m mid story—recalling exactly when I’d discovered which kindergarteners weren’t exactly toilet ready for the school year—when Scott pulls the car into a large parking lot.

“Mini golf?” I squeal excitedly. I jump down from the passenger seat as soon as Scott pulls the door open for me. The brightly lit sign shines even in the sunshine. Scott comes up behind me, his chest just brushing against my back. I stop myself from leaning back into him. Probably too soon.

“Do you not like mini golf?”

I smile, my inner child cheering for what’s about to happen. “I haven’t been since I was a kid.”

“We can go somewhere else if you want,” he says. I turn my head to stare up at him. His green eyes are filled with worry and it makes something in my chest tighten. He’s nervous. Boy, do I like that he is. It matches my own nerves.

“No. I love mini golf.” Now I do lean back into him a little, smiling up at him as his features shift from doubt to relief. I smirk. “I’m very competitive though. Hope you’re ready to lose. ”

I step out of his space but reach behind me, taking Scott’s hand to drag him to the entrance. The inside of the building is as bright and lit up as the outside. There’s two staff members leaning against a bench behind the counter and early two thousand pop hits play loudly over the speakers. Other than the two staff members and us, the place is completely empty.

“Are they closed? Didn’t you say you booked?”

“I did.” I slow down at the empty venue as he nods. His fingers tighten around mine, tugging me along. “I booked out the whole place.”

“You … you what?!”

“Mr. Har–” One of the staff, the manager according to the title on his name badge, greets us.

“Scott is fine,” Scott cuts him off with a small smile. “Thanks for doing this.”

“Of course.” The manager smiles widely and hands over two putters and golf balls for us to use.

“We open back up to the public around four so you have until then.”

“You booked this place for three hours?! That’s … that must have cost a small fortune.” Scott just shrugs before taking the putters from the counter in one hand and reaching for my own again with the other. He pulls me away from the counter and towards the archways that lead off to the courses.

He stands me in front of them, my back pressed against his chest again, holding out the putters and the balls in front of me to choose from. I take the neon pink ball and the shorter of the two putters.

“Which one first?” His words are quiet, said in a low drawl, his breath against my ear. If I was to turn my head slightly, tilt to look at him, our lips would be centimeters apart.

Would he kiss me?

Did I want him too?

God, yes .

Instead, I keep my eyes trained ahead and study the entrances to the course. After I allow myself a minute to enjoy his presence, I step away. Turning to face him, I walk backward toward the jungle themed course and flash him a smirk. “You’re going down.”

He laughs, eyes shining under the brim of his signature cap. “Bring it on.”

***

“Wow, you really are awful at that.”

“Putting is not my strong suit. I’m better at driving.” We both watch the small ball slowly come to a stop. Scott’s golf ball, mind you. I’m winning.

“Uh huh, interesting. You know, you can just admit that I’m a better golfer,” I say as I swing the golf club gently next to me.

“This is mini golf and that seems like admitting defeat.”

I nod in agreement. “It is.”

He leans against the giant wave modeled around the eighteenth hole feigning a thoughtful look. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

I roll my eyes. Over the last two hours I’ve probably permanently etched a smile into my features and my cheeks are starting to hurt from laughing so much. The butterflies in my stomach are raging and even though I’m doing my best to feign confidence in his presence, my hands are definitely shaking a little every time he watches me take a putt.

I’m still winning, though.

I line up my shot, pull my arm back a little and let loose. Just enough for the golf ball to bounce off the angled wall and head straight for the hole.

I watch as it slows, crawling toward the edge. “Come on …” I whisper, watching closely. Scott’s eyes are on the ball too. We both watch it teeter before finally falling in. I drop my putter onto the fake green and lift my hands above my head in victory .

“Yes!”

Scott groans, shaking his head as he collects my dropped putter. “Damn.”

I laugh. “Told you. Admit it, I’m a better golfer.”

“Mini golfer,” he corrects. I drop my hands and rest them on my hips, raising a brow, and wait. He sighs. “Fine … you’re better. I admit defeat.”

I throw my head back and laugh again, but this time his laugh joins mine. I’m about to tell him that he shouldn’t have doubted my skills in the first place when he steps into my space, face hovering above mine. He’s so close I can see the detailed, clean lines along his jaw where he trims his beard. He smells like soap, and cinnamon, and something else I can’t quite place. He smells delicious. I feel myself rising on my toes. His lips are right there, hovering so closely above mine.

It would be so easy.

I stare at the gold flecks embedded into the forest green of his eyes. His cap casts a shadow and when he tilts his head slightly, the golden flecks shift and swirl. They’re captivating. He’s captivating.

He’s staring at my lips. My eyes flicker down to his.

In the background, a door slams. I jolt. My heels drop back to the floor. I shoot up a hand and take the cap off his head. The moment’s gone.

“I’m taking this. As my prize.”

He continues to stare, gaze dragging between my lips and my own eyes, and back again.

“All yours.”