“On foot, it’s a ways out there for sure. We’ve got a few pair of snow shoes,” he said. “But you’ll get your clothes all drenched again.” He nodded toward her. “Which means you’ll end up right back in my thermals.”
Ivy glanced down to see that the neck of his top had slid down her shoulder again. She hiked it back into place and came to a stand, hope sprouting in her chest as she realized what he was saying. “You’ll let me come then?”
He gulped. “I’d probably be faster without you,” he said more to himself.
“Thanks a lot.”
“You know what I mean,” he said with a shrug. “Get yourself a cinnamon roll and I’ll take a look outside. Who knows, maybe we’ll be able to check the forecast and see if there’s been any change. If it clears up, and if the airport is opening flights again, maybe we can get you home in time for your party after all.”
Ivy forced herself to nod. “That would be awesome.” But inwardly, she’d grown attached to the idea of spending another day with Easton. There was chemistry between them, she was sure of it. And another day spent together, heck, that might be all they needed to discover there really was something there.
No, Ivy. You don’t want to get hurt again. One look at the mass of physical perfection by the fireplace said it all. Easton could have any woman he wanted, but he’d chosen to be alone. The thought gave her pause; he’d said that last night, hadn’t he? That he didn’t believe in love. How sad.
She searched through her memories some more. She’d been pretty affected by the moonshine peaches, Ivy remembered that much. Oh, and he’d fed her a peach and licked his thumb after catching a drop of juice from her lip. She’d wanted him to kiss her and… A dose of embarrassed heat pooled into her face. Had she said it aloud? That she wanted to kiss him?
“You going to eat?” Easton asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“Yes.” Ivy stretched and yawned, hoping to appear natural as her mind scoured the events she could recall. At last, she came up empty. Whether she’d voiced that desire or not, there was nothing she could do now to change it.
Best to simply leave it in the past and focus on today. It would also be best, she realized as Easton cracked open the door to survey the storm, if she was somehow able to catch a flight out before the day was through. She could get the interview to Marsha, have the evening—or at least Christmas Day—with her family, and leave thoughts of Easton Sparks behind her.
A wry chuckle threatened to sneak up her throat at the thought alone. Who was she kidding? Once Marsha got her hands on that interview—as imperfect as Ivy had once thought that it was—she’d want Easton on the show all the more. He’d be the Darcy of the bunch. The handsome brooder with a difficult past.
Jealousy twisted in the center of her gut. The five bachelorettes would be all over him. The vegan would probably be eating bacon off his fork by the time the show was through.
Who cared? He didn’t belong to her, and if he had it his way, he wouldn’t belong to anyone. Let the brave bachelorettes lose their hearts to him one by one. Ivy would remain nicely within her no-dating boundaries, safe from the wrath.
Ivy waited for that conviction to lend the calming effect it usually did. Waited while sitting at the table and biting into the cinnamon roll he’d set out for her. Yet, even as she ate, finishing the entire roll in just a few bites, the calm never came. This time, all she could feel was the heavy lack of hope.
Ivy hurried through the open door as the storm nearly pushed her through the entrance. A slate of snow cased her at either side, making her all the more anxious to step into the warmth.
Easton hurried in behind her and shoved the door closed with his elbow. He jiggled the handle next, then secured the lock and turned to look at her. “There,” he said. “If you do that, it won’t slam back open and smack you upside the head.”
“Good to know,” she said. “Speaking of which, I wonder how my head’s doing?”
Easton reached over and tugged the wool hat—something he’d leant her—right off her head.
Ivy’s hand shot to her static-ridden hair. “Hey…”
He grinned. “This is a good look for you.” But then he shifted his gaze to her bandage and gently traced along the sides. “I’ll take a look at it once we’re dried off. For now, let’s get out of these snow shoes.”
Ivy hobbled over to the bench. She’d gotten the hang of walking over the snow with the shoes, but moving about the yurt was a different story. “I feel like Big Foot,” she said with a laugh.
“Except that you’re just the opposite,” Easton teased. “You’re little foot.”
She giggled. “And you’re Big Foot?”
“Definitely,” he admitted.
Quiet took over the space as they stepped out of their snowshoes, then out of their other boots next. Easton had let the fire die down, leaving nothing but embers in the fireplace.
“You go ahead and change first,” he urged, “and I’ll get the fire going again.” He turned his back to her then, and Ivy felt that inner spot of warmth trying to resurface. He really was a great guy, wasn’t he? Decent and good.
“Thanks,” she said, hurrying over to his bag where she placed the folded clothes. “And thanks for making the trek out there to the lodge. I can’t believe how lucky we got that the wind wasn’t blowing on the way there. With as strong as it was on the way back, practically pushing us, I can’t imagine fighting against that the whole time.”
“Yeah,” Easton agreed. “I’d have had to take you back and go myself.”
She shook her head. “You keep saying stuff like that.”
“Only because it’s true.”
A chuckle snuck out. “Whatever.” Ivy had already switched out of her shirt and was moving on to her pants. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder before unbuttoning her jeans.
Just as she’d guessed, Easton’s gaze was trained directly on the fire as he propped the fresh logs in place.
Her mind shot back to their moments outside the lodge. The mere recollection caused her heart to race. She’d done something she hadn’t planned to do, which was to try and upload the footage of Easton to the station’s i-cloud where she had her own private file. She’d done the same with his signed contract too. Sure, Nancy could access the folder if she wanted, but there would be no need. Once Ivy got back she could edit the interview and forward it, along with the contract, on to Marsha.
The thought came to her, as it had several times before, that she could choose not to forward it on as well. Her motives behind that idea were purely selfish, not to mention foolish. But she did like knowing it was an option. Especially considering that when Easton checked the weather report, round two of the storm, which had started once they were heading back, would last longer than round one. They may even be stuck here over Christmas.
Ivy traded her own socks and shoes for Easton’s thick, wool socks as she considered their snowy excursion. While sending the data to her backup storage, she’d decided not to tell Easton what she was doing. Not that it should matter. Still, she’d risked sucking even more of her battery with the energy it took to do so, leaving her with a measly twelve percent.