When Ivy Met Adam: Prologue
Hello, my hearts. I’m going to try something new with you this month. I hope you’ll enjoy this leap of faith I’m taking.
Starting today and as quickly as I finish them, I’ll be posting chapters of my new novel. I’m calling it When Ivy Met Adam: A second chance, forced proximity, sexy, queer love-triangle romance. (You can preorder your copy on Amazon right now!) Your feedback is everything. Please post comments here or email me. I’ll be so excited to hear what you think.
Prologue - Ivy
fourteen years ago
“Name?”
Ugh. “Ivy Gardiner.” I have never forgiven my parents for this play on words that is my name.
The straight-out-of-Legally Blonde sorority girl looks up from her paperwork.
“Really?” Her name is Liz. It says so on her nametag. I’m jealous of her glossy vanilla blonde blowout, her pearly white and exceptionally straight teeth, her pink preppy outfit, and her perfectly forgettable name.
“It’s actually Ivy Rose Greene Gardiner, but it should be in your records as Ivy Gardiner.” I don’t mention that my sister is Iris Juniper Greene Gardiner, but I do think of her in this awkward moment. I wish she were here.
Feeling awkward and homesick, I pull my long, boring dishwater blonde ponytail tighter in the leopard print scrunchie I’m now regretting. I thought I looked kind of casual-cute-college kid when I got dressed this morning. Black leggings, brown Birkenstocks, my dad’s vintage Fighting Irish gray hoodie, and this ponytail holder I now hate. Feeling frumpy and foolish now, I lament my life choices.
They have probably trained the sorority girl not to laugh at people’s names. But the girl in line behind me has no such qualms.
She’s laughing when she says, “You have got to be kidding me. And I thought my name was bad.”
I roll my eyes. Then I turn around to find the most stunning human I have ever seen. She’s tall, tan, absolutely gorgeous. I was about to be snarky, but all I can be now is speechless. This girl is everything I am not. She’s everything the sorority girl is not. She’s wearing a gray racer back tank to show off her perfect shoulders with black pants that fall somewhere between casual and dressy in a confident, sexy way. And the whitest sneakers I’ve ever seen. They look very expensive, not gonna lie. Her hair is cut stylishly short, and she has on tiny black earrings and a black coin on a leather cord around her neck. Her makeup is perfect—a subtle cat-eye and nothing else. I want to either date her or be her (maybe both?), the moment I lay eyes on her.
The beautiful girl takes pity on me, dumbstruck as I am. “Alejandra Almudena Narvaez-Hinojosa Lopez.” She reaches out a hand—not showing off about her name, but actually introducing herself.
Her handshake is strong, her nails short, perfectly manicured with a hint of pink. She smells fresh—like lime and cedar, deliciously clean. I'm smitten. Is this lust at first sight? At first sniff?
“Ivy,” I say.
“Ivy. Please call me Ali.” She smiles like she knows a secret. Not just any secret. A secret about me.
