10. Ivy

10

IVY

If there was one thing in my life that had never been called into question, it was my sense of self. I’d always been confident in who I was and what I could do.

Feeling any sort of uneasiness whenever a situation arose, no matter how unexpected it might have been, was rare for me. In fact, I was the kind of woman who faced situations head on, believing it better to tackle issues, resolve conflicts, and address concerns before they became bigger problems.

For that reason, everything I’d been feeling for the past two days was strange, foreign. I didn’t know how to deal with this new sense of apprehension.

Or perhaps it was anticipation—I didn’t know.

It all started after Marco left my place on Thursday evening. Barring the slightly awkward goodbye we’d endured at the front door, I hadn’t really noticed that anything felt off. I’d merely gone about my regular evening routine, getting myself ready for bed, in preparation for work the next day.

But then I crawled into bed at the usual time and found myself unable to drift off to sleep. My mind replayed my interaction with Marco over and over. And when it seemed I was tired of recalling every single word we’d spoken to one another, my thoughts drifted to what might happen when he returned two days later to have dinner with me.

I’d succeeded in eventually falling asleep and getting a decent night’s rest, but when I woke up the next morning, Marco was in my thoughts again. We saw each other while at work, but I’d been tied up with a guest both times he’d walked through the hotel.

The feeling that came over me when I saw him, when he smiled and waved at me, wasn’t something I’d ever experienced with him. For so long, he’d always just been Marco Kingston, my brother’s best friend and an honorary member of the family.

Now, I wasn’t quite so sure that was all.

Because today had been the absolute worst and best for me all at once.

There was the rational part of my brain that was looking at tonight’s dinner with Marco as the simple result of a challenge, something that happened to come up in a random conversation we’d had. There was nothing else behind this—just an attempt for each of us to prove the other wrong.

And from that side of it, this was harmless. It would be fun and friendly, and I wouldn’t need to spend my whole evening alone. Plus, even though he’d insisted it wasn’t necessary, it gave me just one more opportunity to do something nice for Marco after what he’d done for me the night I’d been assaulted.

But there was the other part of me that was struggling with all of this. The difficulty I was having was the result of the excitement I felt, the questions lingering in the back of my mind.

It was possible I was reading far too much into this, but I couldn’t help it. This was Marco. He’d known me for so many years, and never, not once in all those years, had he made any kind of move on me. Granted, I realized he hadn’t exactly done that yet, but there was this part of me that was wondering if there was something behind this for Marco.

Was it just a simple dinner with his best friend’s younger sister, or was he experiencing some of the same nerves and anticipation that I’d been feeling today?

For the last two hours, I’d been obsessively checking the time, counting down the minutes until Marco was going to be here.

I’d put extensive effort into choosing an outfit to wear tonight. I’d gone with a pair of jeans, a black camisole that left just a sliver of skin at my abdomen exposed, and a long-sleeved, open front, gray knit cardigan over it. Had we been going out somewhere, I would have finished the outfit off with my gray suede booties. I wanted it to appear casual enough for dinner at my house with him, but I refused to look like I didn’t care at all.

And then there was the food.

Despite this whole date coming to fruition because I’d challenged Marco when it came to eating my cooking, I’d gone out of my way to prepare a meal I thought he might enjoy. Because for some reason I couldn’t begin to comprehend, let alone explain, I desperately wanted him to like it.

I was so frazzled, so jittery, that I let out a little yelp when the knock came at my door precisely two minutes before six o’clock.

“Jesus, Ivy. Get it together,” I mumbled as I set the tongs down and made my way to the front door.

With each step I took in that direction, my heart pounded. I made it to the door, cleared my throat while brushing my palms down my thighs, and let out a breath.

A moment later, Marco was standing in front of me. I had to believe it was because of what he was here to do, to have this so-called date with me, but seeing him now, I couldn’t miss how devastatingly handsome he was. I’d always known he was a good-looking guy, but there was something about him in this moment that had my breath catching.

“You made it.”

His eyes swept down over me, an unmistakable appreciation in them. When he returned his stare to my face, he smiled and said, “I wasn’t going to miss this for anything.”

I’d always been a bit daring, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to explain his response to me. The way his gaze had drifted over my body told me one story, the amusement in his tone told me another. Was this just about having some fun for him, or was it possible there was something deeper here?

And perhaps the better question remained—which of those would I have preferred it to be?

I smiled at him and stepped back to allow him to come inside. “I’m glad you’re here. You have perfect timing.”

The second I closed the door behind him and led him away from it, Marco didn’t hesitate to compliment me. “It smells incredible in here. If I was rating the food on the scent alone, it’d already get a ten out of ten.”

If only it were that easy.

