Page 19 of Windlass (Seal Cove #3)

The next morning Stevie found a note by the coffee that read, You are forgiven. —A

She folded up the note and put it in her wallet where, she guessed, it would remain until it wore away into dust.

Stevie did not mention the fight she’d had with Angie to Morgan that day at work, or to Ivy who stopped by to ride.

She also neglected to mention her modeling session, the leaking roof, or the fact that she was near combustion with want and care.

Angie’s tear-streaked face, blotchy with anger, had haunted her all night.

She’d thought Angie had chosen to sleep in her own bed, dampness and stripped sheets be damned, but Stevie had woken at some point in the night to the shifting of her mattress as Angie slid beneath the covers. She kept her breathing even, not wanting to scare Angie away.

After some quiet tossing, Angie settled, then inched closer until the warmth of her back pressed against Stevie’s.

The simple, perfect pleasure of that heat was more ruinous than Angie’s lips. She knew now what it was like to sleep beside her, and the prospect of even one more night without the steady reassurance of Angie’s breathing ate at the edges of her sanity.

She needed this. She needed this more than she’d thought it possible to need anything.

Ivy snapped her back to the present with talk of proposals.

“I don’t want her to feel pressured,” Ivy was saying. “We’ve talked about it, a little, but that’s different than the real thing. But I also think she’d want you all around to celebrate, and I want to do it in a place that means something to her and me.”

“The island,” Stevie said immediately, thinking of the secondhand stories she’d heard. Not waggling her eyebrows took supreme effort. “Didn’t you spend the night there in a blizzard or something?”

Ivy guided Freddie across the low creek bed winding along the trail. The day was overcast and cool, which was a nice change, even if it did bring mosquitos with it.

“You think? I was worried it would feel too much like a part of my family.”

“It will be her family, too, if she says yes. There’s got to be a hundred perfect places there to do it.”

“I can think of one.” Ivy’s tone suggested she’d put a great deal of thought into that spot.

“Not to sound self-serving, but you did say you’d invite us up for a weekend this summer. Do it then—if she says no, you’re surrounded by friends. And yes, we’re your friends too. If she says yes, we have a party. Then we get to have another official party later.”

“You really don’t think that’s presumptuous?”

“I don’t think you’d be asking if you didn’t know her answer.”

“I could be wrong. It’s happened once or twice before.”

Stevie snorted. “Do you mind if I ask ‘why now’?”

Ivy looked away down the path, which surrounded them on all sides with thick pines and low, scrubby bay laurel, interspersed with oaks and maples.

“I want her to know I’m serious.”

“You don’t think she knows that?” asked Stevie.

“I walked out on her once and I don’t want her to think I’m ever doing that to her again,” Ivy said all in one breath. “Also, it will make things easier for us when my health gets worse. Just in case the hospital gives her a hard time, you know?”

“Yay homophobia.” Stevie fought back the urge to tell Ivy her health would not get worse, and that everything would be okay.

Ivy had multiple sclerosis; her health would wax and wane, with an emphasis on waning.

Everything would not be okay, though she had Lilian by her side, and even MS should tremble in fear at that prospect.

What if something like MS happened to Angie? Her ribs constricted at the thought.

“I also want her to be able to have things if anything happens to me.”

“Things?”

“Money, to be crass.”

“So you’re not doing a prenup?”

Ivy laughed at the question. “I’m not from that much money.

And no. Of course not. I just want to know she’ll be taken care of if I can’t do it for her.

Not that Lil needs someone to take care of her, but I don’t want her to have to work her ass off her whole life, especially if part of it is spent taking care of me. ”

Stevie stared at Ivy, not in wonder precisely, but in awe at the conviction in her voice. She, too, wanted that for Lil, but she felt obligated to point out, “She wouldn’t see it that way.”

“But I do. Also—and if you tell her this, I swear, Stevie, I will bury you in a place no one will ever find you—I want to watch her walk down the aisle.”

“Ooooh, you’ll be waiting at the altar?” Stevie would have to apologize to Olive later for the many jerks in her body language.

“Naturally.” Ivy’s haughty expression was, frankly, hot. Stevie wanted to cackle. Lilian had been so cute when she thought she could resist this woman.

“Will she see it that way? Or maybe you two can wrestle it out beforehand. Battle of the brides.” She made several suggestive gestures with the hand not holding the reins.

“Creep.”

“What, you’d like it.”

