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Thevelvetboxisslight in my hand. Sitting on the bed in Ivy’s and my bedroom, I switch it from one hand to the other, testing its weight. Doesn’t look like much, but it’s a huge step forward into my future.
Flipping open the lid, I gaze at the round diamond solitaire set in a classic design. I told the jeweler that my girl’s a dancer. A minimalist, she won’t want anything fussy or bulky. Clean lines for her gorgeous dancer fingers. I inhale and blow out a calming breath. It’s a beautiful ring. My mom and half-sisters all agreed, too.
Now, to find the right time to ask Ivy if she’ll marry me.
A proposal is a monumental moment in a couple’s timeline. It’s a milestone. It’ll be a story we tell our children if we’re lucky enough to have some. Both Ivy and I want them, but I know people struggle with fertility. Ivy’s worried that her past chemotherapy treatments will cause us problems. I’ve said everything I can to soothe her in that regard. It doesn’t matter to me if we have kids biologically or if we adopt some. All that matters to me is that I get to share them with Ivy. She and I make a hell of a team, and I can’t wait to see the family we create around us.
The door to the apartment squeaks open. Hastily, I tuck the ring box into my pocket and close the drawer on the end table. I stand up in time for my girlfriend, Ivy, to sweep into our bedroom. “Oh, good. You’re here. Are you packed?”
“Um… yeah.” I rub my sweaty palms against my jeans, then motion to the bags on the floor. “Ready to go…”
My voice trails off because Ivy’s already half-naked, stripping out of the sweaty clothes she wore to dance in today. The music video she’s choreographing is based out of a studio in Soho. I’m glad. It means we get to have dinner together some nights. We both travel a lot, but I really live for the days we can be together.
Right now, Ivy loses the rest of her clothes on the floor and heads toward the bathroom. With two long strides, I cut her off, pulling her in my arms.
She blows out a soft laugh. “Declan, I’m sweaty.” She swats at my arms, even as her body loosens against me.
I nuzzle my face into the crook of her neck. “I seriously don’t care.”
Lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug, she twines her fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck and guides my mouth to hers. “If you don’t, I don’t.”
Our lips meet, and as always, it’s combustion. I let my hands slide along her spine, and she shivers against me. But before I can find any of her really tasty parts, she slides away.
“We really can’t get distracted right now.” She shakes her finger at me, heading into the bathroom. “Shea texted me a bit ago. She and Linc are on their way. The weather is going to get bad quickly, and they want to be out of the city by then.” Flicking the shower on, she weaves her hand in the spray, checking the temperature. A tattoo of a branch of oak leaves and acorns she got over her port scar is on full display.
Stepping closer, I trail a finger along the beautiful ink. “Are you sure?”
She stretches up on tiptoe. I still need to bend down to let her kiss me. “I’m sure.” She gives me a saucy wink and slides into the shower, pulling the door closed behind her.
I chuckle and leave her to her shower, pulling the door closed behind me to keep the heat in.
There are only three bags—one suitcase with our clothes and two smaller ones with stuff Ivy packed. I don’t know what girl necessities they are, but I grew up with sisters. I don’t ask. Hefting the lot, I carry it to the door of our apartment. We’re on the third floor, so I’ll wait to drag the stuff down until Ivy’s ready.
Ivy doesn’t take long. Within ten minutes, she’s showered and dressed, her riotous curls around her face. When I first met her, she had long hair. But she lost it during chemo. She could have grown it out, but she insists she likes it shorter now. Says that it’s easier to care for. I think she’s hot as hell both ways.
She’s on the phone, already talking as she comes out of the bedroom. “I have Bash’s number. I’ll call him and see if he can do anything.” She says goodbye, her phone still in her hand as she reaches for her winter jacket.
“You ready?” I ask.
She nods, sliding her arms in the sleeves. I step forward to help her. “Yeah. I just need to call Bash Taylor.”
The name is familiar. “The guy from the Dazed Zealots?”
“Yeah.” She ruffles her hair out from under her collar as she flicks a finger across the face of her phone. “I don’t really know him, but Hannah connected us in the summer, in case they needed choreography for their next album.” She pauses, frowning. “I’m dropping into voicemail.” She leaves a message. “Hi, Bash, this is Ivy Deveraux, Hannah Marshall’s friend. I know that you and the band are invited to Hannah and Cord’s wedding, but all of their friends worry Cord will be delayed in Chicago. I didn’t know if you had any strings we can pull to make sure he arrives on time. Call me back when you have a second.”
When she disconnects, I whistle. “Shit, I forgot that Cord and Griff are playing in Chicago.”
“Flight delays on the east coast.” Ivy zips into her coat. “Penny’s in Chesterboro with Hannah. She’s stressing. So Penny called Griff, and he said that Cord’s also stressing, but he doesn’t want to tell Hannah he’s stressing. That means everyone else is stressing, trying to help them without adding more stress to the situation.”
“Sounds… stressful?” I offer.
“Yeah.” She snorts. “Linc and Shea are downstairs double parked. Let’s get going. Hopefully, something works out, but Linc’s the best man. Let’s not make him late either.” She throws one bag over her shoulder, and I lift the rest onto my shoulder.
Pulling the door closed behind me, I lock it, and the ring box is a weight in my pocket.
When we open the door to the sidewalk, fat snowflakes fall from the sky.
Ivy Deveraux
