𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕟

Chapter 13 : Old Ivy

Alex and Ivy leave the pitch, their footsteps soft in the quiet streets. Ivy, now steadier and more sober, has been engrossed in defending her stance on books, horrified by Alex’s preference for movies.

"How can you say that movies are better than the books?!" Ivy is practically scandalized, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Alex can’t help but be amused. The way Ivy defends her opinions, even about something as small as books versus movies, pulls him in. Her energy makes every conversation feel important, every word captivating. She notices every detail around her, every sound and movement. There’s an elegance in her contradictions: she’s obsessively neat, yet her perfectionism means she sometimes leaves things undone; she’s kind but fiercely protective of her peace.

The street lights cast a soft glow around them, and Ivy, spinning around, suddenly catches Alex looking at her with a faint smile.

"What’s funny?" she asks, walking backward to keep him in view.

"Nothing," he replies, grinning. "Just… it’s rare to meet someone who’s so passionate about publishing. Most people want to be doctors or artists."

"Books made me who I am," Ivy says, as if it’s the simplest truth. "They gave me comfort, taught me life lessons, even things I never learned from Ty or Rosa. I want to give other writers a voice, especially those who aren’t afraid to tackle tough subjects. Books expand our view of the world. That’s something people need."

Alex is struck by the intensity of her words. "You’re going to do great things, Ivy Bellow," he says quietly, his voice almost reverent.

Her face lights up with a shy smile, and they walk in silence for a few moments. Then, just before they reach her house, Ivy breaks the quiet. "Thank you. Tonight… I felt like myself again."

"It was an honor," Alex says, smiling. "Old Ivy’s great company."

Ivy lifts her chin, a playful smirk on her face. "She is. Old Ivy’s braver than I am," she adds with a touch of nostalgia.

They stop in front of her door, and Alex can’t help himself. "What kinds of things?" he asks, tilting his head.

Ivy’s gaze shifts to his lips, her voice a whisper. "She’d kiss you."

There’s a pause. The night air is thick with something unspoken, and Alex finds himself leaning in, their foreheads touching. It’s the closest he’s ever been to her, and the moment feels endless, suspended in a quiet intimacy he can’t bear to break.

But Ivy does. She pulls back, her voice soft and regretful. "I can’t."

The shift is sudden. The warmth between them cools, replaced by a vulnerable distance that Alex feels acutely. He fights the instinct to follow her, to bridge the gap she’s placed between them. "I know. It’s okay," he says gently.

They go inside, and Alex heads to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and some painkillers for Ivy, who sits on the couch, head in her hands. When he returns, he places the water next to her feet and kneels in front of her, meeting her tear-filled gaze.

"Ivy," he says softly, "look at me."

She does, her eyes searching his, a glint of guilt and sadness in them.

"You’re drunk," he begins, choosing his words carefully. "And it’s been a rough night. I would’ve kissed you—I wanted to. But I’m glad you stopped me. I’m sorry I didn’t have the strength to do it first."

Ivy offers a weak smile, eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you," she whispers.

He gestures to the glass. "Drink up. Take some rest. You deserve it."