“Be that as it may . . .” Ivy smiled, however, and pulled at the chin strap of her helmet. “I was never into the idea of a wedding, not like my mom and sister, but I want to marry her.”

“Yeah you do.” Stevie grinned so hard her whole face hurt. She’d never heard someone put such verb energy into “marry” before. “You want to marry the fuck out of her.”

“Do you really think she’d want me to ask with other people around? Not around at the exact moment, but in general?” Ivy asked, ignoring Stevie’s assessment of her marital intentions.

“For the third time, no,” said Stevie, “but since you’re worried, gimme a minute to think about it.”

She considered what she knew of Lilian. She was absolutely a secret romantic and absolutely deserved whatever she wanted.

Would part of that be sharing the news with her friends so soon, or would she want to savor it?

Not that Lilian needed to tell them just because they were there.

Stevie snapped her fingers with the realization.

“If she doesn’t want to tell anyone yet, you wouldn’t have to, either,” Stevie said. “Except me. You have to tell me.”

“I’ll tell you, I promise.”

“It’s the condition of my help.”

“Consider it done.” Ivy paused. Then, with real fear in her voice, she asked, “And if she thinks I should have done something bigger? Just for her?”

A fair point. Curse romance writers and their grand gestures.

Stevie tapped her fingers on her thigh. “The thing about Lilian is that when she looks at you, Ives, there’s no one else in the room for her.

It can get irritating, actually. I don’t think she’ll care whether you ask her with us or on a private weekend in the Bahamas or whatever, so long as it’s you asking. ”

Ivy flushed. “That’s surprisingly sweet, Stevie.”

Stevie shifted with discomfort, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut and trying not to sound defensive. “Well, it’s true.”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

She eyed Ivy, suspicious. Ivy’s profile gave nothing away, though her cheeks were still pink from when Stevie had waxed poetic. “Maybe. Depends on the question.”

“I guess it is more of an observation.”

“Oh no, that sounds worse,” said Stevie, meaning it.

Ivy laughed gently, and then reached across the gap between their horses and squeezed Stevie’s arm.

“I know I never lived in the farmhouse, but Lil’s told me a lot. I was worried I wasn’t going to be able to convince her to move in with me if I’m being honest.”

“That might have something to do with the greenhouse.”

Ivy shook her head. “I told her I’d build her another one. A bigger one, a Victorian one, whatever she wanted—that wasn’t her hesitation.”

“Well, we’re pretty lovable.” Stevie didn’t know where Ivy was going with this. “Also, only Lil makes me eat my vegetables so she probably worried I’d die of scurvy.”

“I’ve seen you eat plenty of vegetables on your own.

Broccoli sprinkled with cheese is still a vegetable.

” Ivy’s tone regained its serious note as she continued.

“I know a little bit about what it’s like not being able to say the thing you want to say, and I know it’s even harder when there are no distractions. ”

Stevie had no answer. She knew, of course, what Ivy meant. Who Ivy meant. Her throat worked as she tried unsuccessfully to come up with a response.

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Ivy added.

“Thank god.” Stevie’s relieved laugh had an edge of mania.

“But if you ever want to, just remember that I haven’t known you since high school nor, and I say this with all the love in my heart for Lil, do I feel the need to mother anyone. My own mother is quite enough to deal with.”

Definitely digs at Morgan and Lilian. What, exactly, had Ivy heard them saying about Stevie and Angie that had led her to voice this sentiment?

Her stomach tensed. The idea of her friends talking about what was good for her—or not good for her—might have been heartwarming, but instead it made her tick with a slow anger she successfully kept from her voice when she said, “Thank you, Ivy. I appreciate that.”

Ivy urged Freddie into a trot. Stevie nearly slid off Olive in relief. “And I won’t embarrass you any more today, I promise. I need you to help me plan—”

“—a weekend worthy of a proposal,” Stevie finished, bowing in the saddle with an exaggerated flourish. “And I have some ideas.”

Right now, though, none of those ideas were about wedding proposals, and more than a few involved interrogating Morgan Donovan with medieval torture techniques.

If she confronted her, however, she’d run the risk of revealing the changes taking place in her relationship with Angie, and she wasn’t ready to hear Morgan’s opinions. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Morgan loved them both, but her protectiveness wasn’t what Stevie needed.

Jaq arrived early the next morning, surprising Stevie by waiting in the barn.

“Hey,” said Stevie, “you’re just in time to help me feed.”

“Ivy said I should come earlier to help you out.”