Page 22 of The Christmas Arrangement
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Like the way you negotiated that interaction. I bet you do that a lot.”
She shrugs. “It’s part of living in a family. We all have a role, and mine is peacemaker. Holly’s the caretaker, and Merry’s the entertainer.”
“Does it get old?”
Another shrug.
“They’re fun, though.”
“Are they?”
Her tone and wry expression make clear she’s joking, but I answer her seriously. “Yeah. Growing up as an only child with a single mom, my house was quiet. Too quiet. She worked a lot, and I spent a lot of time by myself.”
Her eyes soften, and I frown. I wasn’t trying to get her sympathy.
“Oh. I guess I never really thought about how lucky we were. I always craved a quiet place to read a book or just be alone with my thoughts, and with my family and an inn full of guests most of the time, solitude was hard to come by. You always want what you can’t have, right?”
I study her mouth. Then her neck. Then the curve of her cheek. I imagine a makeup artist contouring those freckles away, concealing them for the camera. And that would be a shame. She’s got the whole girl-next-door thing that casting directors are always looking for and never finding because everyone in LA is trying too hard. Ivy’s not trying at all. And she’s perfect.
Yeah, I definitely want what I can’t have.
She shifts uncomfortably, as if she knows what I’m thinking, and I realize I’ve been staring at her. I force myself to look away because boundaries, Pine. Boundaries.
I clear my throat. “So now what? Are we going straight to the flower shop or do you need a minute to regroup?”
She raises one eyebrow. “Are you joking? It’s like I just told my family. I’ve been away from the shop all day. We needed to leave ten minutes ago. I have to check my messages, prep tomorrow’s arrangements, and then schedule the deliveries. We’ll be lucky to get to the town square in time for the tree lighting.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
Then again, my mom used to cram auditions, grocery runs, and her night shift into the same twelve-hour window while I microwaved Hot Pockets alone in our apartment, so what do I know about busy? At least Ivy’s got an entire family to lean on. Must be nice.
She shrugs. “I love it.”
“Do I need to change?” I gesture at the sweater and dark wash jeans.
“No, but you should find a warmer coat than your leather jacket. Do you have anything? We could borrow something from my dad or Jack.”
I wave her off. “’I’m sure Luna packed appropriate Vermont mountain wear for me.”
“I’m curious what she sent for me. I already have a wardrobe of appropriate Vermont mountain wear.”
I laugh. “Trust me, all of it will be completely inappropriate for the weather, but appropriate for magazine covers and viral reels.” Male actors are dressed for the weather; female actors are dressed for the male gaze.
Her face pales at the reminder of all the attention that’s headed her way, but she presses her lips together and nods.
“Ivy,” I say as she wheels the pink hard case toward what I presume is the bedroom.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Her lips soften into a smile.
Ten minutes later, she’s changed into jeans and a soft flannel shirt layered over a fitted T-shirt. I’m one hundred percent certain these clothes did not come from the pink case. I think she was wearing them when she delivered the flowers to the barn. Brody and Luna would be appalled, but I like it. She looks real. And touchable.
No touching, Pine.