11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Holland

I'm trying to be productive but the thought of keeping Ivy in the dark with potentially selling the lodge, and having her home, has me in knots. I can't find my flow and this morning has been nothing but frustrating.

"Did you and Bailey decide on a time for the Wildflower Fiction pop up?" Bea asks, standing in the doorway of my office.

"Where's this coming from? Who is asking?" I can feel the tension in my shoulders, muscles tight in my upper back.

Bea puts her hands up in surrender, taking a single step back, eyes wide and looking at the floor. "Just me but I don't think it's worth it." When she does make eye contact, the wave of guilt hits hard. This has nothing to do with Bea and everything to do with me. I'm on edge. "I don't need new stickers or a book that bad."

"Fuck, I'm sorry." I put my head in my hands, running my fingers through my thick, dark hair.

"For snapping at me or your general bad attitude?" She crosses her arms and I know she's ready to go toe to toe with me.

"Both?" I wish it wasn't a question.

"What is going on? I thought this dark cloud of whatever is happening would go away when Ivy was back home, but you're just as moody as ever." She walks into my office, closing the door behind her.

"It's this thing. This thing I've kept from Ivy and—"

"For the love of everything, do not tell me whatever it is. I don't want to know." Bea says, shaking her head, making sure I hear and see her "no."

"I won't tell you," I say because at this rate, she's about to run out of here backwards, straight into the front desk area. "I've been wanting to tell her for so long but every time I get close, there's something else. Then it was the event. She's been so stressed."

"If you think you can manage Ivy's stress, you're in worse shape than I thought. That woman is a force and she has shown you, time and time again, she can take care of herself."

"You're right."

"Of course, I'm right." She throws her hands up in the air before setting them on her hips. "Holland, secrets are usually never good. Especially ones that make you feel like this." She gestures to me.

I know she's right. This is self-inflicted and I'm hating myself for letting it get that bad. It's clear I need Ivy to help me make this decision. There's not a lot I know about the future, but I know the only thing I've pictured has Ivy by my side.

"Now, quit pretending like there's anything important here that needs your attention. There's not. You need to make this right with Ivy." She might be wearing a headband with pink flowers on it, but there's nothing light and playful about her right now.

"Don't sugar coat it, Bea."

"Not when it counts, Holland. Ivy is too important." She says it like it's a fact and known to everyone. That's the thing about Bea, she's tough but always finds a way to get rid of the murky feelings clouding my brain.

"Do you need anything before I go?" I start gathering my things, putting on my jacket, eager to get home.

"No, but make sure to keep an eye on the weather— "

"I saw the potential ice, shouldn't be too bad."

"Quit interrupting, especially when you don't know what you're talking about." Her voice is sharp like a razor blade. "Snowstorm is coming. They're predicting blizzard conditions. We're getting extra supplies and going through our storm plans, so we should be all set here."

Blizzard? Naturally. Can never have just one thing crashing and burning.

"Okay, call me if you need anything. I'm going to go home and get this figured out with Ivy." I'm already out the door, talking to her over my shoulder.

The rain outside hasn't let up and the temps continue to drop. I open the door to my truck and a wind gust—the kind that bites your cheeks—hits at the same time, feeling like it's going to make the door fly off.

Once inside, I'm happy to be buckled in, shielded from the elements, and making the short drive back home. How I'll bring this up to Ivy consumes my thoughts. I try to imagine how this will go, how she'll take it, what I'll say.

Before I can get lost in my thoughts, I see someone walking on the side of the road. This is common for most days, but I didn't expect to see anyone out here with the weather like this. Rain drops fall heavy and fast, my windshield wipers struggle to keep up.

I slow the truck and roll my window down. When I'm almost right next to the person, I see they're wearing pink rain boots. My mind finally connects the dots. This isn't a random lodge guest; it's Ivy. Immediately, I stop the truck, put it in park, and get out.

"Ivy, what the hell are you doing?" She's walking towards me, eyes focused on the ground in front of her. Her hood is down, I'm guessing the wind made it impossible for it to stay on. Her hair, usually a soft brown, looks jet black as it's soaking wet.

Her eyes snap to mine. "Me? What the hell are you doing?" She bites back.

I grab her by the shoulders, "What are you talking about?"

She steps back, giving herself room, and unzips her pocket. When she pulls out the folded paper, I know I'm in trouble. The offer papers. Fuck .

"You're selling the lodge? What is wrong with you?" she yells out of what I'm guessing is anger, and the wind makes it hard to hear.

"I might be selling the lodge. Nothing's been decided," I say, taking a step forward. Ivy holds the papers out so I grab them.

"Why should I believe you?" she shouts, stepping back. My heart hurts with the space she's putting between us. "This is an offer, an actual proposition to buy the lodge. You never said anything." Her voice goes from angry to sad and it's breaking me open. "You've had this for over a month."

A wind gust blows through and Ivy puts a hand up in front of her eyes, shielding them.

"I was going to. I swear—"

"When were you going to? When I had to pack my things? When you started a new job?" Her voice is sharp and cuts through the rain and wind.

"Fuck. It's not like that," I reply, but as I say the words, I hardly believe them myself. I know this looks bad, probably worse than what I imagined. The anxiety I felt earlier in my office is back, stronger than ever, flipping my stomach and invading every inch of me.

Ivy shakes her head, a sarcastic smile painting her lips.

"We need to talk about this but we need to get out of the road," I look around, thankful there's no one else around.

When Ivy crosses her arms, putting weight on one leg, and stares at me, I know I fucked up. I mean, I knew it before this, but seeing her like this shows me the severity. She's soaked, standing in the pouring rain—her lip trembles with tears or the cold. Maybe both.

Long seconds pass before she walks over to the passenger seat. When she gets in, she doesn't look at me.

Fuck.

We drive the short distance back home. As soon as I put the truck in park, Ivy's hand is on the handle, and she's already half out.

I take a deep breath and rest my head on the steering wheel, just for a second. I'm trying to figure out what to say first, when it's just her and I inside. No wind or rain to fight with.

As ready as I'll ever be, I open the truck door, fighting the wind, and what is now ice, all the way to the front door.

Once I'm inside, I see Ivy on the leather couch. Eyes on her hands, which sit in her lap.

It's not much better in here than it is outside.