Words for today: pieces of string, broken glass and David Bowie
Jake pulled up in front of the house where Ivy had grown up. He’d made some calls and discovered this is where she was staying. It would have saved time if Sue had answered his questions, but his sister insisted on maintaining her policy of silence regarding anything to do with Ivy. After five years, he knew better than to batter his head against the wall of neutrality she’d erected in an effort to maintain her friendship with Ivy without damaging their familial relationship.
He grabbed the plastic container she’d left at the rink last night. She’d slipped out while he was breaking up a fight between two of the kids. After the game, he’d discovered she’d gotten the name and number of a local towing service from one of the parents. The owner of the service was a relative and had been glad to pick Ivy up at the rink and before going to tow in her car. He’d even given her a lift back to her house. Anything to help out his niece’s coach’s wife, he’d said when Jake finally ran him down this morning. Sometimes people in this town were just too damn friendly.
Jake walked to the front door frowning as he noticed the overgrown bushes on either side of the front porch. Someone could easily hide behind them and not be seen until it was too late to call for help. He’d bring his hedge clippers over and correct that as soon as possible. Probably not today, he thought as snow began to fall. If this storm dropped as much snow as the forecast predicted, he was going to too busy to prune bushes.
He rang the doorbell. Waited and then rang it again. She was home. She had to be. Her car was still at the repair shop and he’d already checked to make sure she wasn’t with Sue. What did she think, if she didn’t answer the door, he’d just leave the container and go away. He pounded on the door.
“You might as well open up, Ivy, I’m not going away without talking with you,” he yelled holding his finger down on the doorbell. “IVY. ANSWER THE DAMN—”
The door swung open. The sound of David Bowie singing “Heroes” blasted out. “Stop yelling, Jake. You’ll have the neighbors calling the police complaining about the noise.”
He held a hand up to his ear. “What did you say? I can’t hear you over the music.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha.” She reached for the container. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t have bothered. Mom probably has forty of those things. I’m trying to get rid of them.”
Her hand brushed his. The way his body tightened you’d think she’d touched his groin. God, she was sexy. The pants she wore hugged her legs like a second skin and he ached to slide the oversized shirt she wore over her head so he could see her curves. It looked like she’d filled out in all the right places over the last few years. Not that there had been anything wrong with the way she’d looked before. She’d always been his wet dreams come to life.
“Jake.”
He jerked his gaze back to her face. “What?”
“Either give me the container or take it away with you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
She shook her head and several rich brown strands of hair drifted out of the messy knot on the top of her head. He almost drooled. “I’m working.”
He smiled. “I already figured that out.” He brushed a finger over her cheek. “You have a little blue paint right here and a David Bowie album is turned up almost to the point of pain.”
She flushed and rubbed at her cheek. “Then you know I’m busy.”
This time when she reached for the container, he let her take it. “We need to talk, Ivy.”
“It’s been five years, Jake. We’re divorced. There isn’t anything to talk about.” She started to close the door.
He stopped it with his hand. “I bought one of your pieces. The one you called “Lost Dreams” made out of pieces of string and thousands of bits of colored broken glass.”
She froze, her eyes wide. Then she stepped back and he walked into the house.
Working On Happily Ever After 
January 22, 2016 at 10:41 pm |
Oh oh oh, I like this so much! Please keep going.