Three Blissful Days, page 16
“It smells amazing in here,” Ivy said, closing the door behind her. She unwound a scarf from her neck, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She gazed at the candlelit table, then at Kendall. Her smile softened. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Kendall said, suddenly self-conscious.
Ivy stepped closer, her gaze lingering. “That sweater. The color looks great on you.” She reached out, lightly brushing Kendall’s sleeve. “It brings out the blond in your hair.” She slid her hand up and took a strand of hair between her fingers gently before quickly retreating. “Sorry. That sounded silly.”
“No. It wasn’t silly at all.” Warmth spread through Kendall’s chest. Ivy had complimented her, not something someone who wasn’t interested would do. “The pasta’s ready whenever you are,” Kendall said softly. “But there’s no rush. Just need to put the bread in the oven.”
“Let me wash up,” Ivy said, her gaze still holding Kendall’s. “And then maybe we can open that wine you bought?” She moved toward the bathroom, then paused in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re here, Kendall.”
As Ivy disappeared into the bathroom, Kendall finally released a long breath. Maybe, just maybe, those words were the sign she’d been looking for.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Ivy stood at the window of her cabin, watching raindrops race down the glass. Behind her, Kendall moved around the kitchen, humming as she prepared dinner for their continued relationship refinement. They’d been fake-dating for less than a week now—not necessarily long enough to convince Kendall’s ex that she’d moved on, but long enough to make her parents stop the blind-date setups.
It had all seemed so simple when they’d made the arrangement. They weren’t friends; they were barely acquaintances. Ivy had found Kendall attractive, and that’s why she’d approached her the day she arrived. At the time she’d stepped into that conversation with Kendall and Cassie, she hadn’t foreseen any complications. They both needed a convenient plus-one. But now that was all changing because of the real chemistry between her and Kendall.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Kendall said, appearing at her side with two glasses of wine. Her shoulder brushed against Ivy’s as she handed her one.
“Just thinking.” Ivy accepted the glass, careful not to let their fingers touch. She’d been doing that a lot lately, creating distance where before there had been an easy closeness. She had to protect her heart.
“About?”
“This.” She gestured vaguely between them. “All of this.”
Kendall leaned against the window frame, studying her. “Having second thoughts about our arrangement?”
“Not exactly.” She took a sip of wine, buying time. “It’s just getting complicated.”
“How so?”
Ivy turned back to the window, unable to meet Kendall’s eyes. “You know how when you repeat something enough times, it starts to feel real? Like when you practice a signature that isn’t yours?”
The kitchen timer beeped, and Kendall straightened. “Hold that thought.”
Ivy watched her walk away, noting how familiar her movements had become. The way she ran her hand through her hair when concentrating. The half-smile that appeared when something amused her. The gentle way she touched Ivy’s elbow in crowds to keep them connected.
None of it was real. Every touch, every glance, every whispered inside joke had all been carefully choreographed for their audience. But somewhere along the way, her heart had forgotten to maintain the distinction.
Kendall returned, leaning against the counter. “You were saying? About signatures?”
Ivy set down her wineglass with a decisive click. “I think I need to step back.”
“From…?”
“This. Us.” She gestured between them again. “The fake relationship.”
Kendall went still. “Did I do something wrong?” Her forehead wrinkled.
“No.” Ivy’s laugh sounded brittle even to her own ears. “You did everything right. That’s the problem.”
“I’m not following. What is the problem then?”
Ivy took a deep breath. “You’re too good at pretending, Kendall. And I’m…” She paused, searching for words that wouldn’t reveal too much. “I’m starting to forget where the act ends.”
Understanding dawned in Kendall’s eyes. “Ivy—”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “Please don’t be nice about this. It’ll just make it worse.”
Kendall set her glass down and stepped toward her, but she backed away.
“We said no complications,” she reminded Kendall. “That was the deal. And this—” she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to suppress the painful uncertainty searing her heart, “—this is definitely a complication.”
“What if I want complications?” Kendall asked quietly.
Ivy froze. “What?”
“What if I stopped pretending days ago?” Kendall bit her bottom lip.
The rain tapped against the window, filling the silence between them. Ivy’s heart swelled as her carefully constructed walls began to crack. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered.
“I do.” Kendall stayed where she was, not pushing into her space. “But I didn’t know how to tell you without scaring you away. I thought maybe you felt it too, but then you started pulling back, and I thought I might be wrong.”
“I got scared,” Ivy admitted. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I know.” Kendall smiled softly. “Best laid plans and all that.”
Ivy wrapped her arms around herself. “So, what now? We can’t just flip a switch and make this real.”
“Why not?” Kendall asked. “We already know we work well together. The only difference would be—”
“Everything,” Ivy said. “The stakes would be everything.”
Kendall nodded, looking serious. “You’re right. And if you want to end our arrangement completely, I’ll respect that wish. But I’d rather figure this out together than walk away from something that could be real.”
The timer in the kitchen beeped again, more insistently this time. Neither of them moved.
