by Ren Benton
She had always believed he could do anything except love her, all of her, the way she was. If he couldn’t convince her he could do that one simple thing, nothing else he would ever do mattered. “I did some reading while looking for pictures to use in the design. Ivy calls to mind picturesque country estates and prestigious universities. There’s a strong association with permanence and respectability.”
Her eyes squinched at the implication that even her namesake was boring.
He continued, undaunted. “Most people are too charmed by the outward appearance to realize that ivy is a menace. Invasive. Destructive. In fact, the Department of Agriculture classifies ivy as a noxious weed.”
“Um, Griff?” Mase interjected. “You might want to rethink—”
There was an audible slap behind him. “Shh. I want to hear how she dismantles him.”
“With power tools, I’d guess.”
The only reaction Griff cared about was Ivy’s. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide with wonder — exactly the effect he’d hoped for. “If you tear ivy away from whatever it’s grown on, it leaves a mark, like a scar.”
“You should let it stay, then,” she advised softly, “to make what it’s grown on look picturesque and respectable to anyone unaware of ivy’s noxious qualities.”
Their audience couldn’t keep quiet. “How did he call her a noxious weed and not get a drill bit in the larynx?”
“I can only assume he has an amazing tongue.”
Ivy laughed, and the sound seeped inside him and filled a few stubborn empty spots with happiness.
He threw open the door to the laundry room, pushed her inside, stepped through behind her, and locked the door.
A chorus of protest arose from the spectators.
Let them howl. They’d get bored and leave eventually.
Ivy took a deep, fortifying breath and released it slowly. “I would have done it with an audience.”
With all the white-knuckled bravado with which she took her morning-after pill. She lied about being brave in the silliest ways. She was full of courage when it really counted.
“But this will make it much easier, so tha—”
He held up a hand to stop her before she said more. “Don’t thank me. Rule number one of negotiation: never make your opponent think he’s given you anything worthwhile.”
“Oh, I’m not here to conquer an opponent.” She turned and walked briskly toward the kitchen, her sneakers squeaking softly against the floor. “I’m recruiting a partner.”
Heart speeding with nerves, Ivy pulled out a barstool for Griff and indicated he should sit. “My bag, if you please, sir.”
He placed it on the island. “Careful. Something broke in there.”
“I was afraid that might happen, so I left it in the plastic bag and then put it in another plastic bag.”
He sat where directed. “Always prepared.”
“Don’t jump ahead in the program.” She unzipped the purse. “I told my parents about us.”
He folded his arms on the counter. “Told them what?”
“The truth. That we met before. That it was a shock to see you again. That we’ve been seeing each other ever since. That we didn’t say anything to them because we didn’t know where it would lead. That you’re a kind, supportive, wonderful man.”
He winced. “It was going so well until that last part.”
“I know, being good is wretched, but my parents do not need to know you’re also a wicked, sexy caveman.”
“If it’s supposed to be a secret, I should probably take that off my business cards.”
He could have made this difficult for her, insisted it was her turn to grovel or at least sat there dispassionately while she said her piece and let uncertainty eat her alive. Instead, he did everything in his power to make it easier to do what she wanted — just as he had since the day they met. He was reliable like that. “I also told them that I love you, want everyone to know, and won’t hide you from anyone ever again.”
His eyes darkened like storm clouds. “Ivy—”
“Let me do this.” She passed him the sheaf of papers resting on top of the bag’s contents. “The medical records you requested.”
He fanned the pages without taking his eyes off her. “How did you get these so fast?”
“I have my complete medical history on a zip drive. Don’t you?”
“Mine wouldn’t fit,” he said drily.
A server somewhere groaned under the combined weight of his injuries. She should learn the basics, at least. “Do you have any allergies?”
“No allergies, social diseases, nor family predisposition to illness, but I have too many screws in me to get an MRI, should you ever find yourself filling out paperwork in an emergency room for me. But it’s been an uneventful couple of months, personal injury-wise, so maybe the curse has been lifted.”
More likely, it was only a matter of time before he got a handsome new scar. She wouldn’t rob him of adventure, which meant accepting his klutziness and maintaining optimism about his resilience. Focusing on the safety of others would be more productive.
To that end, she reached into her bag and handed over a clear zipper bag full of outlet covers and childproof cabinet fasteners.
He hefted it in one hand. “You didn’t wrap it?”
“I don’t want to misrepresent these things as gifts. They come with strings attached. If you accept this offering, I will take it as your agreement to invite the kids into your home at some point in the future.”