I couldn’t say I didn’t have the ability to appreciate a good fragrance. While Marco was busy taking in the aroma of the food, I was acutely aware of the new scent in my space.

Him.

Had he always smelled this good? It was rich and masculine, woody, with a hint of citrus. I wasn’t quite sure the food I’d made could compare to him.

“Well, we’ll have to wait and see how you feel about the taste,” I said, snapping myself out of the lust-filled fog.

“Do you need me to do anything? How can I help?” he asked once we had made it to the kitchen.

“If you want to grab some drinks, I’ll get the food squared away.”

For the next minute or two, Marco and I each handled our tasks. I couldn’t speak for him, but I was aware of every movement being made in the kitchen. Luckily, I didn’t do anything to make a fool of myself—like spill food down the front of my clothes—and the next thing I knew, we were sitting down at the table to eat. The trembling I felt in my belly hadn’t subsided, and it had not a single thing to do with being hungry. In fact, I wasn’t quite sure I’d be able to eat until Marco tasted the food and confirmed that he liked it.

It blew my mind how I’d been so confident two days ago that he wouldn’t like my food to suddenly feeling worried that might actually be the case. Why did it matter?

Marco glanced down at the chicken, orzo pasta, and asparagus on his plate. “You get another ten out of ten on presentation. Between the way it smells and how it looks, my mouth is watering.”

I bit the corner of my lip. “Taste it.”

He picked up his knife and fork, cut through a piece of the chicken, and took a bite. I watched, unable to focus on things I might have in another situation—like the light shining in his eyes when the flavors hit his tongue, the way his lips stirred as he chewed, or how his throat moved when he swallowed—if I hadn’t been so stressed about what his reaction would be.

God, if he said he didn’t like it, I was confident I would die.

Marco’s expression turned confused, and he cut off another piece of chicken to eat. Following that bite, he asked, “Okay. What is this?”

“What?”

He pointed to the plate with his fork and knife. “What is this dish called?”

Stupidly, I blurted my answer without thinking twice about it. “Marry Me Chicken.”

Marco’s brows shot up. “Pardon?”

Heat flooded me, my embarrassment no doubt obvious as the flush crept over my skin. My ears were impossibly hot, and if I wasn’t already in my own home, I might have tried to flee. With my back rounding, my chest caving in slightly from the humiliation I felt, I murmured, “It’s called Marry Me Chicken.”

Marco set his fork and knife down, rested his forearms on the table, and leaned forward, clearly interested in hearing more. What he didn’t do was speak or ask for additional details.

I raked my fingers through my hair, cleared my throat again, and swiftly explained, “It’s a silly name that was given to the dish. Obviously, they could have called it creamy sun-dried tomato chicken, but that wasn’t the case. It got the name it did because apparently the idea is that the person the chicken is made for will love it so much, they’ll ask the preparer to marry them.”

More amusement leaked into his features. He squinted, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Hmm. So, if what you indicated two nights ago about my willingness to eat and enjoy a meal you made is true, you aren’t expecting a proposal. But if I actually like this, if I’m honest and admit that this is probably one of the best things I’ve ever tasted, would you want me to get down on one knee?”

In a perfect world, if all my dreams could come true, there wasn’t anything I think I wanted more than to fall in love, get married, and eventually start a family.

But I didn’t expect to garner a proposal because I made some chicken. And I certainly didn’t anticipate it ever being Marco who whipped out a ring for me.

Though my heart was racing after he’d said what he said while he had that gleam in his eye, I realized I couldn’t let it affect me. Marco was teasing; he was just being his usual self—laidback, friendly.

I had to tease right back, to be the strong woman I’d always been.

With my mind made up, I pressed my lips together in a knowing smile. When he raised a curious brow, I spoke. “Well, I’m not completely unreasonable, Marco. I wouldn’t expect you to present me with a ring by tomorrow or anything like that. But I’d say it should happen within at least six months, don’t you?”

It was a good thing I was paying attention, because if I hadn’t been, I might have missed the way his body went taut slightly just before he rolled his shoulders back, like he was trying to alleviate some frustration or tension. It happened so fast, I wondered if I’d imagined it.

But when too much time passed without a response from him, I thought it was best to ease his worries. I reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Relax. I was just joking with you, the same as you were with me. Honestly, I wasn’t even thinking of the name of the chicken when I made it. This dish is one of my favorites, which is why I made it for you.”

Then I pulled my hand away and lifted my utensils. Any of the stiffness that had been lingering in his features and frame instantly vanished, and Marco picked up his fork again. “One thing I can promise you, I wasn’t joking about how good this is. Honestly, it’s probably the best chicken dish I’ve ever had.”

“Do you really like it? It’s my favorite.”

