Thanks for tuning in as I post chapters of my new novel When Ivy Met Adam: A second chance, forced proximity, sexy, queer love-triangle romance. Your feedback is everything. Please post comments here or email me. I’m so excited to hear what you think.

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapters 8&9

Chapter 10 - Ivy

By the time I get to my suite, I am no longer sleepy. I’m wired. What a weird day. I look at the clock on the nightstand. It’s midnight at my parents’ house. Part of me wants to call (I am positive they are still awake). Part of me is terrified to call—I have very little desire to hear the piling on of guilt they will inevitably offer. Wait. Where is my phone?

I pick up the hotel phone and without it ringing or anything, a professional man’s voice says, “How may I help you, Miss Gardiner?”

“Oh, hi. Um. Will you please connect me to Dr. Lopez’s office?”

There is a long pause. “His office? Oh. I see. The locum tenens doctor. Yes, of course. One moment, please.” Well, that confirms that, I guess. I take a deep whiff of the sweatshirt I’m wearing. It smells like clean laundry, but somehow also very manly.

He picks up on the third ring. He sounds breathless. “Hello?” A pause. “I mean, doctor’s office.”

I giggle. “Adam?”

“Ivy. Hi.” He sounds relieved. “Are you okay?” And now he sounds worried.

“I’m fine. No worries. But it just now occurred to me to wonder where my phone went.”

“Oh, shit,” he says, kind of to himself. Then to me, sounding sheepish, “Sorry.” Finally, more confidently, “Yeah, it’s in my pocket. Has been all day. I’m so sorry. I’ll bring it to you right this second.”

“No, no. It’s better if I get it from you tomorrow. I have an excuse not to call home this way.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. I can picture him doing this. In his work shirt, his broad shoulders rising, his chest puffing up, his handsome face relaxing as he exhales. “You said you’re hiding. From your family. At Christmas.” He’s not asking a question. But he is prompting me to tell him more.

“I did say hiding, didn’t I? I guess that’s overstating the case,” I start.

“Except you want me to keep your phone for you overnight.” He sounds like he’s smiling. I can imagine that, too. He has a very nice smile. Open and bright.

“Yeah… So maybe I’m hiding a little.”

“How’s this? I will put your phone in one of these fine hotel envelopes here on my desk and leave it for you at reception. That way, you have the option of picking it up later if you change your mind. In case you decide to call your parents.”

“That’s a good idea. Thank you.” I take a deep breath this time. Gather my thoughts. “I think I’ve said thank-you about a million times today. And yet, I feel like that’s still not enough.”

“No need to thank me at all, Ivy.” I like the way he says my name. It reminds me of… nothing. Never mind.

“Well, thank you just the same. I’m grateful. Good night again,” I say. I’m getting ready to hang up.

“Ivy,” he asks, “what time do you want to meet for breakfast?”

“I have a reservation downstairs for one at ten. Do you think they’ll let me bring you?” I’m kidding. Because of course they will. Who sets a table for one in a hotel restaurant? Hell, who sets a reservation for one on Christmas morning? This girl, that’s who. I feel the pathetic starting to creep up on me—but no. I have a date now. Nice.

Wait, is it a date? It’s a thank-you breakfast at best. Right? I mean, just because we both swiped right doesn’t mean he’s into me. Just because he’s handsome and has the greatest forearms in the history of great forearms, doesn’t mean I’m into him. Right?

“I hope so. Because I’ll be there waiting for you. Good night, Ivy. Please try to sleep. You had a lot happen to you today.”

He’s not wrong about that. My head is swimming.

“I’m going to shower and sleep, yes.” He makes the smallest, sexiest sound. Oh, huh? He likes the idea of me showering? Okay. So maybe he is into me. Maybe a little bit? “See you at ten.”

“Yes, you will,” he says. We hang up the phone.

I gather clean pjs (okay, maybe they are Christmas pjs—palm trees wrapped in colorful lights and surfing Santa Clauses—don’t judge) and my toiletries. Before I can even start the shower, there’s a knock at my door. I look through the peephole to see a bellhop. “Hello?” I ask through the door.

“A delivery for you, Miss.” He holds up an envelope for me to see.

I open the door. “Thank you.” I say, taking it. “Oh, wait.” I close the door in his face, run to my bag, and pull out some of the cash I tucked in there for just this type of thing. I open the door and the bell guy is still there. “Merry Christmas,” I say as I hand him the tip.

“Thank you, Miss,” he says with a smile. “Mele Kalikimaka.” How cool is that?

I close and lock the door again. I slide my phone and a note out of the big envelope. In handwriting that is angular and architectural (hardly the expected scrawl of a physician), the note says, “Here’s hoping our second date is less adventurous. Good night, Ivy. Love, Adam”

No, I’m serious. It says that. Not a heart. Not x’s and o’s. The word “Love” and then a comma and then Adam. Does that mean anything? Is it just how people sign handwritten notes? Is it something he did without even thinking? Maybe he means it like someone else might write “Cheers, Adam” or “Best, Adam”. Am I overthinking this? Yes. Yes, I am.

Grateful to have my phone back but not ready to call my parents, I put it on its charger. I carry the note with me to the bathroom. I’ll obsess over it—and obsess over Adam Lopez—as I wash away the day and the hospital and the worry.

 *

As soon as I’m out of the shower and in my Santa pajamas, I call Maeve. She answers on the first ring. “Were you hatching the phone?” I ask.

“Just staring at Instagram wondering why my Christmas decorations don’t look like all of these amazing photos,” she says wistfully.

“Because you’re Jewish and don’t have any Christmas decorations up?” I ask.

“Oh, that’s right. How’s paradise? Are you having the time of your life?”

“Actually, I nearly took my own life today.”

“What happened?” Should I be upset that she doesn’t sound shocked? “What did you do now?”

Something you might need to know about me is that I ooze luck. I’m so lucky, in fact, that it often manifests itself as misfortune. Like today. I decided to try something new, ordered a pomegranate cocktail even though I’ve never had pomegranate juice a day in my life, and not only did I nearly die (unlucky) but also a hot doctor rescued me (decidedly lucky). I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.

“Just a little anaphylaxis for your beachside pleasure today.”

“Seriously?” Now she sounds concerned. “What are you allergic to?”

“Pomegranates. Who knew?”

“How did you get to be today years old without ever having had pomegranates? They’re my favorite. Have I never made you a pomegranate margarita? How is that possible?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

I can practically hear Maeve roll her eyes. “You are the most optimistic person I know, Ivy. Only you could see a near-death experience as a positive one.”

“You haven’t heard the upshot. I was saved by a hot, single doctor.”

“Now we’re talking,” she says. “Tell me more.”

“Remember the guy I was telling you about? On Bumble? Dr. Abs-and-arms?”

“Yes…” She doesn’t get it yet.

“He saved me.”

“Okay, this I gotta hear,” she says.

So I tell her the whole story, including the engagement, the sweatshirt that smells like him, and his driving me home.

“You are one charmed Hedera helix, Ivy Gardiner.”

“I know. Right?” We’re both giggling.