1. CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Ivy

I hope the person who argued with the flight attendant, caused a two-hour flight delay, and ended up on the no-fly list steps on Legos for the rest of forever. Naturally, the delay meant getting into the city during rush hour traffic—cue the two and a half hours sitting in the car that would've been avoided. I actually opted to walk the last few blocks because I'd rather trek with all my luggage instead of wasting another second in traffic.

After traipsing through fresh snow, the wheels to my suitcase covered in ice and salt, I finally make it to my apartment. I find the key and put it in the lock, like I've done a thousand times before. Pushing inside, I find the light switch, and am greeted with the familiar smell of lavender and the feel of home. It's almost just the way I left it, minus some of my most favorite things, which I packed up and moved to The Emerald Canopy Lodge. The things I couldn't be without are with Holland in Washington, and I'm here, in New York.

It's funny how things work out, huh?

"Earth to Ivy. Quit looking so wistful like your husband just went away to war," Vivian, my best friend and obsessive video-caller, interrupts my thoughts. "It's only for a few weeks. You'll be back out in the middle of nowhere with your grumpy lodge owner and howling French bulldog in no time," she jokes and rolls her eyes .

"Cut me some slack. Today was draining and it's a little weird being back here."

"At least you're in your old apartment and not posted up at a hotel. That would get old quick." I watch as she looks down at her freshly manicured nails.

"Yeah, I actually can't believe Stella really took over my rent."

Last year there was quite the scandal at Sparks Wellness, when one of my ex's, who was also a colleague, was found guilty of embezzlement, misappropriation of funds, and indecent exposure. Jack Wright is a complete slime ball—plus a horrific ex-boyfriend—and I'm thankful I'll never have to speak to him again. It's the least he could do after derailing a personal vacation with a work trip, putting me into a questionable situation with one of his dickbag friends, and cheating on me throughout our relationship.

After the dust settled from the trial, I told Stella, my boss, I wanted to move out west and work remote; she couldn't say yes fast enough. She even offered to take on my rent as a company expense, so I could stay in a familiar place a few times out of the year when I'd work in the office. I've made the trip three times but this is the first extended one: almost three weeks.

"Can you take yourself out of hyper planning mode and do coffee and yoga tomorrow morning?" Viv asks.

The only person who can get away with making fun of my severe attention to detail and preparedness is Vivian—the sister I never had. Literally. I'm an only child and in my adult life, my parents have caught the travel gene. I think they're somewhere near the Greek islands this week.

"As long as we stop at that new bakery," I sigh, acting like this would be difficult. Viv, a talented baker herself, is always my go-to when it comes to trying new food, especially anything including butter and sugar. She's one of the best parts of being back in New York.

"Already planning on it."

"Even if it's snowing! I need the vibes," I press. I know that Vivian hates the cold. She'd rather take a cab than walk any number of blocks in the winter.

"Fine. Even if it's snowing!" She blows me a kiss, after a very enthusiastic eyeroll and ends the video call.

I bring my roller bag to what used to be my bedroom and pause. The furniture is the same but that's about it. I made out like a bandit when Sparks bought out my lease; they also paid me for all of the furniture and décor I didn't want to bring with me to Washington.

My phone vibrates, bringing me back to the moment.

Holland-not-Tom

Slate is staring out the window

think he's waiting for you

Because the words aren't enough, a picture comes through. Slate, a gray French bulldog, is propped up on the loveseat, gazing out the window. I'm surprised he isn't howling—his favorite pastime when he doesn't get his way.

My eyes water as I look at the picture. It's weird to think how it wasn't too long ago when I didn't even know Slate existed; now he's cemented his fury self into my heart and soul. Jack was a whole lot of terrible, but if I hadn't worked at Sparks, dated that loser, and caught him having sex late at work, I wouldn't have made the solo-trip to The Emerald Canopy Lodge, where my entire world changed.

Me

Omg. My heart hurts

Holland-not-Tom

we miss you already

i'll be back for a visit before the event

I know. Still miss you though

how does it feel to be back home

This isn't my home

3

but it's alright. Much more comfortable than a hotel

let's face chat tomorrow

I smile at Holland using an emoji—also the term "face chat." The man is technology challenged, by choice, so the fact that his cell phone is even charged is a win. How things have changed, for both of us, since that fated day with my missing boxes for a client event at The Emerald Canopy Lodge.

