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 little

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Dinner With

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

a dismissive hand. “It’s the least I could do.

it is again, that undercurrent of something. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it

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

I’m reading too much into things. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.

it’s understandable, Selene says, yawning from her spot on the couch. She’s still binge–watching

wine on the counter. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?”

and cinka aronofully onto the

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Dinner With Ivy

Ivy reaches out to pat her head in a ginger sort of way, almost like she’s

me snort. Inside my head, of course. I wouldn’t do that where she

to ignore the way her gaze

are,” I say, setting a plate in front of

already reaching for her fork. We eat in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the soft clink of cutlery against

and conversational. “Tell me a little about yourself. Your family, where you’re from–all

on my fork. “There’s not

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Ava: Dinner With

not really

what seems like genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t

head, offering her a reassuring smile. “It’s

heard from her before. “Clayton and I lost our parents when we were young, too,” she

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

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

me a small, grateful smile, giving my hand one last squeeze/before

strong alpha because he was