“Friday,” I say.
“Right,” he mutters, already back to his numbers. “The civilized workday.”
Ivy’s phone buzzes. She glances down, lips twitching.
“That your dad?” I ask.
She nods. “He’s checking in.”
I catch a fragment as she types, her thumbs moving fast.
“Who’s Elizabeth?” I ask.
“The woman he’s been seeing.” Her eyes twinkle at me. “She keeps her doors unlocked for him.”
Drew snorts. “That tracks.”
I pause. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Ivy looks up, catching my expression. “It’s normal to him. To just show up, uninvited and unannounced.”
“Is it?” I ask dryly.
She grins. “In my family? Yes.”
I note the casual way boundaries blur. The affection threaded through it. Ivy comes from people who mistake access for intimacy. Who call proximity love. It explains a lot.
She sets her phone down and stands. “I’m going to start lunch.”
Drew closes his laptop with a sigh of surrender. “I need water before my brain liquefies.”
I lean against the counter, a habit more than an intention.
Mr. Pickles chooses that moment to reveal himself. He hops onto the counter with the confidence of a creature who has never known consequences.
“Hey—no,” Ivy says automatically, reaching for him.
The cat freezes, his body rigid. Tail low. Eyes locked on Drew.
I look up in time to see Drew’s glass tip. Water spills everywhere.
“Pickles,” I say, “No.”
But it’s too late.
He’s already leaping out of the way like he’s trying to escape holy water.
He flinches, then launches himself off the counter before skidding dramatically over the table like a creature flung by destiny, sliding past Drew.
“Goddammit,” Drew groans, jumping back. “I swear, you’re trying to kill me.”
Ivy bursts out laughing, bright and uncontained. The sound hits me square in the chest.
I grab a towel, stepping in behind her. She leans back into me without thinking, still laughing.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Fine,” she says, breathless. “Apparently, we’re raising a menace.”
