Page 73 of The Christmas Arrangement

I climb out, still confused, and she pops the rear hatch.

Before I close the door, I try one more time. “Ivy, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine. I just—I’ll explain later, okay?”

Her hands are shaking on the steering wheel. Something important is happening. And she won’t talk me.

“Okay,” I say, even though it’s very much not okay.

I unload the flowers and she gives me one more apologetic look. Then she pulls away from the curb, leaving me standing in the passenger loading zone with no idea what just happened.

Two orderlies push through the automatic doors, both grinning.

“You’re Dash Pine!” the younger one says. “Ivy said she couldn’t make any promises, but looks like she delivered. You’ll visit with the kids?”

“Yeah. I have the flowers arrangements, too.”

“Awesome. The kids are going to lose their minds.”

“This is so cool of you, man,” the older orderly says, carefully lifting an arrangement and placing it on a dolly. “It’s hard for these kids to be cooped up in here during the holidays. We try to make it as fun as we can for them. A visit from Vlad is next level.”

I walk in with them as they wheel the flowers inside, smiling and nodding and making appropriate responses. But my mind is elsewhere.

On Ivy, driving away. On the look in her eyes—like she’d just figured something out and couldn’t wait another second to act on it. What does she need to do that’s so urgent she couldn’t even come inside?

I can’t answer this question, so I do the only thing I can do: tuck it away and turn to the orderlies. “I could do a storytime for the little ones. Do you happen to have a copy of And Tango Makes Three around here?”

Chapter 29

An Ambush by Ivy

Ivy

* * *

I know I should pull over and calm down. But I don’t. Instead, as the last notes of Daniel Lovelace’s Christmas ballad fade, I punch Griselda’s number into my phone.

She picks up on the second ring.

I skip the niceties. “Where is he?”

“Where is who?”

“You know who.”

“For the sake of argument, pretend I don’t,” she says.

I pound the steering wheel in frustration. “Daniel Lovelace.”

There’s a pause. Then Griselda says carefully, “Ivy, what are you doing?”

“I’m fixing this. Where is he?”

“Does Dash know you’re?—”

“Griselda, please. Just tell me where he is. I know you know.”

Another pause. I can practically hear her weighing whether to help me or talk me out of whatever I’m planning.