I nod. “Night, Ivy.”
And just like that, she slips away down the hall, leaving me standing in the kitchen, feeling restless, like I almost had something I wasn’t sure I was even allowed to want.
29
Someone’s Packing
Ivy
The second I stepinto the ensuite and lock the door behind me, I let out a long breath. The cottage is quiet, except for the rain still tapping against the window. No wind shaking a tent, no thunder rumbling overhead, no spiders launching themselves at me like tiny assassins. Just warmth, calm, and a real bathroom.
I turn on the shower, and the moment the hot water bursts from the nozzle, I could weep.
Stripping off my clothes, I step under the spray, and a deep groan escapes me as the heat sinks into my skin. The muscles in my shoulders slowly loosen, the chill in my bones finally fading.
This. This is what I needed.
I close my eyes, letting the water stream over me, my mind drifting whether I want it to or not.
Theo.
Theo and his stupid wet hair. How can he even look cover-page-worthy when other people would look like drowned rats.
I exhale sharply, but it doesn’t stop the images flashing through my brain—the way his damp hair clung to his forehead, the way he’d run a hand through it, ruffling it absentmindedly, making it look even better. The way his T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, slightly damp from carrying my rain-soaked tent inside. The smirk he gave me when I devoured that stew like a half-starved goblin.
And then—that moment.
The air between us in the kitchen had changed. It had thickened, stretched tight, charged.
I’d seen the way his gaze flicked to my mouth. I know he’d noticed the way I leaned in slightly before I came to my senses.
I groan again, pressing my hands to my face.
This is exactly why I needed the dating ban.
I know that. I know that.
Three months. No dating, no relationships, no rebounds. Time to find myself—or whatever Pee-Pee had said when she convinced me to do this.
And I’ve stuck to it. For nearly quarter of a year, I’ve resisted bad decisions, ignored temptation, and reminded myself that I don’t need to be with someone to be happy.
I have three weeks left. Just three weeks. I know Pee-Pee said to find out what this is and that I can date him, but not before the ban is over. For once I’d like to finish something and I am so close.
I will not break my ban for Theo.
Even if he smells stupidly good. Even if his voice went all low and rough when he said goodnight. Even if, for half a second, I really thought he was going to kiss me—and I wanted him to.
No.
No, no, no.
I stand there for another long moment, letting the water run over me, breathing through the ridiculous tangle of thoughts in my head.
Tomorrow, I’ll thank him properly, figure out my next steps, and get out of his way.
That’s the smart choice. The right choice.
So why does part of me really not want to make it?
