Page 97 of Barre Fight
“And kiss me,” she smiled. And then, without waiting for him to move, she rose up on relevé and pressed her mouth to his.
The moment her lips touched his, Justin felt his pulse settle. Her kiss and the solidness of her body against his, they anchored him to the scorched ground, soothing the parts of him that had been hurting for so long he’d almost stopped noticing. She kissed him fiercely, as though her adrenaline had spiked and she hadn’t come down yet, or perhaps she was simply kissing him the way she did everything else. The way she wrote, the way she worked, the way she stood between him and the things that scared him.
Determined, incorrigible, stubborn, he didn’t know what the right word was. She was the one with the writer’s vocabulary. What he knew was that he never wanted her to stop kissing him like this. But he needed to hear her say the words. If he was honest with himself, he’d been waiting weeks to hear her say them.
He broke the kiss and looked down into her round face, which was shining a little in the heat of the afternoon. “Is that a yes?” he ventured.
Ivy’s eyes sparkled as she smiled up at him, and god, he would never tire of the way that smile lit up her face, and all the dark places inside him.
“It’s a yes, Justin. Yes, I love you. And yes, I want you to love me like that.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, still wondering at how steady his heartbeat felt. It should have been thundering, but for the first time in so long, he felt settled and still and sure. He didn’t want to fidget or pace or run. He just wanted to hold on to her, breathe her in, and love her with all the fierceness and determination she deserved.
Holding her here, in the ruins of his hometown, it was like holding his future while he made peace with the past. He knew Hillstone had a long road ahead, and he did, too. But he’d started down that road with her—kicking and screaming, she’d be the first to say. He was determined to keep going, though. He’d hold her hand as he did, and he knew this road would take them wherever they wanted to go.
Epilogue
One year later
It wasn’t a celebration of Ivy’s success, this lunch. Her parents had made that very clear. It was a normal family brunch, same as on any other Sunday, and it just happened to be taking place a few days after Ivy told them her big news. And there just happened to be a bottle of champagne on the table. Which they would drink without toasting to Ivy’s accomplishment, her dad promised. No fuss, no pressure. They had thought she was wonderful before she got a book deal, and they still thought she was wonderful now. They would continue thinking that, always—whether her book became a bestseller, or if they were the only ones who ever read it.
“Oh, and George. George’ll read it,” Luke added through a mouthful of meat. “We all know Georgelovesa good book.”
“And we all know you’ll watch a YouTube video about it, since you can barely read,” George shot back from across the table.
“I read spreadsheets and decks all day, it’s literally my job. Sorry, I should explain, Georgie: ajobis when?—”
“Boys,” said their mother and father in weary unison.
Luke turned away from George and took a swig ofchampagne, then held up the glass and examined the sparkling gold liquid. “Oh, that’s nice. You should get a book deal every week, Ivy.”
“Sure, I’ll get right on that,” Ivy scoffed. She’d barely survived the process of securing this one. When her agent Simone had called this week with the news that two different editors wanted her book and were bidding for the privilege of publishing it, Ivy had burst into tears. It had taken her a few moments to realize that they were tears of relief, rather than joy or pride. Between working full time and researching and writing a book proposal—then revising it, and revising it yet again—the last year had been such a grind that by the time Simone had told her the damn thing was ready to submit to potential editors, Ivy was beyond burned out. Once the proposal was out on submission she had less work on her plate, but that just left more room for anxiety, which was exhausting in its own way. She’d had no idea whether the book would actually sell—whether she’d ever get to tell these stories in full, the way they deserved.
But it had sold, and now she could breathe a little easier. Well, now she had to write an entire book. Butthenshe could breathe a little easier.
Next to her, Justin must have sensed her anxiety, because he put a large, warm hand on her leg under the table and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Then he reached for the bottle of champagne and topped off her glass.
“No toasts, right?” he asked, looking to her parents for confirmation. Her dad was busy filling her mum’s plate with food like he always did.
“No toasts,” her dad said with a nod. He set the plate down in front of her mum and planted a kiss on her cheek as usual.
Her mum reached for her glass and lifted it a few centimetres off the table, then put it back down. “Just know thatwe are proud of all of our children, equally, and that is true regardless of what’s happening in their professional lives?—”
“Or not happening, in George’s case,” Luke interjected.
“Shut up, Luke,” George and Ivy both said.
“And,” their mother went on loudly, “we are very excited about Ivy’s news.”
They all paused to drink their champagne.
“That kind of felt like a toast,” Luke said, and Ivy suppressed a smile.
Justin picked up her plate and started to fill it with veggies and grilled meat. She’d been a little worried the first time she’d brought him to Sunday lunch, that Luke and George’s macho ribbing would remind him too much of home. But they’d been too curious about him to give him, or her, too much shit. Now, he knew them well enough to ignore their nonsense. Her parents had been curious, too, and he patiently answered every question his mother had about ballet, and Hillstone, and his mother’s preferred scones recipe. Now, her dad even trusted him to occasionally man the barbeque. It was the first time since Opa had died that there had regularly been six people around this table, and it felt a little cramped once they were all seated and all the food had been served. Cramped, Ivy had realized a few months ago, but complete, in a way she’d missed for so long she’d almost stopped noticing the pain.
“It most certainly was not,” her mother said. It most certainly had been. But her parents were obviously doing their best. Sometimes they overdid it a little, but she didn’t mind. She knew that they’d support her no matter what happened next, win or lose. They’d been doing it all year, after all.
When she’d told her mum and dad, a few months after returning from New York, that she’d given notice at ANB, she could tell they were worried about her. Concerned that she might spiral into misery again. But then she’d told them aboutthe book, and they’d seemed reassured. Now they barely asked about her day job, since there wasn’t a whole lot to tell. Ivy worked from home, writing blog posts and other website content for a hospital group. It wasn’t exactly thrilling work, and it had nothing to do with the arts, but it paid about the same as ANB had. Perhaps because it had nothing to do with the arts, it felt less grimy than the kind of spin and sales she’d been doing at ANB. And crucially, it left her enough time to conduct the archival research and interviews she’d needed to write the first few chapters of her book. On the strength of that work, Simone had been able to sell her soon-to-be publisher on the project.
