I rub a hand over the back of my neck, unsure how to respond. “Thanks.” I close the door and murmur, “I think.”
I start the car, the engine roaring to life. “Where to?”
She gives me the address.
I tense.
It’s three doors down from mine.
Of all the houses in this town.
So much for privacy.
I don’t say a word as I back out of the space and head in that direction.
“Thanks again for what you did back there,” she says, like she hates the silence. “Silas is such an asshole. I turned him down in high school, and he’s carried a grudge ever since.”
I nod, not saying anything. She’s obviously lived in this town for a while.
“I’m glad you intervened. Most people wouldn’t.” She bites her lip and looks out the window. “I can’t imagine what would’ve happened…”
A violent shiver rolls through her. “…if he had gotten me into his car.”
My jaw clenches. “I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen.”
Her eyes flick to mine, something soft replacing the fear.
What the hell? Where did that come from?
Her eyes are soft in the dashboard lights, a small smile on her face. “No. You wouldn’t have. You’re different.”
Once again, the compliment makes me uncomfortable.
As if she senses it, she changes the subject. “You’re new in town, right?”
I stiffen, and she immediately notices. “I haven’t seen you around. And I’ve lived here long enough to notice.”
I nod, keeping my eyes on the road. “Yeah. I’m new here.”
She waits a moment. When I don’t say more, she asks, “Where do you live?”
I squirm in the seat.This is why I don’t normally intervene. People talk too much. Ask too many questions.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
I remain silent.
She launches into stories about the town, especially the residents ofOld Mill Row. I listen, cataloging the cadence and warmth of her voice—and how it fills the space I usually prefer empty. Occasionally she slips and asks me questions, but immediately apologizes and launches into another tangent.
When I pull into her driveway, she gives me an expectant look. “Aren’t you going to ask my name?”
I stop the car near her front porch, then look over at her with raised brows.
She giggles. “It’s Ivy.” She bats her long lashes at me. “Ivy Hart.”
I nod, a slight smile tugging at my lips.
The name suits her. Clingy like the vine, yet warm and bubbly.
