Page 42 of Decked Out with Ivy

“Cynthia has a point,” Poppy chimed in from the screen.

“Nice try,” Ivy said. “But you’re not getting rid of the competition that easily.”

“I think I could win this thing,” Cody said, placing a gumdrop along his roof. Everyone in the kitchen burst out laughing, and Cody glanced up, looking around. “What?”

“Son, you might be a fine actor, but you suck at this,” Ivy’s father said, and Ivy pulled her lips into her mouth.

He looked at the globs of frosting dripping from the roof and clumped in the corners. His eyes scanned over the shaky lines across the rooftop and the oddly placed gumdrops. It was a fucking disaster, but it was the first gingerbread house he’d ever decorated.

He was damn proud of it.

“It does kind of suck, but not bad for a first timer.” He stood back, admiring his shoddy work.

“I think it’s adorable.” Ivy stepped out from her station and walked over to his. He liked being near her, liked how she bit her lip as she studied his disaster.

“If you place gumdrops along where the two pieces of the roof meet, it’ll really bring it together.”

He tilted his head. “Are you just trying to be nice?”

“No. For a first timer, it’s really good. You should have seen our first gingerbread houses.”

“Mine collapsed,” Poppy said. “All four walls caved right in. Total failure.”

“At least you got your walls up at some point,” Cynthia said. “I couldn’t get the damn thing to hold to save my life.”

“Mine was perfect,” Rome said, and the entire kitchen laughed harder than before.

“Bullshit,” Trey said. “Yours collapsed, and you swore it was supposed to look like that.”

“It was. It got taken out by the Christmas tornado.”

Cody glanced at Ivy, who rolled her eyes. He loved how they were making him feel better when they didn’t have to. It was something he never had.

It made him never want to go back to the land of fake-believe. But this wasn’t real either, was it? He and Ivy were pretending to be together to help save his career. This was just a bonus. He wanted more than that with her, though. He wanted the real thing.

He wanted to wake up every morning with Ivy in his bed. Have her be the last person he spoke to at night. He wanted to curl up on the couch with her and watch a movie while she knitted another sweater. He wanted her to make him as many sweaters as her heart desired. He wanted to make her happy, because she made him happy.

He’d been floating through life, doing whatever his agent or PR team told him to, but nothing made him happy. Nothingmade him feel alive. The last week with Ivy, he had felt more alive than he had in his entire life.

She pressed up on her toes, kissed his cheek. “You’re doing great.” Three words that, to anyone else, wouldn’t mean much, but to him, it meant more than it probably should.

“Thanks,” he said, placing a gumdrop along the seam as Ivy suggested.

“Who votes on the winner, anyway?” he asked.

“Mom posts it to her social media accounts. She’s friends with the entire town. They know it’s coming and are probably waiting for the pictures. Once Mom uploads them, we’ll leave voting open for twenty-four hours. Then Mom will let us know who the winner is.”

“Are there any prizes?” he asked, just trying to figure out how they did things, and with how seriously they took it, the prize must’ve been good.

“Bragging rights for the year,” Deb said. “And trust me that goes a long way in this family.”

Here he thought they were vying for some material item when all they wanted was to win so they could rub in their family’s face. Once again, something no one could put a price tag on. No wonder Ivy had made fun of him that first day for his three-hundred-dollar jeans request.

Ivy hummedRudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and the familiar song reached somewhere deep inside him. He wanted Ivy to know she meant more to him than some pictures in a tabloid. She had been going out of her way to make him fall in love with Christmas, dragging him along to participate in all her sacred traditions. It was time he shared one of his own with her.

He’d been wondering if he should get her something for Christmas, but after tonight, he knew she wouldn’t want something anyone could buy her. She’d want something personal. Special.

He excused himself to the bathroom, slipped out his phone and shot off a text.

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