Ivy

I t’s Saturday and just over a week until Christmas. I’m walking downtown Silverthorne, and it feels like I’ve been transported into a Hallmark movie. One of the many that starts with a failing bed and breakfast owned by the sweetest woman in town’s family and ends with the big shot CEO from New York swooping in to save it and her from a life without love. I may have seen that one actually. The twinkle lights over the street and the Christmas trees on every corner have a smile curling my lips without permission.

It smells like citrus and spices. A memory pulls at the corner of my brain, but I bat it away. It’s better I don’t let it linger. I look to the center of the town square and see the big tree. It has to be at least twenty-five-foot tall. It’s adorned simply but beautifully. Mix-matched red and gold ornaments are paired with velvet bows. I’m assuming it’s not lit yet because this is a tree-lighting ceremony. I’ve never been to a community event. Holiday parties and galas, yes. But there’s no trace of personal touches at those kinds of things .

It’s stuffy suits and gorgeous gowns. Too much champagne and entitled men. Unhappy wives and husbands who don’t care. I’ve been that unhappy wife, drinking too much champagne in a gorgeous gown. They’re not memories I like to relive. Noah had to be at one every weekend in December. Which meant, for five years, so did I. That’s roughly twenty-five evenings that I cried myself to sleep, hoping that in the morning, I would figure out a way to leave. I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the chilly early December night.

“Are you cold, princess?” Alder. His teasing gets under my skin. After our snowboarding lesson, I’ve warmed a little more toward him. If I’m being honest, I feel a little too warm when I’m around him. I turn to glare at him, but I come up short when I see a little girl in his arms. She’s laying her head against his shoulder, and her tiny fists are wrapped around a tiny to-go coffee cup. It’s one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen. She is adorable. Wait. He has a kid? No, he definitely would have mentioned that. I smile at the little girl.

“No. I’m fine,” I tell Alder then speak to the child in his arms. “Hi,” I say as gently as I can. For some unknown reason I want her to like me. She smiles, and I see a familiar dimple. So she is his.

“Hi,” she greets me with a little wave, almost dropping her tiny cup. Alder rights it easily. I melt.

“, this is Hazel. Hazey, this is . She works with me,” he introduces us.

“It’s nice to meet you, Hazel. What a lovely name,” I tell her, and the small grin grows. Alder snuggles her closer and kisses her head, making eye contact before speaking to her.

“Let’s get you back to your daddy before he has an aneurysm. Okay, Hazey baby? ”

“Okay, Muncle Aldie!” She lights up and slaps a tiny hand on each side of his scruffy face, tiny cup forgotten. Muncle Aldie? So he’s her uncle. And looks to be a good one. That’s…not something I want to find attractive. But I do. I really do. I look at his face. He’s chuckling when he leans in to rub his face into her neck and make growling noises. My throat goes tight.

Turning his head to me he asks, “You coming, Stormcloud?”

“Yeah.” My voice is thick with emotion I’m trying to hide. I clear my throat before continuing, “Lead the way.” I wave my arm. He gives me a funny look but walks down the sidewalk in the direction of Thistle and Sage, tickling Hazel's side every so often. I’m giggling right along with her by the time we make it to the entrance. I’m getting the feeling that it’s hard to resist Muncle Aldie.

As soon as we clear the door and hear the bell chime, a stern voice has my head turning.

“Alder, you said five minutes. It’s been twenty.” The man with the authoritative voice is sitting at a table with Rhett but stands when we come in. Oh my. Tall, dark, and handsome personified. What gene pool lottery did this family win?

“Hazey wanted to get a better look at the tree after we got her some delicious, citrusy wassail, and how am I supposed to keep being the favorite uncle if I don’t do everything she wants me to?” Alder asks, and I snort. Then smooth my face when everyone turns to look at me. I want the ground to swallow me whole. My face flames, and Alder’s sporting an absolutely winning grin. Damn it. I’m saved by a woman with a kind voice and graying hair coming over to take Hazel from Alder.

“Hi, baby girl. Let’s get you a treat to go with your drink,” she whispers conspiratorially. Then sends me a wink. “Hello, I’m Mary, Alder’s mom. It’s lovely to meet you,” she tells me.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you as well. I’m ,” I tell her, and I mean it. I’m happy to meet her.

“Mom, the last thing she needs is more sugar. Rhett let her eat half of his cinnamon roll earlier.” He cuts a look to his brother, and Rhett doesn’t look the least bit chastised.

