Unwrapped (Sugar & Spice #1)

1. Ivy

Chapter 1

Ivy

“ O h, the weather outside is—hmm, hmm, hmm.”

I hum blissfully along to the familiar Christmas tune as I whisk together a blend of spices for our latest batch of holiday cookies—vanilla chai pecan tassies. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg fills my tiny Chicago apartment, wrapping around me like a warm hug. Not only is it my favorite time of year but it’s also the last time I’ll be doing this in my apartment.

It’s a tradition I started almost a decade ago when I was just trying to make a few extra bucks in college. Back then, I could barely keep up with the demand of making a few batches for Christmas or big-game days on campus. But once the frat boys found out I made cookies and spread the word to their stoner friends, the orders rolled in, and I knew I needed help.

That’s when Tessa came in. My best friend, my partner in crime, and my opposite in nearly every way. She’s sprawled across my worn-out couch now, legs tucked beneath her, her perfectly golden hair pulled back in a messy bun that somehow manages to look chic.

The laughter comes easily between us, just like it always has. But when we were younger, it was boys and high school drama that captivated our attention. Now it’s business decisions and avoiding the fact that we are both pushing thirty and still single… something I think we both hope to change.

“Can you believe we’re actually doing this?” Tessa’s voice cuts through my thoughts, her excitement barely contained as she twists a peppermint candy between her fingers. “Opening Sugar they already have. They’re just doing their due diligence, and with how many people touch the lending process, it’s bound to have some hiccups. Besides.” She smiles broadly. “How could they resist? Our business plan is flawless. Well, mostly because I wrote it.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, a playful smirk on her lips. “I’m Boss Barbie, remember? Should I pull that Halloween costume out of hiding and wear it to our final loan meeting? I think Todd might like it.”

“Todd would have a heart attack.” I laugh, an image of our sixty-eight-year-old loan manager clutching his chest if he saw Tess walk in with her tits up to her chin. I throw a dishtowel at her, and she catches it, laughing.

“I’m kidding, but seriously, our plan is solid. Plus, we’ve both lived in shoeboxes and saved every spare penny for the last seven years to make this happen. We’ve got this, babe.”

Tessa’s confidence is something I envy. Even though she’s been my best friend since we were seven, it never quite rubbed off on me. While she’s the one who can charm a room with just her smile, I’ve always been the quiet one, preferring the comfort of books and recipes to networking events.

She was the one who marched over to my front yard when she saw us moving in and said, “ Hey, I’m Tessa ,” with her hand outstretched and a smile plastered across her face. “ I’m seven, and I live over there. I have two cats—do you like cats? ”

We’ve been inseparable ever since. Even through high school, when she was the head cheerleader, prom queen, and student body president, while I was—invisible. Not that I minded it. I never felt the need to try and blend in with her popular friends, and she never once excluded me from anything.

I was happy to hang back at home on weekends when she’d invite me to a party at one of the football players' houses or another cheerleader’s sleepover—until Asher Mercer joined the team, and I fell head over heels for a guy who probably wouldn’t have said a word to me if I hadn’t been Tessa’s shadow.

The Mercer brothers were well-known even back then—practically small-town royalty.

Asher was the golden boy, the quarterback with a dazzling smile who seemed to glide through life with everything falling perfectly into place. And Zane, his older brother, was the opposite—brooding, mysterious, always on the outskirts of the social scene.

If Asher was the sun, Zane was the dark, uncharted side of the moon. He got into trouble, skipped classes, and even managed to get kicked out of college. Rumor had it he ran some kind of resale business out of his parents’ garage in high school, making bank basically helping businesses find tax breaks and what not but no one really knew what he was up to.

They were like us in a way. Tessa, the ever exuberant and outgoing center of attention, and me. While I wasn’t the brooding troublemaker Zane might have been, we were both the outsiders. The weird kids at school who kept to ourselves and had maybe one real friend who understood us. Although with Zane, I’m not sure he had anyone besides Asher that understood him. And if memory serves me right, it wasn’t just the school and local authorities that felt Zane was a screw up, his dad fired him from working at their family insurance company when he was only sixteen.

I remember watching Asher from a distance, how he’d joke with his friends and turn the whole school into his audience. But he wasn’t just popular; he was kind, even if he didn’t realize it at the time.

Once, when Tessa dragged me to a bonfire party after a football game, I spilled my drink all over myself and wanted to disappear. Asher had handed me a towel, smiling in that easy way of his. “ Happens to the best of us ,” he’d said with a lopsided smile, and for a second, I thought I might melt right into the ground.

My hand actually shook when I reached out to grab the towel from him. And in that brief second, the way his eyes met mine, I felt seen and even though I was covered in sweet, sticky who knows what—for once, I didn’t want the ground to open up and swallow me.

Tessa had teased me about it for weeks after it happened, and I’d blushed every time his name came up. I convinced myself that it was just a silly crush—nothing more than admiration from afar. But there were moments when I’d catch Asher looking my way, and I’d wonder if maybe he saw me as more than just Tessa’s quiet friend.