Ivy wanted nothing more than for this to be real, but she couldn’t say that to Kendall. “Dinner’s going to burn,” she said softly.
“Let it,” Kendall replied, her gaze never leaving Ivy’s. “Some things are more important.”
Ivy was wavering, teetering on the edge between safety and possibility. She’d become so good at pretending that being genuine felt like the bigger risk now. “I need time,” she finally said. “To figure out what’s real and what’s just habit.” Or the fantasy of what could be.
Kendall nodded, disappointment flickering across her face before she masked it. “I understand.”
She turned toward the kitchen, and a sudden panic rose in Ivy’s chest. This wasn’t what she wanted either—this polite distance, this careful retreat. “Kendall,” she called after her.
Kendall looked back, hope written plainly across her face.
“I’m not saying no,” Ivy said. “I’m just saying not yet. We need to take it slow.”
Kendall’s smile made her heart skip. “I can work with that,” she said.
As Kendall moved to salvage their dinner, Ivy remained by the window for a moment, watching the rain before she set her glass on the table, and went into the bedroom to change. For the first time since this charade began, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like if this—all of this with Kendall—was actually real.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Kendall placed the last dish on the table, adjusting it slightly before stepping back to survey her work. The pasta with mushroom cream sauce, a variation on her grandmother’s recipe, sat steaming gently beside a small salad and fresh bread. She’d even found candles earlier, though she hesitated before lighting them. Too much maybe, considering their conversation.
“Something smells incredible,” Ivy said, emerging from the hallway. She’d changed into an oversized national parks sweatshirt that hung loosely on her, the sleeves rolled up several times.
Kendall’s heart did that strange flutter again. “It’s nothing fancy. Just something my mother taught me.” Pasta was cheap and easy. They’d had it often when she was a child, her mother always reminiscing about her grandmother as she prepared it. She wished her grandmother was still around to taste her masterpiece.
After the words they’d exchanged by the window—hesitant admissions of feelings that had been building for days—a new tension filled the air between them. Kendall had nearly dropped the wooden spoon when Ivy’s fingers brushed against hers while tasting the sauce.
“Your mother must be an amazing cook,” Ivy said as they settled at the table. She twirled pasta around her fork and took a bite, closing her eyes. “Oh, wow.”
Kendall watched Ivy’s expression, a warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the wine they were sharing. “She’ll like you,” she said softly.
Their conversation flowed easily throughout dinner, despite the newly acknowledged current running beneath their words. They talked about work, about books, about Ivy’s upcoming junior ranger classes. But their frequent gazes lasted longer than before, and Kendall found herself noticing details she’d overlooked. The small scar near Ivy’s eyebrow, the way she gestured with her hands when she got excited.
“Movie?” Kendall suggested as they finished clearing the dishes. “How about that superhero one you mentioned wanting to see?” Those movies weren’t her favorite, but Ivy loved them.
“Perfect.”
In the living room, Ivy’s small couch suddenly seemed impossibly tiny. Kendall settled on one end, hyperaware of the space between them as Ivy sat down. Not too close, but close enough that she could smell the faint scent of Ivy’s cologne.
As the opening credits rolled, Kendall pressed herself firmly against the armrest, maintaining a careful few inches’ distance. She’d placed a throw blanket between them, an offering Ivy could take if she wanted.
Twenty minutes into the film, Ivy reached for the blanket, unfurling it over her legs. “Mind if I share? I’m always cold.”
“No. Not at all,” Kendall said, her voice slightly higher than normal.
Ivy extended the edge of the blanket toward her, an invitation that Kendall accepted after a moment’s hesitation. They still weren’t touching, but the shared blanket created an intimate space that made Kendall’s skin tingle with awareness.
Onscreen, the hero was making improbable leaps between buildings. The complete opposite of what was happening between her and Ivy. Kendall couldn’t focus. She was cataloging every shift in Ivy’s position, every small laugh at the film’s attempts at humor.
During a particularly tense action sequence, Ivy gasped and instinctively moved closer. Their shoulders brushed, and Kendall felt the contact like an electric current. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean in either, maintaining that careful equilibrium as her heart raced.
“Sorry,” Ivy whispered, glancing sideways with a small smile that suggested she wasn’t sorry at all.
“It’s okay,” Kendall whispered back, not moving away.
They stayed like that, shoulders barely touching, through two more action sequences. Kendall gradually relaxed, though her awareness of Ivy never diminished. This new territory between friendship and something more was both terrifying and exhilarating.
When the hero finally saved the day, Ivy turned toward her. “Thank you for dinner. And for…” she gestured vaguely between them, “not making things weird after what we talked about.”
Kendall smiled, finally allowing herself to lean near just slightly. “Is this weird?”
“No,” Ivy replied, dropping her gaze briefly to Kendall’s lips before looking at her again. “This is nice.” You want to watch another one?
Kendall nodded, and Ivy clicked on the sequel.
As the beginning credits rolled, neither moved to turn on the lights. In the blue glow of the screen, they remained side by side on the couch, the careful distance between them narrowing by inches as the night continued.