“She wanted some. I’m not above fighting dirty,” he says, like it’s an obvious answer. I am enthralled by this very unique family dynamic. Well, new to me. Foreign, actually.

“Knox, I raised four children, and you’ve all grown up to be decent humans, didn’t you?” she asks pointedly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.

“Well then, I think a little treat on a special occasion will be alright. Don’t you?” she asks him again in a sweet voice that makes me straighten my back slightly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers again. I smile because I already really like Mary.

“And Alder? Rhett?” She eyes them both. “Check with your brother every now and then when spoiling your niece.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they say in unison. I am thoroughly enjoying this.

“I have some orange cranberry scones and cinnamon bread,” Winnie calls from the swinging door she’s backing through.

“Rhett…” Knox says with some warning in his voice. Weird. Then Rhett launches for Winnie just in time to catch one of the trays and steady her.

“Easy, darlin’. I got it.”

“Thank you,” she says sweetly, blushing. “I appreciate you heading off any potential clumsiness.”

I look at Alder and find him smiling at them. I don’t think this evening is going to be good for my plan to stay in control of the feelings bubbling up in me.

It’s been two hours, and I have sampled four chili recipes, all A+, five ciders, also all A+, and I’ve had too many baked goods to feel healthy. I’m settling in to watch the tree light up. I broke off from the Holloway crew half an hour ago. I needed a little space and alone time. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt when Winnie’s Uncle Buck told the story of Colt jumping off their shed roof with a sheet, thinking it would act as a parachute. I’ve laughed a lot tonight and smiled even more.

Now, when I’m alone again, I’m reminded of how devoid of love and humor my childhood was. I was alone in a house full of people. Nannies and house staff that cared for me, but not about me. No one will be telling stories of little . I scoff. How pathetic. Sad. I detest being sad. I think that’s why I’ve turned to things in the past that helped me not be so sad. Buying things, going on trips, sleeping with strangers. It’s shallow and vapid, but it worked—for a while.

After Noah, I felt like I had so much life to catch up on. It’s funny when people ask me about my loss. They assume it’s Noah that I grieve. They don’t know about the deeper wounds. I never truly loved my husband, and maybe that’s a horrible thing to say, but I am an honest bitch. I didn’t want to be Mrs. Noah James, though, ever. I did want to be a mom, and I did want stability for my child. The air is sucked from my lungs, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Blinding pain consumes me as I try to will myself to breathe.

“?” Oh god. Please no. Anyone but him. “Hey…it’s alright. I need you to breathe, princess.” His hands are on my shoulders, and he’s smiling softly, small lines etching his forehead are the only sign of worry. I hate that he’s being so nice to me. He takes my hand in his and places it over his broad chest. I can feel the steady thumping there. “Feel that?” he asks me quietly, turning his head to look down the street. “Now look over there,” he instructs, and I turn my head, still fighting with my burning lungs. The tree is slowly starting to brighten with each strand of lights coming to life. “Let’s count with them,” he suggests. “One. Two.” He looks back at me. “Come on, . I know you can do this. Three. Four.” He moves his hand from my shoulder up to my cheek, swiping at the wetness leaving tracks on my face.

“F-f-f-ive,” I croak, looking back at him. He grins. Wide enough to pop that dimple.

“That’s so good, .” His voice is like a balm that speaks directly to unhealed wounds. My breath catches on an inhale. My chest warms at his words. “Six,” he says, looking at me expectantly.

“Sev-seven,” I finish, and when I look to the side again, the tree is lit up, and it’s beautiful—and I’m breathing.

“How’d you…do that?” I ask Alder, my voice raspier than normal.

“Had a lot of practice,” he answers simply.

“You’re full of surprises, huh? A doting uncle, a helicopter pilot, snowboarding extraordinaire, and a therapist? What else? Do you headline at the local strip club?” I ask, and he tosses his head back with laughter that makes my bones rattle.

When his laughter settles, and my smile isn’t forced, he asks in a low voice, “If I did, would you be paying for a private room?” My hand is still on his warm chest, covered by his larger one. I’m unwilling to pull it away yet.

“No,” I answer thoughtfully, then can’t help but tease, “I don’t think I’d have to pay to see it.” My voice is soft and husky. I’m thinking of Alder losing items of clothing and moving hips that I know hold power. I’ve seen him use them on and off his snowboard. Okay, . Calm down.

