Page 39 of Worth the Rush
“Is that right?” he drawls. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t blushing then.” He walks to my side—the passenger side, not mine—I remind myself. Nothing here is mine, especially anything having to do with Alder. He opens the door, and I walk over to get back in. As I’m brushing past him to get to my seat, he lifts a hand and runs it through my hair. I fight the impulse not to lean into his warm, callused palm. I slowly pull my head back, neither of us saying a word. I slip into my seat, and he shuts me in. I’m trying not to think too long about how good it feels to have him touching me.
The drive to the grocery store is quiet in an unexpectedly soft way. More often than not, I’m finding time spent with Alder is a balm to my perpetual flight or fight response. There are no more questions about my family history or life before coming to Silverthorne, which is appreciated. Being vulnerable isn’t something I’ve mastered, and I'm out of my depth here. I’m actually getting a little annoyed that on more than one occasion now, he’s mentioned that he sees me or thinks he has me figured out. There’s not much more to me than what yousee on the surface anymore. Life, and the people I’ve allowed to be in mine have helped see to that.
I don’t remember a time in my life when I tried to be something or someone I wanted to be, and I wasn’t immediately told I couldn’t be it. My dreams and aspirations were always presented to me as unrealistic. By five years old, most of my little girl dreams were dashed. I wasn’t talented enough to be a painter. I wasn’t coordinated enough to be a dancer. I had long limbs even then. I’ve never been clumsy, but I don’t think I’ve ever had rhythm either. My father is a brutally honest man. Receiving criticism growing up was expected but still hurtful. He may have never physically hit me, but his words felt a lot like weapons when they hit their mark. I think that’s how I ended up with Noah. He’s not an old man by any means, but I think I was searching for approval in people and places I had no business searching. Noah’s attention was a welcome change to the indifference I felt from my father.
“I don’t want to rush you too much, but I think they’re wrong about the storm moving in tomorrow. I think it’s going to be here tonight.” I’m snapped out of my self-pitying thoughts by Alder’s deep timbre. I look around and notice we’ve parked. Right in front of the grocery store.
“Sorry. Yeah, I can be fast. You don’t have to come in with me if you don’t want to. I’ll be quick,” I tell him, possibly needing a few minutes to compose myself. It’s not often I let my thoughts drift, yet it seems to happen a lot with him. I file that information away to pull out to analyze later when I’m alone.
“I need to get a few things myself; I don’t mind coming in with you,” he says, turning off the truck and making his way around the front of it. I let out a sigh and then open my door.He’s standing by it, waiting for me and asks, “What’s on your list?”
“I need some fruit and cheese. Oranges and chocolate. I may also need some frozen meals,” I ramble off my mental list to him.
“Frozen meals? Like lasagna?”
“Yeah. Possibly some popcorn chicken. A bag of frozen fries. How long do you think we’ll be stuck? Maybe I’ll get a couple of bags of fries. And some bacon. I think I need more coffee beans.” I really am rambling now.
“Ivy, I know it’s none of my business…” That sentence never goes anywhere good. “But you have low blood sugar. Hypoglycemia.” Oh, so now he’s going to try and be invested in my health. I internally and externally roll my eyes.
“You know that I do because I told you that I did.” That was probably the bitchiest response I could have spewed, but he just smirks. His hair slips over his eyes just a little, and I’m dying to smooth it back with my fingers.No, I’m not.
“Do you think you should be getting some things that would help you maintain a little more even blood sugar level?” His question sounds a lot like my doctor the first time I ended up back at the hospital, and I appreciate it about as much as I did then.
“I have been living with this on my own for the last five years, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am still alive.” I put just enough sarcasm into the statement to sound annoyed and pissed off.
“Noted, Ivy.”
“And what are you? A doctor? Me thinks he’s watched too many Grey’s Anatomy episodes.” He stops in the aisle andturns to look at me. I’ve successfully riled him up, and it’s much less satisfying than I thought it would be.