“How’s tonight?”
He underestimated how long it took to install those latches. Then again, he did have better tools and more experience using them, and he could probably enlist Blake’s help. “You might want to hold off on committing until you hear the rest.”
“Too late.” He set the safety kit aside. “But do your worst.”
“Funny you should use that word.” She presented him with a pink plastic doll chair. “This one is symbolic. I wanted to show you I will make room for you in my life, starting at my table, but I couldn’t fit a full-size chair in my bag. I also thought you’d be offended as a craftsman if I bought a chair from Home Depot, so that’s the catch. I’m going to need you to make a chair for yourself. Maybe two, since Cole won’t be in a high chair forever.”
He turned the doll chair around in his hands, examining it from every angle. “Can I make you a whole new dining set?”
That would be a time-consuming commitment. “I would love that.” He looked up through his lashes and gave her a little-boy smile that made her insides mushy. “But I’m going to need that chair back because Lily will freak out if it’s missing.”
He returned the chair. “Would she like a set, too? One for her dolls or one her size? Both?”
More time. More commitment. “You’re making what I have in my sack of wonders seem really shabby, mister.”
“Not to me. What’s next?”
“For my bedroom.” She presented a new doorknob with a working lock. “I can probably install it myself, so this one is string-free. It has come to my attention that handiness is wildly attractive, so maybe you’d like to watch me get down on my knees and screw.”
He nodded somberly. “I would like that very much, yes.”
“I can’t ignore the kids if they need me, and the baby monitor is going to be a buzzkill even when the baby noises aren’t the kind that require attention, but the lock should cut down on awkward surprises.”
“I would never expect you to ignore the kids. They need to be put first, especially now.” His hand inched across the counter toward hers. “All I’m asking is to be there with you, wherever you are. I want to be included in that circle where everybody’s warm and loved.”
“You are. I love you, and I want you there with us.” She braided their fingers together. The other side of the island was too far away, but without that distance, she’d never get through her presentation. “I can sit on your lap until you make the first chair.”<
br />
“That’s no way to encourage me to get started.”
She removed the double-bagged box of shards from her purse. “These were forty-watt light bulbs. You can look at me naked, but if I’m to endure being told how beautiful I am, I need bedrooms to be lit more forgivingly than my gynecologist’s office.”
He propped his chin on his hand and covered his grin with his fingers. “Will you be replacing the damaged merchandise?”
“Of course. I will also maintain the inventory in perpetuity as part of our agreement.”
“So far, this agreement is all for my benefit.”
“If I get you, I benefit. If you like it, good for you, but my motivation is entirely selfish.”
“You’ve got me.”
She held up a hand. “Not so fast. I have one more offering.”
“Ivy, I don’t need—”
She plunked a leather-bound book on the counter in front of him. “It’s a five-year planner. You can have every day. If you want more, I will maintain the inventory in perpetuity.”
He leafed through the pages. “It’s blank.”
“Wouldn’t it be just like Boring Old Ivy to fill it up and eliminate the possibility of surprises?”
He scowled at her self-deprecation.
“We both know it’s true. I can’t look like I have everything under control if there isn’t a plan for it all to go according to. I hate spontaneity and the uncertainty that comes with it. Might as well declare anarchy and burn the world if you don’t know what you’ll be doing every moment for the next five years.” She squeezed his fingers. “Yet I somehow ended up in love with a man who’s fresh out of plans but has a whole book of matches.”
He grinned. “And a butane torch I’ve been dying to use.”
Naturally. Why would her man settle for a tiny, flickering flame when he could have a jet of fire? “I could never have planned you. But you are the best reckless decision I could ever have made. You’re all I need to face the unknown. I don’t want to spend another day without you in it.”
He extracted his hand from hers and offered it again in a businesslike fashion. “Partners?”
A handshake was anticlimactic, but she might as well finish the performance she’d started. She put her hand in his. At the first hint of a tug, she clambered over the island and into his arms.
He cupped her face in his hands. “You do too much.”
She shook her head to the extent possible without losing his touch. “That wasn’t half what I wanted to do, but the hardware store has disappointing options for expressing feelings, unless you take the time to make a mosaic about them or something.”
He laughed against her lips. “And who has the patience for that?”
“I didn’t want to put this off another minute.” She wrapped her fingers in his shirt and pulled him closer. “Not because I’m impatient. Because there is never enough time in the day, and I don’t want to lose any more of it.”
“Neither do I, Duchess. I will make you sure you never feel boring. I will treat you all the ways you deserve to be treated. Like a lady. Like a sex goddess.”