Chapter Forty
After seeing what was in Ivy’s pantry, Kendall had to go to the store again to pick up some real food. No one could survive on tuna, instant noodles, and macaroni and cheese alone. Sure, Ivy had peanut butter and jelly too, but Kendall liked actual cooked food for dinner.
She pulled up to the metal-roofed store, grabbed a cart from the line at the front of the building, and went inside. She remembered how the store was laid out and rushed down the first aisle to the meat area to pick up a small pork roast, then zoomed down the canned vegetable aisle to grab a couple of cans of sauerkraut. She then spun the cart around and headed to the produce section to pick out an onion and some potatoes. She was thrilled to have discovered the slow cooker in one of the cabinets under Ivy’s counter, and, if she could get all the ingredients, she’d be able to pick up everything, get back home to Ivy’s, and sear the roast before placing it in the slow cooker. Then she’d have a full dinner ready before Ivy got home from work.
She hurried through the aisle to the produce department, grabbed a large bag of Jonathan apples, and dropped it into her cart. Halfway down the aisle she stopped. What was she doing? Her family wasn’t here with her, so she didn’t need ten to twenty apples. She needed only enough for herself, maybe more if Ivy liked them as well. She took the bag from her cart, placed it back on the center kiosk, and chose four apples from the bulk bin. That would be enough get her through the week unless Ivy did indeed like them. In that case she would be back here sooner rather than later.
She turned around to head to the potatoes and stopped short. Kendall hadn’t expected to run into anyone she knew at the grocery store, considering she hadn’t been in town very long. She’d left the lodge early and had driven the thirty minutes into town specifically to avoid familiar faces. Her relationship with Ivy was still new and fragile—something she wanted to protect from curious eyes and probing questions.
But there she was, examining avocados with clinical precision in the produce section: Shauna Jones, the veterinarian she and Ivy had taken the injured raccoon to after they’d found it on the side of the road. She recognized her immediately—the dark, curly hair pulled into a messy bun, the practical clothes that somehow still managed to look stylish.
She considered abandoning her half-filled cart and making a quick exit, but Shauna looked up before she could retreat.
“Hi. It’s Kendall, right?” Her smile was warm and genuine as she approached. “It was so nice chatting with you the other night.”
Kendall nodded. “And you’re Shauna.” She shifted awkwardly, suddenly very aware of the carton of ice cream and bottle of wine in her cart. “Nice to see you again. I was really impressed at how you handled those raccoons.”
“Just doing my job.” Shauna smiled.
Ivy’s told me a lot about you.” Not true, but she didn’t know what else to say.
“Has she?” Shauna’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s interesting, because she’s been suspiciously quiet about you.”
She felt heat creep up her neck. “Well, we haven’t been together for that long. I mean, it’s still kind of new.”
“New?” Shauna’s expression changed, curiosity sharpening her features. “I thought you two had something going on since summer?”
“Yeah. That’s right. She hasn’t… She stammered, caught off guard by her own story mix-up…“mentioned anything about us?”
Shauna shook her head, dropping an avocado into her basket. “Not a word. And we’ve been friends since high school. We usually tell each other everything.”
Shauna’s slightly hurt tone made her stomach twist with guilt, though she wasn’t sure why she felt responsible for Ivy not letting her in on a relationship that wasn’t even real.
“It really is still kind of new, being long distance and all,” she explained, trying to sound casual. “We were just mutual acquaintances before that. You know how it is. You know someone who knows someone, and then you’re finally in the same place at the same time and meet.”
“That’s exactly why I’m surprised,” Shauna said, leaning against the produce display. “Ivy’s usually so private about her personal life at work. For her to start something with a colleague, which looks like you might turn out to be…” She studied her with new interest.
“It wasn’t planned,” she admitted. “As she said, we met at Noah and Taylor’s cookout and just hit it off. That same night, there was a crazy thunderstorm, and we spent all night talking. Neither of us had any idea I’d be in a position to actually do any work at the park in the future.”
“The one that knocked out power to half the park? That was quite a storm.”
She nodded, remembering the story they’d come up with about being at the cabin, how Ivy had built a fire and they’d talked through the night as rain pounded the roof. It almost felt real now. “Things just happened naturally after that.”
Shauna’s expression softened. “I’ve known Ivy for a long time, and I’ve never seen her let anyone get close very quickly. She’s always so cautious.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “I’m trying to be patient with her pace.” Something in her tone must have convinced Shauna, because her posture relaxed.
“Well, this explains why she’s been turning down our usual Sunday hikes. I thought she was just busy with work.”
That was a fortunate unrelated occurrence. She felt a pang of anxiety. “I hope she’s not avoiding you because of me. I would never want to come between friends.” Seems that wasn’t the case anyway. Why was Ivy cancelling on Shauna?
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Shauna waved dismissively, but Kendall could see she was processing this new information. “It’s just strange she hasn’t mentioned anything. Ivy and I have never kept secrets.”
