9. CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE

Holland

I didn't expect Ivy to like the rainy season, but she loves to surprise me. November in the Pacific Northwest means you can almost always bet on rain and my girl doesn't bat an eye, as long as she's prepared.

"Come on, Slate. Let me zip you up," she says while corralling the most spoiled dog in the universe into his raincoat. Slate loves it because it means he gets to go outside on a day he'd typically only be allowed to stare out the window.

Ivy stands, clipping Slate's leash to the back of the coat, and the smile she wears stops me. My city girl, who didn't bring any shoes other than high heels on her first trip, is beaming over a rainy day. Or maybe it's seeing Slate in clothes?

Pulling out her phone, she opens her weather app for what I'm guessing is the ninth time since we woke up. Ivy may have acclimated to the outdoors a bit but her need to be prepared, planning for any and all scenarios, hasn't shifted. I wouldn't want her any other way.

"We should be good for a forty-minute walk before the rain picks up," she says while putting her phone back in her pocket. The hood from Ivy's black jacket is pulled up so she lifts her chin up a little more to catch my eyes—fucking gorgeous.

When she opens the door, Slate's leash in her hand, I can't help but laugh at her when Slate pulls and she almost slips in her blush pink boots .

Rain falls onto leaves littering the ground, the pitter patter scratches part of my brain just right. The three of us walk in slow, comfortable silence. If we go too fast, the serenity of the walk will be lost to Slate's panting and gremlin breathing.

I reach for her free hand and intermingle my gloved fingers with hers. Ivy looks over at me, her eyes like the early sign of spring, green and vibrant. Her cheeks, damp with the rain and pink with cold, bunch as she smiles at me.

My stomach drops and I have to catch my breath. I don't know if that "is this for real" feeling will ever stop. I hope it doesn't.

We reach our halfway mark, a look out point, which shows the mountains and trees for miles and miles. It's like you can see so far into the world. This is one of our favorite places to come and watch the sunset but today it's nothing but fluffy, gray clouds, heavy with rain.

"Come here, good boy," I call as I kneel to pick up Slate and hold him to me. I know it makes Ivy nervous to have him on the leash as we get closer to the edge.

Slate rests his head on my shoulder as I hold him to my chest. Ivy steps closer, wrapping her arm around my back and leaning her head on me. Even in the rain, I can make out her smell of lavender.

I close my eyes and breathe in, nice and slow. Rain hits the branches and the pine trees holding onto their needles. Even though it's a gloomy sort of day, I can still see the light behind the clouds, the sun trying its best. Slate's heartbeat is quick and I feel his breaths, in and out, as I hold him.

A soothing moment. Just like my sister, Hazel, taught me. I feel Ivy doing the same thing. I catalog this moment between the three of us and file it away in the place I keep many others like it.

"I love the rain," Ivy's voice is quiet .

"I know you do." I look at her before placing a soft kiss on her mouth. She tastes like coffee and sugar.

After cleaning Slate up and leaving him with a blanket straight from the dryer, Ivy and I head to the lodge.

We walk into the front doors and here a squeal before we're three steps in. Bea runs over, bells from her headband literally jingling, from the front desk and wraps Ivy in a hug, before putting a loud kiss on her wet cheek before shaking Ivy back and forth.

If you made Bea pick between myself, Ivy, and Slate, I'm a little afraid I might come in last. Wouldn't have it any other way though. It's nice seeing how Ivy fits in my life.

"It's so good to see you! You must be freezing. Let's get you some hot chocolate and lunch." She talks so quick there isn't time for Ivy to say anything. Bea puts a hand around Ivy's arm and starts walking towards the restaurant.

"Hey, Bea," I say with sarcasm and follow behind.

"Quit with that, Holland. I see you all the time," she lovingly snaps over her shoulder. Ivy laughs and it echoes in the lobby.

"Any fun stories about the city? How is Vivian? Is she dating anyone? We've been texting, did she tell you?" Ivy watches Bea with love in her eyes.

We slide into a booth, Ivy and Bea sitting next to each other, and me across. Without being asked, the bartender sees Ivy and immediately brings over a mug of fresh hot chocolate with a small dish with anything and everything you may want to add to your cup: marshmallows, sprinkles, peppermint sticks, butterscotch chips, a ramekin full of caramel, and another full of whipped cream.

Everyone knows Ivy is a sugar fiend. She's also the reason we put the hot chocolate on the restaurant menu, and added the mini bar for guests to add whatever they'd like. Ivy tested it out one day while I was running an event and she was working on some stuff for Sparks in the restaurant. Not only do guests love it, but it's one of the things they post most about reviews when they stay at the lodge, or at least that's what Ivy tells me. I stay off the internet as much as possible.

After we place our lunch orders, Bea says, "Tell me everything about the event."

Ivy's shoulders immediately slump, as she rolls her head side to side, stretching her neck. "It's been a mess." The light falls from her face. "No matter what, anything that can go wrong has. I feel like I may not be the person for this thing." Her voice dwindles almost to a whisper as the sentence trails. She seems to slump further into the booth.

This reminds me so much of our first night here—how she reacted when that drunk idiot Royce Jones came in, making her uncomfortable. My blood pumps thinking about how what he did later was much worse, forcing himself on Ivy, while I was in the other room.

It also reminds me how Bea has the knack for getting someone to talk about anything. She's been at the lodge, and damn near part of my family, for twenty-seven years—we just celebrated her anniversary last week.

Between hot chocolate refills, Ivy launches into the saga which is a long list of unfortunate events and mishaps—everything from rice sculptures, invitation delays, and people backing out of committed work. She does this thing where she rolls her eyes and makes an excuse for someone else, claiming responsibility, when it's nowhere near her fault .

My heart stings while I take in this version of Ivy. The one I haven't seen in a minute—shrinking, doubtful, and ridiculously hard on herself. My own shoulders slump as I think about the secret I'm keeping, how I need to tell Ivy. How I need her to help me make this decision.

She's got so much going on, I don't want to pile on more to my girl who is already struggling to stand. Maybe I wait until the event is over? We can talk about it when she's home, for good. That seems like the best course of action.

I hope.