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Her eyes widened.
I grinned.
Ivy scoffed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
My smile widened.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered fiercely.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
She held her chin high and turned back toward my sister. “I’ll take Neville back to my place, thank you for watching him.”
“Of course. I’d rather watch anything than see my brother’s horrible attempts at flirting, so it was a win-win for me.”
I glared at Poppy.
Ivy stared at the cat, color climbing up her neck.
“I’ll just … head back,” she said.
Her eyes darted over to mine before she walked away, her tiny little kitten trotting after.
“Smooth,” Poppy said. “No wonder you’re single.”
“Shut up.” I ruffled her hair. “Come on, back to work.”
Chapter 17
Ivy
The flowers had felt like a great idea until the moment I had to juggle the vase and knock on the Wilders’ front door.
Objectively, I knew I’d built a bouquet the size of a toddler, but when Sheila opened the door, and her mouth fell open, I felt a cold zap of panic.
Too much, Ivy. Definitely too much.
But it was also too late because she’d seen me, and there was no going back.
“My word,” she breathed. “What’s all this?”
I shifted the vase in my arm, pretending I didn’t just get smacked in the face with one of the iris stems. “A thank-you,” I told her.
Then I held it out, fighting the flush of heat crawling up my cheeks when she studied me, not the really expensive flowers.
Sheila’s smile hit my chest like a notched arrow, embedding somewhere deep and soft.
“Come in,” she said and held open the door.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I can come back later if you’re busy.”
Hell, even as I said it, I was ready to dart back out the door.
“Not at all,” she said. Then she nodded into the family room. “My husband, Tim, was just trying to con me into making some cinnamon rolls.”
“Like I can con you into anything you don’t want to do,” a tired voice came from a big leather recliner in the room off the kitchen.
Now my chest hurt for an entirely different reason.
