Chapter 12
953 Words
The morning after their parents’ visit, the air in the apartment felt heavier. Ivy woke up to sunlight streaming through the blinds and the faint sound of Asher humming in the kitchen.
It was a normal sound — one she’d heard countless times before — but now it made her stomach twist. Everything felt different.
She took her time getting ready, hoping the weird energy would pass. But when she walked out and saw him flipping pancakes in sweatpants and messy hair, the world tilted again.
“Morning,” he said without turning around. “You like them crispy, right?”
Her mouth opened, then closed. “You remember how I like my pancakes?”
He smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “I remember more than you think.”
Her heart did that annoying flip again, and she quickly grabbed a mug. “Coffee?”
“Already brewing.”
Silence stretched between them, filled with the sound of sizzling batter and the faint pop song coming from the radio. Ivy tried to ignore how domestic it all felt — too domestic.
When he finally set a plate in front of her, she said softly, “You didn’t have to cook.”
“Yeah, I did.” He slid into the chair across from her. “You looked like you didn’t sleep.”
“I didn’t,” she admitted, picking at her food.
He leaned forward slightly. “Because of last night?”
Her eyes snapped up to his. “Because of you,” she said before she could stop herself.
His grin faded, replaced by something quieter. “Ivy…”
She shook her head, standing up abruptly. “Forget it. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yeah, you did.”
She glared at him. “You don’t get to decide what I meant.”
“Then tell me what you meant.”
“I meant—” She exhaled sharply. “I meant that this—whatever this is—is confusing and… impossible. You’re my stepbrother, Asher. This isn’t some college crush.”
He stood too, eyes locked on hers. “Then what is it?”
“I don’t know!”
The words burst out louder than she intended. She turned away, gripping the counter.
He was silent for a long time, then said softly, “Okay. Then I’ll back off. If that’s what you want.”
Her throat tightened. She nodded without turning around. “Yeah. That’s what I want.”
⸻
Later that week
Asher kept his word. He stopped lingering in the kitchen, stopped making snarky comments in class, stopped finding excuses to sit close to her on the couch.
And Ivy hated it.
She told herself it was for the best. But every time she saw him talking to someone else—especially that redhead from their communications class—her stomach churned.
One afternoon, as she was heading back to the apartment, she spotted them together outside the café. The girl was laughing at something Asher said, touching his arm lightly.
Ivy froze mid-step, heat rushing to her cheeks.
She wanted to look away. She should look away. Instead, she watched him smile — that same crooked, charming smile he used on her.
Her chest tightened, and before she realized it, she’d turned and walked the other way.
⸻
That evening, she found him on the couch watching a game.
“Hey,” he said casually when she walked in.
“Hey.”
“Good day?”
“Fine.” She dropped her bag and crossed her arms. “You seem… busy lately.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Busy?”
“With that girl. What’s her name? Jenna?”
His lips twitched. “Jealous, McCall?”
“Of her? Please.”
“Because it kinda sounds like it.”
She threw a cushion at him, and he caught it effortlessly, grinning. “Careful. Violence is a sign of affection.”
“You’re impossible.”
He laughed softly, but his eyes were searching hers. “Why does it bother you, Ivy?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Liar.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “It does. Happy?”
He stood, taking a slow step closer. “Why?”
Her pulse thundered. “Because…”
He was inches away now. His voice was low. “Because?”
She swallowed hard. “Because I don’t like seeing you with her.”
He smiled faintly. “You could’ve just said that.”
Then, before she could think, he brushed a strand of hair from her face — gentle, almost reverent.
“I told you I’d back off,” he murmured, “but you make that impossible.”
Her breath caught, and for a second, everything in her screamed don’t do this. But she didn’t move.
She just whispered, “Then stop trying.”
⸻
That night
They didn’t talk about what happened.
He watched a movie; she studied in her room. But the walls felt thinner somehow — like every sound, every shift of air, carried meaning.
At one point, she caught herself smiling at the memory of his hand brushing her cheek.
It was dangerous. Stupid. Completely out of line.
And it was the first thing that had felt real in a long time.
⸻
The next morning
Asher found a sticky note on the fridge in Ivy’s handwriting.
Gone to the library. Don’t burn the apartment down.
He smiled to himself, folding the note and slipping it into his pocket.
He didn’t know where this was going. Neither of them did. But he knew one thing for sure—
Whatever line they’d been trying to stay behind, they’d already crossed it.
And there was no turning back.
- Writer
