I lean in and kiss her.
Not a quick peck. Not a hesitant maybe.
A full, breath-stealing, heart-stopping kiss.
Her hand fumbles with the coffee cup before tossing it into the holder, reaching up instead to tangle in my jacket. She kisses me back like she’s been waiting for this since the second she got in the car.
And maybe she has.
When I finally pull back, I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.
Then I grin.
“Sorry, just felt like kissing you.” I say, stepping back and shutting her door like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
I hear her laugh through the window as I jog back to my side.
And as I pull back onto the road, her hand finds mine again—like it always belonged there.
By the time we pull up to Ivy’s childhood home in Ashen Mills, a small suburb in North Texas, the late morning sun is shining bright, casting a soft golden hue over the neighborhood.
The driveway is packed. I squeeze the truck into a tight spot behind a red minivan and glance over at Ivy. She’s beaming already, eyes lit with the kind of joy that only comes from being home.
The sound of laughter and music leaks through the front door like a warm invitation.
“You ready?” she asks, smoothing down her dress.
“Nope,” I say, grabbing the bouquet from the backseat, “but I’m still walking in there with you.”
She glances at me, biting back a grin. “You know, I told my dad you had a tattoo. Not that you were covered in them.”
I smirk, leaning closer as I hand her the flowers. “Great.So when he starts polishing his shotgun, I’ll just flex and tell him it’s art appreciation.”
Her laugh bubbles out, and the tension melts just a little.
She adjusts the gold bracelet on her wrist as we walk up the short path to the door. “You know I’m kinda bummed the big bouquet isn’t for me.” she teases, nodding toward the flowers.
“Absolutely not. These are for your mom. You already got your two coffees, a mini version, a croissant and the playlist of songs on the drive here. Don’t get greedy.”
She elbows me as I grin and reach for the door.
It swings open almost immediately, and we’re hit with a wave of warmth—both from the heater and from the sheer volume of Ivy’s family packed into every inch of the entryway.
“Aunt Icy!” A little girl calls, and I give her a sideways glance, making a mental note to ask her about that name later. Then it’s just noise. Shouts, hugs, laughter, kids weaving through legs, the smell of cinnamon rolls and turkey and whatever holiday magic is bubbling in the kitchen.
Ivy’s nieces and nephews tackle her before I even make it across the threshold, their squeals filling the entryway. She’s laughing, arms full of kids, and I can’t help but grin as I step inside with the flowers tucked under my arm.
Her mom is there in a heartbeat, eyes soft as they land on me. “Gray,” she says warmly, pulling me straight into a hug before I can even hand her the bouquet.
I chuckle, holding out the flowers once she lets go. “These are for you. Figured they might last longer than another pie.”
Her face lights up as she takes them, inhaling the scent. “They’re beautiful. Ivy told me you bring her flowers all the time.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I scratch the back of my head. “She might exaggerate a little.”
“Mm, I don’t think she does.” Her mom’s smile widens, a knowing kind of smile.
Before I can answer, Ivy’s dad steps forward. He’s taller than I expected, shoulders broad, his expression unreadable as his gaze flicks briefly to my tattoos. For a second, my stomach knots, but then his mouth breaks into a grin. He clasps my hand in a firm shake before tugging me into a quick hug.
