Alder

I vy’s coming over. To my house. I’ve never had a woman over to my place. Seeing as I’m a thirty-six-year-old man, that may be shocking for someone to hear, but I’ve never had someone I’ve ever been seriously interested in. Or let myself be seriously interested in. As soon as she agreed to dinner, I ran to the store in town to make sure I had all the ingredients for orange chicken. I have made it, but it’s been a while, so I’ve called in reinforcements.

“Okay the rice is simmering, what next?” I say into my empty kitchen.

“Put all your spices in the pot with your orange juice, soy sauce, and vinegar,” Knox tells me. I have him on video call, and the phone is propped against a bowl I turned upside down.

“Okay, then what?”

“Mix the cornstarch and water until it’s a smooth paste.”

“Got it.”

“You’ll add that to the sauce, whisk it until it’s thicker, and then take it off the heat.”

“Perfect. I can do that. What about the chicken?”

“You’re going to dip the little pieces into the egg and then the flour mixture. Once they’re coated, fry them in the oil for two or three minutes.”

“Okay, I think I’ve got it now. Thanks, big brother,” I say, and I mean it. He’s a busy guy, and his taking the time to help me cook is appreciated.

“So this is something then,” Knox surmises.

I sigh. “I don’t know. I want it to be,” I admit.

“Huh. Well. Hazey likes her.” At this, I smile.

“High praise.”

“The highest,” he corrects.

“The highest,” I agree. “Well, I better get this all cooked and cleaned up if I expect to impress her,” I say.

“I saw the way she looked at you at Christmas. I don’t think it will take much, little brother.”

“You’re getting soft in your old age, Knox.”

“Bye, idiot,” he says, to prove he isn’t before hanging up, and I chuckle as I take the chicken out of the frying pan and onto a plate to drain. I taste the orange sauce, and honestly, it’s really good. I crushed this. I have just enough time to do a quick clean-up of the countertops and the few scattered bowls. Ivy should be here soon, and I think I’m nervous. I need to tell her about my part in the resort tonight. I just hope she doesn’t cut me off because of it. It’s this train of thought that’s interrupted by headlights flashing into the living room. I wait for her to knock before leaving the island, not wanting her to think I’m as eager as I actually am.

At her knock, I cross the room and open the door. Thoughts of trying to come off as casual forgotten .

“Hi,” she rasps.

“Hi,” I say, staring at her appearance. She’s changed her clothes. Her earlier preppy jeans and button-down have been exchanged for a matching sweatshirt and sweatpants. Light green. Her shoes are the same little boots from the other night, and she has her sweats tucked into a pair of thick socks. She looks adorable. She looks cozy and warm and like I want to wrap my arms around her and pull her into me.

“It smells really good in there,” she comments, and I realize I’ve just been standing in the open doorway staring at her.

“Come in,” I say, and she walks by me into my home, and if I thought she looked like mine before—seeing her in my home, my space. Now, I don’t want her to ever leave.

“So this is your place, action hero?” she asks with an arched brow.

I incline my head and give her a nod. “It is.”

She looks around my cabin, taking in the space and art and pictures I have up on the wall. “It’s very…you,” she surmises, and I snort.

“I have no idea if that's a good thing.”

“I like to keep you guessing. Ya know, keep the mystery alive.” She winks, and the action sends warmth spreading from my chest out toward my limbs. It makes my hands tingly, adding to the already painful need to touch her.

I clear my throat. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” she tells me, taking off her coat and throwing it over the back of my couch like she’s done it a hundred times before. I like looking at her things mixed with mine. “And before you tell me that I should be making sure I’m eating enough or watching my sugar levels.” She looks at me pointedly. “I checked my levels before I came over, and they’re good. I’m just hungry,” she finishes, still looking at me, and my lips twitch at the sassy expression she wears.

“Thanks for the report, Ivy.” I smile at her. “Do you want to eat at the island or the table?”

She looks thoughtfully at both the wooden barstools and the small dining table I have. “Let’s go with the island.” She decides, and I nod and hold a hand out.

“Alright. You can have a seat, and I’ll get out some plates.”

“Yes, Chef,” she replies in a breathy voice, and it doesn’t matter that I’ve never wanted to cook professionally. New kink acquired.

“Do you want anything to drink? I have beer or wine or…water. Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” Maybe I should have spent a little longer at the store this afternoon.

“Water is fine. I’ve been trying to drink more, and today I’ve had more coffee than I should have,” she admits, and I grin while I grab two glasses from the cabinet by the sink and then the pitcher of water from the fridge.

“I think I'll join you in that endeavor,” I tell her.

After getting our drinks, I plate the food before sitting down next to her at the island. I don’t mean to stare at her, but I watch as she takes the first bite of her meal. The one I’ve cooked for her. I realize in this moment that I've never cooked for anyone but my family. That’s not surprising when I really think about it. I haven’t wanted anything long-term, and I don’t bring women here. I guess it’s just that Ivy has me thinking about it. She has me thinking about a lot of things lately.

“Oh my gah…” Ivy moans while chewing. “That’s really good,” she says.

“Thank you.” Thank you, Knox. I owe you .

We eat in companionable silence for a while, Ivy enjoying her food and me enjoying watching her enjoy it.

“So, how often are you actually in a helicopter?” she asks me while I scrape our plates and rinse them.

“Hmm…it really depends. For my job? This year, I’ve been involved in fourteen aerial rescues.”

“Are they all in the mountains?”