“Or maybe…and I’m just spitballing here. His sister has low iron, so he is observant of people's diets and how they can improve their quality of life.” He winks and then continues to walk ahead of me. I don’t feel as bad now. He’s too good-natured. It’s jarring and unfamiliar. I open my mouth to tell him that I’m not his sister, and those aren’t exactly the same thing, but he starts talking again. “Oh, and also, I am EMS certified,” he throws over his shoulder, walking to grab a cart. That pulls me up a little short, my doctor argument now seems a little flimsy.
We walk beside each other in the small grocery store, and I shouldn’t find it as attractive as I do when he pulls out these little pocket-size reusable bags from his coat pocket for me to put my produce in. There’s something so exotically domestic about sharing a shopping cart and reusable bags. The easy rhythm we fall into is altogether the closest I’ve felt to another person in a long time and also the most annoying thing that’s happened in just as long. I like how I feel when I’m with Alder. I also don’t want to feel the way I do about him. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to deal with conflicting emotions.
I glance his way and am hit all over again by his profile. He’s handsome in a way that women notice him as we walk by. That’s not something you see in real life often. Southern California definitely has its charms and its fair share of beautiful men. But Alder is rugged in a way that makes me want to crawl into his lap and snuggle in for the long winter. Those are the thoughts that I need to lock away. I don’t need any more thoughts about him. I need to keep my head down and focus onmy objective. I’ll be gone before all this snow melts, and that’s exactly how I need it to be.
“All done, princess?” he asks. Even after explaining that nickname, I’m definitely not sold on it. That could be a good thing though. Something else about him that annoys me.
“I’m done, Search and Rescue,” I tell him, shaking my head. He reaches into his pocket, and I hear metal clinking, then he extends his hand to me and offers me his keys.
“Wanna go start the truck, and I’ll get the groceries?” The way my body and mind have just reacted to the most innocent sentence should be studied. I know that I should fight him on this. I should pay for my own groceries, but I feel my stomach tighten and my legs squeeze together. Why is that attractive? I take his keys with a sure and make my way out to his green Bronco. There’s already a layer of snow covering it. It’s thin, but I’m starting to get nervous that we won’t make it back up the mountain.
The truck is started and warming up, and Alder appears at the back, opening the hatch. I unbuckle to help him load up, but he stops me. “I can get this loaded. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” He tells me, and it confuses me because I’m not doing anything.
“And that would be?” I ask, confused.
“Sitting in the front seat of my Bronco, looking so pretty it hurts.”
It’s Christmas. Since our shopping trip, Ivy has been—elusive. I haven’t seen her except for the very small glimpses I’ve caught of her around the lodge. She’s avoiding me. At first, I just assumed we were missing each other in passing, but after this past week, I can take a hint. She’s kept her office door closed, and yesterday, I actually made eye contact with her through the main cabin's window, and she physically ducked out of view. Just a flash of her hair and then nothing. I want her to come to dinner tonight. I also don’t want to push her into something she isn’t ready for. She’s already so skittish. Skittish in the way you’d also describe a wild animal that’s been cornered.
I’m just out of the shower when I hear a knock on my door and rush to answer. I tug my towel tighter around my waist and narrowly miss my hip on the kitchen island. Running my hand through my wet hair, I open the door. I see Ivy’s SUV driving down the road, back toward her cabin, and then look down to see a meticulously wrapped set of gifts.
I pick them up and see the names written in cursive on each one. There’s one that says Mary and three that say Hazel. There’s even a present for Winnie. I smile. They’re beautiful, and it, honest to God, warms my heart to see her think of my family. Does this woman really believe she can drop these off and not make an appearance at dinner? My mother will never let that slide.
I’m dressed and out my front door in record time. I stash the gifts Ivy brought in the back of my truck, and then I’m off to my family’s Christmas. I just have to pick up something or someone, on the way. I chuckle, thinking about how she thought she was getting away with that stunt. As if I would let her spend Christmas alone, with her ex-husband and his new fiancée on the property.
I pull up to her cabin, and I see the curtain move in the front room. When I knock on the door, I expect her to ignore me, but to my surprise, she opens it immediately.
“What are you doing here, Alder?” I can see her attitude is visibly and firmly in place by the tilt of her hips.
