A familiar, warm, and bright voice cuts through the space. It’s too damn recognizable. One I’d know in my sleep.
Of course. The universe has jokes today.
Like a moth to a flame, I head to the counter, my eyes never leaving Ivy.
“I’m telling you, it’s all about timing,” Ivy says, one hip cocked casually, a smile on her lips that looks… different. She’s not wearing my oversized sweatshirt. Instead, she’s clad in tight black skinny jeans, heeled boots that lengthen her legs, and a fitted black top that clings to her waist like it was made for her.
Her hair is down, glossy and loose around her shoulders.
She looks gorgeous.
This feels unnecessary. And personal.
A deep, male laugh rings out across from her. It’s casual. Easy.
I follow the sound.
He’s leaning against the counter, his attention riveted on her. I take him in. Dirty blond hair, a little messy like he didn’t bother taming it. Early to maybe mid-twenties. Younger than me. Around Ivy’s age.
His posture is relaxed. He’s watching her like he enjoys the view.
Something tightens low in my chest.
Ivy turns slightly—and then she sees me.
Our eyes lock.
For half a second, something flickers across her expression. Surprise, maybe. Or satisfaction. It’s gone too quickly to name.
Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens.
And in that moment, I understand exactly how badly I’ve underestimated her.
Marcus says something from behind me, but I don’t hear it.
All I can hear is Ivy laughing softly as the blond man says something I can’t hear, her body angled toward him.
A sharp, unfamiliar emotion coils through me. Possession.
The realization lands hard and undeniable: I wanted boundaries. Ivy is giving them to me.
And now, she’s testing how much of me she already owns.
“Marcus,” I say quietly, looking at him over my shoulder. “Give me a minute.”
He glances at me, then follows my line of sight. His brows lift—just a fraction—but he nods and peels off toward a table near the windows.
I move closer.
Ivy and the blond guy continue chatting. Her fingers are curled around a coffee cup like she has nowhere else she needs to be.
I hate how natural it looks.
I stop beside her. “Ivy.”
Her head turns.
There it is—that flicker again. Satisfaction this time. Clean and unmistakable. She takes me in slowly, deliberately, like she’s memorizing the version of me I brought into her day.