“No, most of them are, but some of them are water rescues in the rivers and lakes,” I say, placing our plates in the dishwasher and turning to lean back against the kitchen counter. Her eyes move over my forearms, where I’ve rolled up my flannel, before they flick up to meet mine. I don’t mind being objectified. Not by Ivy. I smile, letting her know that I know she’s checking me out before speaking again. “A lot of searches are on foot. Mostly hikers who have gotten lost. Fortunately, I’ve never been on a call where I lost anyone, but there have definitely been some injuries,” I tell her.

Her eyes spark at that. “You know, I just saw a documentary pop up that’s all about hikers getting lost in national parks.”

“I think I saw that, too, but it looked more like a serial killer angle than people just getting lost.”

“Yes. That’s the one,” she confirms. “I think it’s called…” she trails off, thinking.

“Mary Is Missing,” I supply.

“Yes! That’s the one!” she shouts excitedly. Her excitement catches me a little off guard, and a small laugh escapes me. I round the island and walk into my living room, grabbing the remote for the TV off the side table. A quick search has me pulling up the documentary.

“What are you doing?” she asks .

“What does it look like?”

“Well, it looks like you’re turning on Mary Is Missing.”

“Looks can be deceiving, but in this case, they are not. That is what I’m doing. You said you wanted to watch it, and I aim to please, princess,” I tell her, sinking back into my plush couch. I hear her slide off the stool and softly pad toward me. She’s close when she speaks again.

“You’re just going to turn it on?”

“Mmhmm,” I hum. “And you’re going to watch it with me,” I tell her.

“Just like that?”

“Yes, Ivy. Come sit down by me and watch this probably very disturbing docuseries about people going missing in national parks and the connection it could have to a serial killer,” I command, then add, “Please.” I don’t give her a chance to turn me down before clicking the button on the remote. It starts to play, and I catch her looking up at the screen. Sighing, she walks around the couch and sits down on the far end like she’s afraid I’m going to maul her. That’s…a good call on her part.

After the second episode of the six-part docuseries, Ivy is now close enough for me to feel her body heat. We made popcorn after the first episode and because I didn’t have any of the candy she likes, I got a crash course in sour candy to always have on hand.

“Sour belts. Lemon drops. Sour Patch Kids,” she recites. I nod and grab a pen and paper to make a list. I look up to see her grinning at me.

“What?” I ask, grinning back at her.

“You. Making another list,” she answers and then shocks me by yelling, “Hey!” And pointing at my hand. Oh, that .

“Is that my pen?”

“I don’t know. It might be,” I say with a shrug.

“ Holloway.” She says my name like it’s an admonishment, but I don’t care how she says it as long as it’s my name she’s saying. I look her in the eyes. She’s so carefree right now. Openly teasing me and comfortable. “Do you have a crush on me?” she whispers, flirting with me. I should attempt to play it cool. Maybe I would if it were anyone but her. It is Ivy, though, so I’m blurting out the truth without much thought.

“I do,” I admit. “A big one. Huge even,” I continue. “I’ve thought about you and our night together more times than I haven’t in the last month.” My confession throws her. I can tell by the widening of her eyes and the fact that her easy smile that I’ve fallen for tonight has disappeared. She opens her mouth, then shuts it, and I try to add some levity back into our evening. “Whoa, did I render Ivy Rutherford, Queen of Sass, speechless? Color me surprised.” That earns me an eye roll.

“I’m not speechless, Search and Rescue. The problem is I have too many things to say. Most of which you already know, but maybe I should tell you again. I’m not here for very long. I’ll be gone, and you’ll forget all about your crush on me. There is no shortage of prospects who would kill for a chance with you. So please, don’t waste your time on me.”

“Any time spent on you could never be a waste, Stormcloud. I’ll take what I can get. If it’s making you orange chicken and watching a docuseries, then I’m game. If it’s showing you how you deserve to be worshiped and devoured in my bed, then I’m more than willing to do that as well,” I tell her, and I see her eyes shift from jade to a sparkling emerald at my words. She can deny it all she wants. She likes me and she likes being here. With me .

“Let’s just stick to dinner and TV tonight, hotshot,” she says quietly; her voice wavering slightly.

“I can do that,” I say, smiling.

Two hours later, we’re sprawled out on my couch. Ivy’s head is on the side opposite mine, her legs tucked up with her shins brushing against the outside of my thigh. We’ve been talking throughout our show; she finds what I do during a search and rescue interesting, and I find everything she says and does interesting. She told me about her time in SoCal, which ended up being most of her life. Her childhood isn’t painted in a very flattering light. Her mother left when she was a baby, and her father, my business partner, sounds like an absolute ass.

She hasn’t experienced enough kindness in her life. Least of all at the hands of the men in her life.

“Ivy,” I start. “I need to tell you something.” I drop my head against the back of the couch and close my eyes. “I should have told you this a while ago, but it just never felt like the right time to bring it up without it sounding like I was trying to make it sound like a jab at you.” I pause, and she remains quiet. I can’t look at her. I need to get this out before it eats me alive. “I don’t just teach snowboarding at The Edgemont—I kind of own it...er a part of it. I’m a partner in the business. With your father, it would seem.” I get it out in a rush and then just sit quietly. Waiting for the storm that I’m sure is brewing inside her at my admission. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I promise I wasn’t hiding—” My rant is cut off by a small snore. I turn my head and find Ivy asleep.

Soft nasal noises come from her. Well, shit. I guess I’ll have to find another way to tell her. I grip the blanket that’s resting at her waist and pull it up over her shoulder. I sit on the couch with her a while longer. Unwilling to let the night come to an end. When the TV asks if I want to continue watching, I decide I should head to bed. I turn the TV off and allow myself one more moment to just look at her in the moonlight. I’ve never felt this deep tug inside me before.

If I followed it, it would always lead me to her.