Page 9 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

Her raspy morning voice reawakens my morning wood. The way her nipples strain against the thin fabric of her tank top makes me want to occupy my mouth with those instead of coffee. But if we don’t get down there soon, someone will come pounding on the door.

“Let’s go before they come get us.”

“Are you okay?” She rubs sleep from her eyes, looking at me like she thinks she might be dreaming this entire conversation.

I realize how crazy this sounds to her. What coffee shop? Where? She doesn’t understand how it works.

“Tawny and Leo are married. Both artists. They travel all over, supporting small businesses as they go by buying coffee. They bring it back here and set up a café in the community center. Today is the grand reopening. We have to go. It’s tradition.”

“Oh, yeah. Petra said the community center is also a coffee shop. I forgot about that.”

Fortunately, she’s intrigued. She’s not a morning person, so the appeal of regional coffees must be strong. But just to be sure she stays interested, I add, “Also, Tawny bakes.”

“There’s a bakery onsite now?” Her legs fly over the edge of the bed, and she practically sprints to the bathroom. “Yes!”

She’s ready to go in five minutes. I splash water on my face and wish I had a toothbrush here. “Any chance you have an extra toothbrush?”

“Yeah. There’s a pack of them in the drawer.”

I slide the drawer open and see the opened package with three new toothbrushes left. They’re all black, including the bristles.

“Did you buy these at Halloween?”

“They have charcoal built into the bristles. It helps to whiten your teeth.”

Bullshit.“Did you pay extra for that feature? Because I’m pretty sure that’s just a marketing ploy.”

She appears in the doorway, moving her index finger up and down rapidly in front of her mouth. “Brush more, talk less. I need coffee.”

I don’t want to dampen her cheery mood, so I keep my thoughts to myself and use her bullshit charcoal toothbrush. She walks away with a smile on her face. I’d brush my teeth with an actual chunk of charcoal to see that.

She comes back into the bathroom as I’m rinsing and spitting. She’s holding a knife.

“I promise not to disrespect your toothbrushes again. Don’t stab.”

With a halfhearted laugh, she notches a sliver of plastic from the handle of the one I just used. “There. Now we’ll know which one is yours.”

Okay. So, I have a toothbrush at her place now. That’s . . . more impactful than it should be. Why does that feel like a momentous change?

I stare at the two toothbrushes in the holder.

His and hers.

Side by side.

Yeah, I need coffee.

Ivy is talkative the whole walk. She is so excited about the chipmunks emerging from hibernation. She’s anti-love, but pro-rodent. I’m almost looking forward to the little bastards running amok again just to see her reaction to them.

“Did you put that ointment on your tattoo this morning like Josephine told you to?”

“Yes.” It’s been a long time since anyone has cared about something like that where I’m concerned. A long time since I’ve wanted anyone to.

“You’re lying.”

“Why do think I’m lying?”

“You have a tell. Everyone does. Mine is a lip twitch.”

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