When I arrive and find a place to park, Ivy greets me downstairs, all dolled up, smelling like a field of flowers, hair a waterfall of honey-blonde curls, eyes gleaming. “We’re ready to go; I just have to get BB while you grab my suitcases.”
I follow behind, as she moves like lightning, zipping up the spiral staircase in six-inch stilettos, to her third-floor apartment. The open-courtyard-style building is quaint, old-fashioned, reminiscent of where I lived while attending college. We enter her apartment—a cozy, single unit, much like a one-thousand-square-foot, hotel suite with an upscale kitchen.
Her eyes survey the space she calls home. “It’s small, but it suits me and BB until I can afford something larger.”
“I was just thinking how perfectly efficient this is. Charming, snug, completely modern inside. Almost makes me want to ditch my home and move into something sweet like this.”
BB makes an entrance, coming from out of the kitchen. She prances toward me, trotting on all fours like a best-in-show. Stopping only a few feet before me, the little diva sits, chin up, and barks.
I glance at Ivy for explanation, as if she can translate dog bark.
A gratifying smile stretches over her face. “Chase, BB’s trying to make up with you.”
“Oh.” I kneel, settling down on bended knee, and extend my lowered hand as a peace offering. At the same time, I begin to question my manhood. “Come here, little princess,” I coo.
BB bark-sniffs, then charges me, taking a leap into my arms, showering me with licks to the face.
“Does this mean we’re on good terms?” I chuckle in between her smooches.
Ivy claps her hands. “Yay! I think you two are officially besties.”
Setting BB back down, I rise and head for the three suitcases in the center of the room—two large the color black with pink bows and a hot-pink one the size of an overnight bag.
“The large ones are mine; the smaller one belongs to this little girl.” She picks up BB, massages her between the ears. “It’s got her clothes—mainly sweaters—some toys and specialty food.”
“Of course. Shall we get going?”
Ivy pulls a light coat over her white T-shirt and blue jeans. I’d be lying if I said my eyes didn’t steal a surreptitious glimpse of the way those jeans cling to her scrumptious bottom.
The woman is gorgeous. Beautiful in more ways than one.
And it’ll take a true miracle for me to follow our own set of rules.
Thankfully, Christmas is the season of miracles.
