Page 14 of The Coach

“It’s a classic,” she says, her lips curving into a smile. “And, well, Alan Jackson is a vibe. My Grandpa listens to him. He was a damn romantic in his younger years.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “You know who else is a vibe?”

“Who?” She says, eyeing her record collection.

“You,” I grin.

She laughs, walking over to the couch and sitting down, her eyes meeting mine. “You have no idea, Jackson. You don’t even want toknowwhat goes on up here.” She points to her temple.

“And what if I do?”

“Then you’re in trouble. Usually Luna is the only one who has to listen to my inner dialogues.”

My chest tightens at the sight of her—barefoot, relaxed, completely at ease—and I cross the room without thinking, sitting down beside her on the sofa. Luna gives me a wary look before hopping off the couch, but I barely notice because Ivy’s turned toward me, her gaze holding mine.

I reach out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You make it really hard to think straight.”

“Maybe you should stop thinking so much. Seems like you do that a lot. Ever tried living in your heart for once?” Her finger slides between my chest and her breath catches, and in the next moment, I’m leaning in, my lips finding hers. The kiss is slow at first, testing, but it doesn’t take long for it to deepen. She sighs softly against my mouth, her hands sliding up to rest on my shoulders as I pull her closer, losing myself in the taste of her.

“You’re so corny,” I sigh. “But somehow it works, with you. I mean, you’re not wrong. Man, I haven’t had a night where I’ve just let myself enjoy it—like we are now—since forever.”

“Wait,” she whispers, pulling back just enough to grab the bottle of wine sitting on the table. “Let’s make this official.”

“To marriage?” I laugh, watching as she pours two glasses and hands me one. We clink them together, the sound light and intimate in the quiet room.

“Maybe in like three years. But no, tosurprises,” she says, her voice soft. “And living in the moment. And a damn fun night.”

“To surprises,” I echo, taking a sip.

“Speaking of surprises…Which grade do you teach? I never asked.”

“Fourth grade.”

“That is absolutely adorable.”

“Some days. Other days, it’s like herding a classroom full of cats hopped up on candy and chaos.”

I lean in slightly, watching the way her lips curve around her glass. “Did you always know you wanted to do that?”

She exhales, shaking her head. “Actually, I went to college in Los Angeles for my freshman year. Studied cinematography and art.”

That throws me. “No shit? So what happened?”

Her smile fades just a little, but she doesn’t look away. “Eh, I had kind of a mental health crisis that year. Plus, my dad died.”

I still. “Oh. I’m sorry. That was…unrelated to the mental health crisis?”

“Yes. Me and L.A. just never quite meshed.” She nods, pressing her lips together for a beat. “After that, I came back to the Midwest and stuck around. I’ve thought about leaving again, but I could never justify it, you know? I love my family. My friends. It might not have the glamour of L.A., but Riverbend truly has its charms.”

We sit like that for a while, talking between kisses. She tells me about her fourth-grade class, her passion for local history, how she loves photography and has a side project where she takes photos for her friends’ creative projects.

“Wait—you were anextrain a horror short film?” I ask, grinning as she laughs and hides her face behind her hands. “And you took spicy behind-the-scenes photos? Now youhaveto show me.”

“Fine,” she says, pulling out her phone. “But you’re not allowed to laugh.”

“No promises.”

She scrolls for a moment, then holds the phone out to me. On the screen, she’s standing in the middle of a dark forest, her hair wild, her makeup ridiculous—smudged mascara, fake blood, the whole deal. She’s wearing a torn white dress and whispering dramatically,‘I think it’s safe to go outside now…I can feel it.’

---