“Like a noxious weed.”
“Like the best partner a man could ask for.”
They sealed the deal by sharing — breath, lips, taste — for the first time without Ivy’s doomed notion that it could be the last time. It was much better to think of it as the first time she would kiss him after agreeing they would have a tomorrow.
And the last time she would kiss him without knowing about his tattoo. “Where is it?”
His sigh tickled her chin. “I was hoping you’d forget. Maybe after a better kiss?”
She scooted away from his hopeful pucker. “No tattoo, no kiss.”
He rubbed the top of his head. “I want you to keep in mind I was young, heartbroken, and drinking way too much at the time.”
“Duly noted.”
“And my friends have always been terrible people.”
She had sensed that right away when she met them. “I’m dying of curiosity, not standing by with the lethal injection to administer after your confession.”
He bent his head. She thought he was looking at his feet in shame until he pointed to his crown.
She combed through his hair until her quest revealed the edge of an inked letter on his scalp. She sifted his hair through her fingers until she thought she had made out the whole word. “Is this supposed to say ‘dick’?”
“Yup.”
“Is it misspelled?”
“Yup.”
“Somebody tattooed ‘dick,’ misspelled, on your head, when you were sad and intoxicated.”
“Yup.”
Brutal. “Was it Wes?”
“If you go after him like you went after Dan, I would like to watch this time.”
Good thing Mr. Hunter had mellowed with age. No telling what he would have tattooed on Ivy and where. The most polite option she could think of was Dumb on her ass.
Or, more likely, Dmub.
That explained Griff’s obsessive mussing of his hair. He used this hidden tattoo as a touchstone to remind him of when he’d been a dickhead in the past or was worried about being one in the present. “Was that the last time you drank alcohol?”
He pushed into the gentle massage of her fingers. “Yes. That needle against your skull rattles your brain to pulp and makes the worst hangover of your life last a week. If that doesn’t cure you, you have plenty of time to think about your life choices while waiting for your hair to grow back and cover the indelible reminder of your bad judgment.”
The method was harsh, but she couldn’t argue with the results. She smoothed his beautiful, thick hair back into place to hide the evidence. “You can never go bald.”
He raised his head and met her eyes. “If I do, someone who loves me a lot will have to buy me hats and convince the world they’re picturesque and respectable.”
She gave him the first kiss after learning the story of his mystery tattoo.
“In anticipation of forging this alliance, I did mark one event in the future.” She pulled the planner closer to her hip and found the space designated for July 27 of the following year, where 7 a.m. had been written and circled. “By my calculations, if we start practicing being in a relationship twenty-four hours a day as of now, in four hundred sixteen days and sixteen hours, we should be really good at it. At any time after that, if a formal merger seems feasible, one of us could make a motion to that effect.”
“On bended knee with a dozen red roses and a soundtrack of Taylor Swift?” He lifted her from the counter, making good on his vow to sweep her off her feet on a regular basis.
“If that’s what feels right at the time, go for it.” There would be no dilemma, no running away, no soul searching required — she knew what she would find there now. “If it feels right, I’ll say yes. No matter how lousy the proposal is.”
Hot Fudge Pudding Cake
This is not a photogenic dessert. If you need to impress someone with an attractive presentation, this is not the way to do it. If, however, you want maximum chocolate with minimum effort and aren’t hung up on appearances, you want Hot Fudge Pudding Cake.
The cake batter starts on the bottom and rises to the top during baking. As the liquid shifts to the bottom, it picks up flour from the cake and thickens. The longer it cools, the thicker the pudding gets — right out of the oven, you’ll have chocolate gravy; at room temperature, gooey custard.
Ingredients:
1 cup all-purpose flour
¾ cup granulated sugar
3 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
2 teaspoons baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup milk
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 cup brown sugar, packed
¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1¾ cups hot water
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350° Fahrenheit. Combine flour, granulated sugar, 3 tablespoons cocoa, bakin
g powder, and salt in a bowl. Stir in milk and oil. Spread batter in an ungreased 9-inch square baking dish. In a small bowl, combine brown sugar and ¼ cup cocoa; sprinkle evenly over the batter. Pour hot water on top of the dry mixture. Carefully transfer the dish to the oven. Bake 45 minutes. Serve warm.
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Also by Ren Benton
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AND OTHERS CHANGE FOR THE WORSE
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CAN SEVEN DAYS CHANGE HEARTACHE TO HAPPILY EVER AFTER?
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