I’m feeling good, like I got this. But then she looks down at her hands, her lips twitching.
“Just one thing...” she starts, her voice soft.
My brow furrows. “Yeah?”
Her eyes lift to mine, a glimmer of apology in them. “I’m actually allergic to blueberries.”
I freeze. My hands instinctively pull back from the table. My mind races, how did I not know that? I just ordered her a plate full of something she can’t even eat.
“Oh, man...I’m so sorry. I?—”
Her face cracks, the apology melting away, replaced with a grin that spreads slow and wide. “I’m kidding,” she says, her voice breaking on a laugh. “Bad joke. I’m sorry.”
It takes a second for the words to land, but when they do, I can’t help it. I laugh. Hard. The kind that actually doubles me over, my shoulders shaking with relief and disbelief.
She giggles too, her hands covering her mouth. “I’m sorry!” she says again, barely catching her breath. “Your face…I couldn’t help it.”
I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “That was evil. Actually evil.”
She reaches across the table, her fingers grazing mine. “But you remember my coffee order.”
I take her hand, squeeze it just slightly. “That I do.”
And for a moment, I forget about control. About playing it safe. About everything I’m trying to keep from spinning out of my hands.
Right now, it’s just her. And that’s enough.
The waitress returns balancing two steaming mugs and a small plate piled with creamers. She sets them down with a nod before disappearing toward the kitchen.
Ivy reaches for a sugar packet from the holder between us, tearing it open with a flick of her wrist.
I wrap my hands around my cup, letting the heat soak in. “So…have you always lived in Dallas?”
She shakes her head, pouring cream into her coffee until it turns a warm caramel color. “Nope. I grew up in Ashen Mills—a little town about thirty miles east of here.”
“Ashen Mills,” I repeat, tasting the name. “Sounds small.”
Her mouth curves. “Small enough that everyone knows everyone.”
I grin. “And you liked that?”
Her eyes soften, a hint of nostalgia slipping into her smile as she stirs her coffee. “I did. I mean, I didn’t always appreciate it when I was younger, but…I miss it now. The quiet, the way neighbors looked out for each other, the little traditions that never changed.”
She glances up at me, almost shy. “One day, I think I’d like to settle down back there. Start fresh, maybe raise a family.”
Something in my chest tightens at the thought—an image of her in a sundress, laughter spilling across a front porch, sunlight catching in her hair.
I nod toward her. “Does your family still live there?”
She smiles over the rim of her mug. “Yeah. My parents still live in the same house I grew up in. My older sister, Sarah, is just a few streets over. And then there are all my cousins…way too many to count.”
Her eyes soften, and there’s a little laugh in her voice. “Holidays are always hectic—people crammed into every corner of the house, kids running everywhere—but it’s cozy. The kind of chaos you don’t want to escape from.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I say, meaning it.
Her smile lingers as she stirs cream into her coffee. “What about you? Do you have a big family?”
I shake my head. “No. It was just me and my mom.” I keep it vague, not ready to unpack more than that yet.