There's nothing quite like not being able to find a bunch of boxes, with thousands of dollars of client items, and just as you're giving yourself the verbal beatdown of the ages, a handsome—but grumpy—lodge owner walks in with them. I'll never forget the first time Holland spoke to me with his casual, but so hot, "I'm guessing these belong to you?" His voice both rugged and velvety—a sound that's burned into my memory.

I owe my new life to those missing boxes. Now, there have been people who have flat out tried to make me feel bad about my choice insinuating I gave in and uprooted my city life for what a man wanted. People love to push their own insecurities onto others. It's not a secret I love the city—I always have—but being loved by someone like Holland gave me clarity on my love for the city. Maybe I needed the buzz, the constant feeling of something about to happen, because I didn't have someone I wanted to be still with.

Cheesy or not, it's the truth.

Holland and I text for a little while as I get settled. I unpack every single item from my suitcases and get myself comfortable. One of the many things therapy has taught me, and my uniquely wired brain, is that I feel best when I'm prepared, no matter the situation.

Therapy also reinforces how no one, not even me, can prepare for everything, but I'm still learning.

After unpacking groceries and stocking the fridge, I pull out the things I'm most excited for: a massive pad of sticky notes—I know just the place for it—and new markers. I open a closet door, greeted with a familiar creaking sound, and find the easel I hoped was still there. After wheeling it back to the kitchen, I pop the sticky notes on.

Is there anything better than a blank piece of paper?

My hands rest on my hips, touching the high-waisted leggings I can't get enough of—buttery smooth is an understatement. I shift my weight, back and forth, before taking the first piece of paper and sticking it to the wall. My fingers run along the edge, making sure it's secure and straight.

Typically, I wouldn't want work staring at me in the kitchen, but this is different.

I can't help but think back to the day when this whole project came to be.

A window pops up on my laptop: incoming Zoom call from Stella.

What? Why? There's nothing on my calendar. Oh god, am I getting fired? No, that doesn't make sense. But why else would my boss randomly ask for a Zoom meeting, at 4:30 PM on a Thursday?

My hand trembles on the track pad. I take a deep breath and click join, praying someone from HR isn't also in the waiting room.

"Ivy! I know you're probably spiraling but this is a good call. I promise."

I sigh out a breath that's audible to Stella on the other end, her hand on her chest, eyes compassionate and wide.

"You can't do that to me!" I say, my heart rattling in my chest.

"I thought I had this scheduled. That's my bad. I promise, you're not getting fired or anything like that." Her voice is level and clear, which is something I love about her. She takes my anxiety seriously and tries to support healthy boundaries.

"I've secured the funding from the board for a special event. I'm envisioning a red carpet, black tie situation."

"Ooooh, you know I love a red carpet." I shimmy my shoulders.

"We're thinking invite only, key clients plus celebrities and athletes, all in the hopes of raising some money. And brand awareness for Sparks."

This is the first I've ever heard of Sparks even considering something like this. My stomach flips in a good way—this sounds like fun.

"Which charity?" I ask, leaning my elbows on my desk and resting my chin on my hands.

"A 50-50 split. Ours and Yours is a non-profit focused on bringing mental health resources to high school and college students. Chin Up is for anyone impacted by sexual assault or domestic violence. They help people leave bad situations, as well as providing things such as self-defense classes," Stella explains.

Tears fill my eyes as Stella becomes blurry on the screen. She pauses, giving me the moment she knows I need. These charities are not random. Both topics are sewn into my being; they're both important in a way that I can't put into words.

Stella takes a deep breath and clasps her hands at her chest. "I'd like to formally offer you the lead position for the event. I know you'll have the heart, and the vision, to see this through in a way that these two organizations deserve." Her voice cracks a bit at the end.

I wipe a tear using the back of my hand. "Absolutely. I'd be honored."

"What kind of tears are these?" she asks.

Ha! Since I tend to cry more often than not, Stella has started asking me to categorize them. At first, it made me a little uncomfortable to answer but it's helpful to label them. And, if there's no words to describe, I say, "they're just tears."

"These are happy and grateful tears," I smile at the woman I'm proud to call my boss. There are so many people who hate their jobs and colleagues and I know I'm in the minority.

"This will require travel closer to the event and maybe a few weeks in New York, consecutively. Now that I have you on board, let's connect next week on details."

Here I am, in the homestretch of a project that's completely mine. We're so close, 24 days to be exact, and the excitement washes over me like the feel of a warm room when coming in from a cold winter day. The wave of anxiety quickly follows because I have to get this right.

If anyone can do this, I can.

Probably.

Hopefully.