“You’re making me sound easy, princess.” He sounds hurt.

“No, not easy—just willing,” I taunt. He smiles, blue eyes sparkling, brushing off the comment with ease. He’s so secure in himself. It makes me a little weak in the knees. He doesn’t mind when I bite. And now I’m picturing biting him. Get a hold of yourself, . I shake my head, and he sighs.

“Unfortunately, I have to shatter your fantasies of me dancing on a stage that you’re shaking your head to get rid of. I left those days behind me a long time ago.” Now it’s my turn to laugh. Surprised, belly laughter. It sputters out of me, and I bring a hand to my mouth. “You find something funny about that?” he asks me, mock offense front and center.

“Not at all,” I reply once I settle. I’m trying really hard not to think about this man in front of me shirtless. “So no moonlighting. Got it,” I confirm.

“Don’t get too disappointed. I do snowboard shirtless for charity every year, and I’ll make sure to put it on that calendar in your office.” He winks. That wink does things to me. So does thinking about his shirtless, muscular torso on a snowboard.

“Snowboarding shirtless…for charity?” I wonder out loud, st ill trying to shake the image of bare skin and pecs I never got the chance to lick. “That sounds like a crowd-pleaser. Maybe we could do an event like that at The Edgemont,” I muse. I do still need one more thing to bring in some revenue.

“You wanna snowboard shirtless with me, ?” he asks suggestively. I roll my eyes, but on the inside, I give myself whiplash with my quick nods.

“I’m thinking more of a black-tie affair. At the lodge,” I tell him. They were never my thing, but they do bring in a lot of money, and I’m thinking a portion of it will go to a good cause as well.

“That’s definitely not a no,” he quips back.

“I guess it's not.”

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, and I guess we’re going to talk about that.

“I am. I’m embarrassed you saw me like that,” I admit.

“I can think of five things off the top of my head that you’ve done since I’ve known you that are way more embarrassing. This? Doesn’t even make it on that list.” He says it so matter-of-factly that I can’t help but believe him. He means it, and that hits me somewhere in my chest. Not quite in the heart, but in the vicinity.

“Ah, another list enters the chat,” I tease. “Well, thank you. For helping me.”

“Anytime,” he states simply and nods. “Are you staying for the caroling?”

“Are you singing?” I ask back, and he smiles.

“I never plan on it, but Mary Holloway always finds a way to get us all singing by ‘Oh Holy Night.’” He tells me.

“As much as I don’t want to miss that. I’m feeling pretty tired after…everything. I think I’d better get home for the night,” I say.

“Are you okay to drive yourself?” His question should piss me off, but it doesn’t. I saw how he responded to me earlier. I see now the genuine concern on his face. He truly cares about my well-being. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that before.

“I’ll be fine. You snapped me back fairly quickly. I’ve recovered. Promise,” I tell him honestly. I’m used to brushing off my panic attacks. Telling the people around me that I’m fine when I’m not. They don't ask because they care. They just want to feel justified in having asked. Like the asking alone is what makes you a good person. Alder isn’t like that, and I’m not sure how to handle his natural kindness. His empathy.

“If you’re sure,” he says. It's a question but isn’t.

“I am. Thank you. And please tell your family that I had a wonderful time with them tonight. It’s been a while since I was surrounded by a big, happy family.” Or forever. “You’re very lucky to have them.”

“I am,” He agrees, no buts.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at work,” I murmur, backing up. We have that large group coming in and the private lesson at eleven,” I say, needing to get back on track. Back to my plan. Back to only seeing him as a colleague.

“I’ll be there.” He nods, and I turn to walk to my SUV. I get two steps, and he calls my name. When I turn, he’s got his hands in his coat pockets and a glint in his eye, but his face isn’t giving anything away.

“I’m just down the road,” he tells me, then swallows. “If you need anything.” My blood heats at his words. I need not to feel flustered. I need to be in control.

“That’s good to know, Alder. I don’t think I’ll be requiring any of your moonlighting services tonight, Lover Boy.” I pray that I sound nonchalant, and he smirks at me, at the nickname I’ve given him. He’s never afraid to go toe to toe. Something I'm finding is a kink of mine.

“Maybe tomorrow night then,” he shoots back at me after I’ve turned away from him. I laugh loud enough for him to hear me, but in my head, I hear myself reply, maybe .