Page 59 of The Christmas Arrangement

My phone buzzes. It’s Ivy.

“Ivy,” I say, relieved.

“Hi. Merry and I brought your mom’s bag over to the cottage. I’m going to stay at the loft tonight instead of her.”

The words come out rushed, like she’s trying to get through them quickly.

“Ivy—”

“You two clearly have a lot of catching up to do. And I’m exhausted. Besides, Holly and Jack want to clean the loft more thoroughly for your mom because Holly is a certified neat freak.”

I lower my voice, turning slightly away from Mom. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to spend any time with you tonight.”

“It’s okay. Really. It’s only one night. Are we still on for the gingerbread contest tomorrow at Quinn’s barn?”

“One hundred percent. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good night, Dash.”

She ends the call. I pocket my phone and turn back to Mom. She’s watching me with an expression I can’t read. It’s not worry. Honestly, it looks like satisfaction, but that can’t be it.

“Change of plans,” I tell her. “You’ll stay at the cottage with me tonight.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to?—”

“I’m sure.” Ivy is, at least.

By the time I park Ivy’s car in the garage and get my Mom settled in the cottage, I’m exhausted and confused.

Mom being here should be a good thing. We’re finally going to have a real Christmas together. But I don’t the growing distance between me and Ivy.

Mom appears in the bedroom doorway. “The bathroom’s all yours.”

I brush my teeth and splash some water on my face. When I step into the bedroom to say goodnight, my mother hugs me tightly.

“I love you, sweetheart,” she says. “You know that, right? Everything I do is because I love you.”

“I know, Mom. I love you, too.”

As I head to the couch, her words echo in my mind.

Why do they sound like an apology?

Chapter 23

A Very Jolly Pep Talk

Ivy

* * *

I’m nursing my second cup of terrible coffee when I hear the key turn in the lock. I don’t even bother looking up from where I’m curled on Holly’s pristine white couch, wrapped in a cream-colored throw blanket. The only splashes of color in this place are the painting Jack gave her for Christmas last year and the books on her groaning bookshelves.

“Oh good, you’re awake and miserable,” Merry announces, sweeping in with Holly right behind her. “We brought reinforcements.”

She holds up a bakery box emblazoned with her logo, Sweet Merry’s. It probably contains enough calories to sustain an Olympic swim team, if I know her.

“I’m not hungry,” I mutter.