But that delusion quickly vanished when I’d see his arm wrapped around Josie Callaghan’s teeny tiny waist, a flirtatious giggle tumbling from her perfect bubblegum lips whenever he leaned in to whisper something to her.

“You’re right,” I say more confidently, bringing myself back to the present, “and we really do make some damn good cookies.” I take a bite from a warm double chocolate peppermint cookie I’ve just pulled from the oven and close my eyes, a soft sigh slipping past my lips.

“You make a damn good cookie.” Tessa laughs. “I’m just the business bitch.” I’m only half listening, my eyes still closed as I savor the final crumbs of the cookie.

“You sure you don’t need a moment alone with that?” she asks, laughter in her voice.

“I was having one, but you ruined it,” I say, rubbing my hands against my apron. “You know I like to savor the first test bite of every batch—it’s how I can tell if any of the ratios are off.”

“So scientific,” Tessa mocks playfully.

“I am, in fact, a scientist,” I remind her, “and baking is chemistry.”

“For now,” she says, her tone turning more serious. “Soon, your only titles will finally be baker and business owner.” She smiles.

“Crazy to think, huh?”

I glance around my kitchen, the same one we’ve been baking out of for the last five years while I worked in research and Tessa jumped from one marketing job to another, continuing to climb the ladder but always with our bakery dream in mind. That pang of nostalgia tightens my throat, making it grow thick with emotion.

“Hey,” Tessa says, her voice softer as if she’s trying to pull me out of my own head. “Remember that time.” She starts to laugh. “That time that you mel—” Her laughter keeps interrupting her. “Melted the spatula to the cookie sheet because—” She’s laughing so hard she can’t get through the story, and it’s starting to spread to me.

“It was three a.m.!” I say through tears as we both relive the memory of staying up until the most unholy of hours to get a few more final batches of cookies done for the holidays. We learned the hard way that year that you cannot, in fact, design, bake, cool, decorate, and package fifty dozen cookies in a weekend with only two people—unless you want to end up so sleep-deprived you almost burn your apartment building down.

“Oh God.” I clutch my stomach, a cramp starting to form from laughing so hard. “And we can’t forget that one and only time we rented a commercial kitchen place and somehow managed to mangle the mixer arm.”

I cringe at the memory of the $600 mistake that night cost us. Yet another sobering reality that we can’t afford to be making those kinds of mistakes anymore, not with so much riding on our back.

“You know what I love thinking about?” She pushes away from the couch, walking over to the island. “Watching everyone’s reaction the first time they bite into one of your cookies.” She grabs a spatula and begins to remove the fresh cookies, placing them onto cooling racks. “Not just because they’re delicious, always with the perfect amount of softness to the inside but because you put your heart and soul into each recipe and it shows.”

The silence hangs between us for a moment, a tear teetering on the rim of my eye.

“Thank you.” I laugh through the sentiment, shaking my head and wiping away the tear that eventually tumbles down my cheek. “I don’t know why I’m crying over it.”

“Because this is huge; we’re about to change our lives.”

We reminisce even more about the nights in our tiny, cramped studio apartment after college. How a huge weekend for us that first year was making enough money to buy beer and a bottle of vodka if we were lucky.

But eventually, the conversation drifts to the familiar, a topic I’ve tried to avoid for years—men, or more specifically, the lack of them in our lives.

Tessa tosses her oven mitts onto the counter, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her hip against the counter.

“Ivy, we need dates. I’m serious. We’re like two steps away from adopting cats and talking to them about our feelings.”

I snort. “There’s nothing wrong with cats. You love cats. You had a cat until last year, actually. Rest in peace, Meatball,” I say softly. Tessa smiles at the mention of her eighteen-year-old cat—a tender topic to this date.

“Yeah, but there’s something wrong with spending another holiday season alone, right?”

I shrug, focusing on the dough in front of me. “Hardly seems like the time to jump into trying to find a relationship when we’re opening a business.”

The truth is, I’ve never really had the patience for dating, and the idea of putting myself out there is terrifying. Besides, I’ve always convinced myself that guys like Asher Mercer—the smooth-talking, always-smiling CEO of Mercer Enterprises, the center of my secret little high school crush I’ve continued to harbor—don’t go for girls like me.

“I’m not saying we need to find Prince Charming by New Year’s, just a guy who doesn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin or gnaw your own arm off trying to get out of the date.”

“Wow,” I say dryly, “the bar is literally in hell.”

“I’m just saying we deserve to have some fun is all. We’ve been busting our asses for years and it wouldn’t kill either of us to get laid more than twice a year.”

“I can agree to that.” I knead the dough a little harder, my tension ratcheted up to eleven.

Tessa suddenly perks up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of dates, I bet you haven’t forgotten about Asher Mercer.”

I freeze, my cheeks burning as I try to keep my expression neutral. “What? Why would I remember him?”

“Because you had the biggest crush on him in high school,” she teases, leaning forward. “Don’t even try to deny it, Ivy. You used to turn into a blushing mess whenever he was around.”

I roll my eyes. “That was years ago, Tess. And it wasn’t whenever he was around . It was one time that I got a little— And besides, he’s not exactly my type.” I focus my attention on rolling out the dough to the perfect thickness, then I grab my holiday cookie cutters and stamp out a dozen shapes.

