Page 11 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

His voice is powerful, on par with Chris Stapleton and Teddy Swims.

The magnitude of it fits him, but the smoothness doesn’t. At least not what I know of him, which is admittedly not much. Looking around, it appears everyone else knew he had this talent. I’m the only one blown away by it.

This morning has shown me a whole other side to Ivydell. I’ve been told I arrived in the off season, but I associated the season with the annual arts festival, and assumed it centered on visual artists. Aside from the spirit sisters, whose draw is clearly intangible.

I felt like I knew this place, but my curiosity has been renewed.

Josephine watches Cujo with a contented expression. She’s not smiling, but you can just tell the sound of his voice means something more to her.

Jensen comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He doesn’t care who knows we’re more than friends, not that it would be easy to keep a secret in Ivydell.

Ironic, given that everyone here seems to be a little secretive by nature. Big secrets are probably easier to hold on to, though. People can read your small secrets anywhere if you give them half a chance.

“Was this worth getting out of bed for?” he asks.

“Definitely worth it.” I sip my coffee and lean my head back against his shoulder. “Does this place become a bar at night?”

“People come down here to hang out and have a few drinks sometimes, but no bartender.”

“So, I guess that means no band either.”

“If you want to go hear a band, I can make that happen.”

“A good band?”

“We can hope.”

Tawny brings out a tray of fresh-from-the-oven scones. Josephine brings us one.

“Y’all have to share, but she has more in the oven.”

“Thanks.” I break off a piece and feed it to Jensen.

He pretends he’s going to bite my fingers again, the same way he did with the olives during our picnic. I yank my hand away this time, too. And then he pulls it back and kisses it instead.

The scone is delicious. So is he. So is this whole morning.

I turn back to watch Cujo. He’s smiling out at Josephine. I glance back to see if she’s smiling now, too, but she’s not there. Turning my head further, I spot her in the kitchen with Tawny.

He’s smiling at Jensen. And Jensen’s smiling back. They’re friends. An unlikely pair anywhere else, but nothing is all that unlikely here.

The door opens and a man I’ve never seen stands silhouetted against a swirling sunlit gust of fine desert dirt, glittering like stardust behind him.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

Jensen nods his head at the man. “That’s Shadow.”

“Whoa.”

Cujo keeps playing, but his smile is displaced by the furrow of his brow as he watches Shadow enter the coffee shop.

Petra

Like Grandmother Like Granddaughter

Ivy’s sweet, but she’sstubborn as hell. The way she didn’t hesitate to tell me she had no intention of staying away from Jensen—she couldn’t be any more like Patty if she tried. But watching her stand there, wrapped in his arms, I still want to go pull them apart.

I care about Jensen, but I can’t help but worry about Ivy falling for him. Hell, I more than just care about him; I love him like a son, I guess. As much as I can be maternal. Heaven knows he could’ve used a better mom, and I’m better than nobody.

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