Tangled

54 Ava: Dinner With Ivy

Music drifts through the kitchen, courtesy of my phone, as I chop garlic, enjoying the sharp aroma. Cooking has always been a comfort to me, a way to lose myself in the simple tasks and let my mind wander. As I toss minced garlic into the pan heating over the stove, I can’t help but feel a sense of peace settle over me, if only momentarily.”

I’ve set up the phone Clayton gave me, and texted him and Ivy to let them know it was working. Neither responded, which is fine by me. I set up the burner phone, too, and texted Lisa with updates. She did respond, and her spam of emojis have lightened the load on my heart. I texted Mrs. Elkins, letting her know I’m safe and begging her not to talk to anyone about me. Mrs. Elkins assured me my job is safe whenever I

can come home, which is even more of a relief.

My little paradise is waiting for me, which makes it so much easier to be stuck here right now.

A knock at the door startles me from my reverie. I glance at the clock, wondering who could be here at

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54 Ava: Dinner With Ivy

this hour. Wiping my hands on a towel, I make my way to the door, peering through the peephole.

It’s Ivy.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever interaction awaits me. There’s something about Ivy that always puts me on edge, a subtle undercurrent of something that I can’t quite place. Still, I paste on a polite smile and open the door..

“Ivy, hi,” I greet her, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Ava,” she says, her smile bright but somehow not quite reaching her eyes. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all,” I assure her, stepping aside to let her in. “I was just making dinner.”

As she enters, I notice the bottle of wine in her hand and the shopping bag slung over her arm. My brow furrows slightly, but I say nothing, waiting for her to explain.

you,” Ivy says, holding out the wine and the bag. “A

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2/7

Dinner

feeling a bit awkward. “You didn’t have to do that,” I murmur, even as I eye

“It’s the least I could do. You’re

it is again, that undercurrent of something. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it makes me uneasy. Still, I force

say, meaning it despite my reservations. “That’s really kind of you.”

for a moment, I wonder if I’m reading too much into things. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. The Moon Goddess knows I’m plenty

says, yawning from her spot on

in the middle of cooking, I set the bag and wine on the counter. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” I gesture towards the living area. “Dinner

and cinka

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Dinner

and leaning back. Selene sniffs her in greeting, and Ivy reaches out to pat her head in a ginger sort of way,

snort. Inside my head, of course. I

trying to ignore the way her gaze seems to follow

dishes. to the table. “Here we are,” I say, setting a plate in front of Ivy before taking my own seat. “I hope you like pasta primavera.”

We eat in silence

her tone light and conversational. “Tell me a little about yourself. Your family,

at the mention of family, my grip tightening on my fork. “There’s not much to tell,” I deflect, keeping my tone carefully neutral.

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Dinner With Ivy

not really around

warm with what seems like genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry,”

shake my head, offering her a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, you

lost our parents when we were young, too,” she confides, her

respond, she reaches across the table, her hand covering mine in a gentle squeeze. I blink, surprised by the unexpected gesture of

the first time since meeting her, I feel like I’m seeing the real Ivy–not the polished

grateful smile, giving my hand one last squeeze/before

a strong alpha because he