He raised his fork, filled with another bite of the meat, to his mouth. And just before he popped it into his mouth, he confirmed, “It’s delicious. And I won.”

“Won? Won what?”

“You said I wouldn’t like your food. Clearly, you were wrong.”

I huffed. “Well, don’t ask me to bake some cookies for you any time soon. If I don’t burn them, it’ll only be because I missed some crucial ingredient that results in them tasting awful.”

“Ah, that’s okay. Have you seen me?”

Confusion washed over me. “Uh, yeah?”

“I’m a big guy, Ivy. I do a lot of physical labor each day. So, while the occasional sweet treat is nice, I need sustenance. The way I see it, you’ve got the most important part figured out.”

There was something about hearing that praise from him that made me relax. I suddenly didn’t feel so wound up or worried, and there was a lightness in my limbs again. “Thanks.”

Marco and I focused the next few minutes on enjoying our meals, him asking me more about what exactly I’d put in the sauce for the chicken and me asking him about the progress he’d made on the villas yesterday when I hadn’t been able to talk to him at work.

When we’d finished, he sat back in his chair with a satisfied look on his face. “This was really good, Ivy. Thanks for inviting me over.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

He hesitated for half a beat before he said, “Alright, so I have a question I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while now.”

“A while? Like, since you got here?”

He shook his head. “No. Since you were… since the day I stayed with you in the hotel.”

I sat up a little straighter, wondering if Marco was about to bring up my attack. I’d been doing such a great job the last couple of days not thinking about it. Of course, that had mostly been because I’d been thinking about him, instead. “Sure. What did you want to ask me?”

The corners of his mouth tipped up. “What is it that you like about woodcarving?”

Evidently, I’d assumed incorrectly. “Woodcarving?”

Nodding, he clarified, “Yeah. I don’t want this to sound judgmental, but you don’t strike me as the type of woman who’s interested in woodcarving. When you said you were going to a class that night, it caught me by surprise. I was simply wondering what part of it you enjoy so much.”

“Oh. I don’t have an answer for that, I guess.”

“You don’t?”

I moved my head from side to side, wondering what he was missing. “No. Because I never made it to the class.”

Understanding dawned. “Wait, was that your first time going?”

“Yes.”

“So, when’s the next one? Are you able to just walk in, or do you have to sign up?”

“I signed up for that, but I think they might allow walk-ins. I’m not sure.”

He stared at me, an expectant look on his face. “Okay. When is the next one?”

I shrugged, sitting back in my seat to seem casual. The truth was, this conversation was heading somewhere I wasn’t sure I was prepared for it to go. “I don’t know when the next class is.”

“Why not?”

Shaking my head, realizing it was going to be unavoidable, I stammered, “I… I… Going back there is?—”

“I’ll go with you,” he offered.

I jerked my chin back. “What?”

He waved a hand casually in my direction. “I can imagine going back in that area is going to feel unsettling. I’d be happy to take you, so you can try out the class. In fact, I think I’d enjoy something like a woodcarving class.”

My heart squeezed, my throat growing painfully tight. I didn’t care about woodcarving. Marco hadn’t been wrong—I didn’t have any interest in it.

But what I loved was that, without needing me to say it, Marco understood why I would hesitate to go there now and offered to accompany me. He didn’t sit here dwelling on why I felt uncomfortable with it; instead, he merely made it clear he understood. “You’d… you’d take me to the class?”

He shot me a look of disbelief. “Of course, I would. You tell me the time of the next class, and I’ll pick you up.”

Tears filled my eyes. “That’s really sweet of you to offer.”

Marco leaned forward, reached his hand under the table, and rested it just above my knee. It took superhuman effort not to react, not to press my thighs together. Especially when he was looking at me with such care and concern in his gaze. “I told you that I’d do whatever I could to help you through what happened, Ivy. I didn’t say that in hopes you’d never ask for help. I’m here, so if there’s anything you need, all you’ve got to do is ask. And I don’t care what it is. Whatever is going to best help you move on, if there’s any way that I can assist you or join you, I’m happy to do it.”

Did he know how much that meant to me?

Sure, Ava had offered as much, and I knew she truly wanted the best for me, but something about the way Marco did the same was what I needed. He didn’t tell me how I was acting strange or weird by doing what I was doing. He was being helpful, content to do it at my pace in whatever way felt best for me.

I smiled at him appreciatively. “I’ll look at the class schedule and let you know.”

He squeezed my leg, released it, and let go. “Good.”

None of what had happened tonight had been expected, but I was so grateful to know that my worries about how everything would work out were unnecessary.

Marco, whether he intended to or not, was becoming a big part of my healing process. I could only hope he’d stick around like this long after I felt like myself again.