“I too hate it when my crush is a six-three blue-eyed god that could make angels weep with his jawline.”

I roll my eyes, placing the cutouts onto the cookie sheet. “I’m just saying he’s very famous, out there on social media and celebrity events. He’s an extrovert to the fullest.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” she singsongs, but there’s a knowing smile on her face. “It’s just funny because I happened to connect with him on LinkedIn recently. And I was thinking… since we’re about to open a business, why not get some advice from a local expert?”

I nearly drop the cookie sheet. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on! They run one of the fastest-growing companies in the Midwest according to Forbes . Plus, they’re both on the 30 Under 30 list of richest US bachelors. They could look over our business plan before we make an offer on that building.”

I pause, considering it. As much as the idea of seeing Asher again sends my nerves into overdrive, Tessa isn’t wrong. The Mercer brothers know what they’re doing. And if there’s even a chance they could help us, we’d be foolish not to take it.

I sigh. “Okay, fine. But you have to do the talking.”

“Ivy.” Her tone changes. “Stop saying shit like that. You know this business inside and out. Hell, it took me four years of college to learn what you’ve picked up from reading over contracts and talking to our lawyer.”

“You’re right. But still, I’ll let you take the reins since you’re the one who suggested it in the first place.”

Tessa grins and picks up her phone, typing out a message. My heart pounds as I watch her hit send, half hoping he won’t reply. But barely ten minutes later, her phone dings.

I freeze, my hand clutching a spoonful of batter.

“He says he’d love to meet! Tomorrow at three at their office. Oh shoot…” Tessa’s face falls as she glances at her calendar. “I totally forgot—I have that meeting with Suzette.”

I swallow hard, the realization sinking in. That meeting with the real estate agent is equally important. I resign myself to my fate, once again seeing Asher Mercer. “I’ll go. I promise, I can handle it.”

Tessa’s smile returns, bright and hopeful. “You’ve got this, Ivy. Besides, it’s just Asher.”

Just Asher. If only it were that simple.

My hands shake as I smooth down another page in my planner, double-checking tomorrow's meeting time with Asher. The bakery numbers swim before my eyes - projected costs, revenue forecasts, everything Tessa insisted we have ready. But I can't focus.

I need to organize my thoughts, gather every scrap of documentation for our business plan. That's what leads me to the storage closet, searching for an old receipt box that might help prove our holiday sales history. Instead, my fingers brush against something else - a sturdy, fabric-covered book wedged between banker's boxes.

My heart stutters when I pull it out.

"Oh god," I whisper, sinking down onto my bedroom floor. The weight of my senior yearbook feels heavier than it should as I settle it in my lap. I haven't looked at this in years, but suddenly I'm seventeen again, pulse racing every time I passed him in the hallway.

I trace my fingers over the glossy cover, remembering how I used to flip through these pages during lunch breaks, pretending I was just killing time while secretly searching for glimpses of him. The spine cracks as I open it, and there he is.

Asher Mercer. Golden boy. The guy every girl wanted and every guy wanted to be.

He's grinning in his football photo, that same devastating smile he still has. But it's his candid shots that make my chest tight - Asher laughing with friends by his locker, Asher focused during a student council meeting, Asher giving his valedictorian speech. I was there that day, watching from the bleachers as he talked about dreams and futures. His voice had carried across the football field, making everyone believe anything was possible.

"Get it together, Ivy," I mutter, but I can't stop turning pages. There - a picture I'd almost forgotten. Advanced English, junior year. We were reading Macbeth, and Mr. Peterson had asked for volunteers to act out the dagger scene. Asher's hand had shot up immediately. He'd performed it with such intensity that the whole class sat mesmerized. Even Mr. Peterson looked impressed.

I'm in the background of that photo, half-hidden behind my textbook, but you can see I'm staring at him. God, was I always that obvious?

My fingers drift to the messages section at the back. Tessa's sprawling note takes up a whole page, full of inside jokes and promises to be best friends forever. But there, in the corner, is the one that still makes my stomach flip:

"Thanks for always having the best notes in English! Hope you have an awesome summer. - Asher"

Such a simple message. He probably wrote the same thing in twenty other yearbooks. But I remember how my hands trembled when he asked to sign mine, how I'd stayed up half the night analyzing those two sentences for hidden meaning.

"This is ridiculous," I say out loud, trying to snap myself out of it. I'm not that shy, awkward girl anymore. I'm successful, confident. I'm about to open my own bakery, for heaven's sake. Tomorrow, I'm meeting with Asher as a businesswoman, not some tongue-tied teenager with a crush.

But as I close the yearbook, I catch one last glimpse of his smile, and my heart does that same stupid little somersault it did all those years ago.

Some things never change.

I tuck the yearbook away, forcing myself to focus on gathering the documents I actually need for tomorrow. But that familiar ache lingers in my chest - the one that whispers of missed chances and what-ifs. Tomorrow, I'll be professional. Calm. Collected.

Tonight though, just for a moment, I let myself remember the girl who used to dream about the boy with the heart-stopping smile.

Who knew I'd end up right back where I started - hoping Asher Mercer might finally see me?