Writing On The Wall (The King Brothers Duology #2)

Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

IVY

It’s rare for me to leave school before three in the afternoon, but today I had an appointment to get my stitches removed, so I had to get a sub to cover my class. I’m very grateful to have the stitches out, because my kids are huggers, and hugs around my middle have been a little uncomfortable with all the poky bits pulling at my skin.

Now I’m heading home earlier than usual, excited and nervous about what I might find when I get there. I haven’t seen Ethan since our awkward encounter last week. A gut-twisting uncertainty swirls in my stomach—the fear of not knowing which version of Ethan will be there to greet me. Is he still going to be the flirtatious guy who loves pushing my buttons, the overprotective grump, or the sullen, painfully platonic acquaintance? And the worst part is that I’m not even sure which one I’m dreading—or hoping for—more.

I’m also dying to explore Gran’s hidden closet again, but I haven’t dared to go in alone. Which means I’ll either have to wait for Toby or Ember to join me, or I’ll have to do the scary thing and ask Ethan to accompany me, like I’m a Regency damsel who can’t go anywhere alone.

The twang of country music floats through the screen door, greeting me as I walk up the porch steps. My lips tug up at the door that no longer whines when I push it open.

I stop mid-stride, narrowly avoiding a tumble as I trip over the threshold. My fingers cover my parted lips as I take in the newly exposed wood floors that flow seamlessly across the open floor plan and into the kitchen. For just a split second, I seriously reconsider everything I’ve told Ethan, because as I take in the form of the man currently wielding an industrial sander like a renovation god, I can’t help going all gooey inside.

Let’s be real, the man is beyond easy on the eyes. But he’s so much more than that. He’s still here, even after I’ve all but chased him away and told him to go on and date other women. He’s here… when he could literally be anywhere else.

Snap out of it, Marsh!

Right. Stick to the plan.

The buzzing of the sander slows as Ethan turns it off, smiling at me like I’ve just delivered his favorite meal. When in reality, all I’ve brought with me is my usual drama and chaos. I’m the ammunitions delivery to a war zone—highly volatile. I still can’t figure out why he’d even want to be here. But seeing as he is, I may as well ask for the favor I need, because I’m aching to explore the secret closet.

“Hey.” The gray in his eyes swirls and twinkles as he grins at me. “How was your day?” he drawls. So, it seems Adorably Chipper Ethan is here. I hadn’t expected that one.

“It was good…” I pause as the smell of warm, freshly sanded wood fills the air. “The floors look amazing.”

“Yeah.” His eyes sweep over the fruit of his labor. “They were in better condition than I thought they’d be.” A chuckle rumbles out of him, the sound luring me in while my insides are at war over whether I want a flirty comment to fall from his lips. He gives me nothing but a crinkly eyed smile before turning to continue sanding.

I disappear to my room, bunching up scattered items of clothing with my fists. They’re thrown into the wash basket with more force than necessary, but I don’t dare open my mouth or stomp a foot in frustration. I won’t allow myself to be that sulky brat who throws a tantrum because she’s getting what she asked for.

My room is cleaner than it’s ever been by the time Ethan taps on the open door.

“Hey, need anything else before I head out?”

Go on. Ask him.

I pinch my eyes closed, rubbing a hand over them. The poor man is about to think I’m an absolute whack job, demanding space then asking him to stay close.

“Uh…yeah. Could you hang around for a few minutes? I want to explore the hidden closet, but…” My eyes roam the room as I try to come up with a legitimate-sounding excuse. I’m drawing a blank, though. Seriously, nothing. Of all the times for my brain to space out on me!

“You don’t wanna go in alone,” Ethan finally finishes for me.

Dang it, why is he so intuitive? It’s incredibly inconvenient and wildly swoon-worthy. A small groan escapes as I roll my lips in with a nod. He steps back, motioning with his hand for me to lead the way.

I release a slow, controlled breath as Ethan follows me down the hall to the master bedroom. I can do this. Remain strong.

Ethan opens the door, propping it open with the cutest hedgehog doorstop .

I turn to him with wide eyes and a smile that’s desperate to break loose. “Where did you get this?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. That was always here.” He sniffs, a tiny dent on his brows as he scans the room. He walks past me, and I pick up the little hedgehog, turning it over to find a fresh price tag stuck to the underside of its cute little butt.

This man is killing me.

“I can’t believe your Gran kept all this stuff hidden in here,” he remarks from inside, thankfully stopping me from turning into a pile of goo. I join him in the small room, and there’s an air of wonder as we inspect the shelves. For the second time, I take in all the trinkets on display.

“What’s this?” Ethan asks, sliding a box out from the corner.

I shrug. I hadn’t noticed it the last time we were here. He places it in the middle of the small room, and I slowly lift the floral-print lid.

My breath catches as I take in what’s nestled inside.

“No way!”

“What is it?”

“It’s a music box. My Gran’s been looking for it.”

“It looks…fancy.” Ethan frowns.

“It’s called the Pièce à Oiseau Chantant . It means ‘piece with a singing bird,’ ” I explain. I sink to my knees as I tell Ethan the story of how Gran’s Swiss grandmother gifted her with the music box on her eighth birthday. Ethan’s brow furrows before he pulls out his phone. A wave of nostalgia washes over me, bringing a slow smile to my lips as I lift the lid reverently and wind it up. An enchanting melody fills the air, and the tiny mechanical bird nestled in intricate foliage comes to life, flapping and twirling its wings to the music .

“Uh…Marsh.” Ethan stares at his screen, nodding. “Do you know how much that thing is worth?”

I shrug a shoulder, making an I-dunno face .

“Somewhere in the ballpark of sixty-four-thousand dollars.”

“Shut the front door!” I gasp, my hand flying to cover my mouth as my eyes widen. Suddenly, it all makes sense, especially the part where Ross has been so eager to get his hands on it. My eyes fall back to the music box playing the same tune I remember from all those years ago.

“No wonder Ross is looking for it,” I tell him and hastily nestle the music box back into its hiding place. Then I rush out of the closet with Ethan right behind me. “Can you help me push the wardrobe?”

“Ivy, hang on. What’s happening right now?”

“I have to keep the closet hidden in case Ross comes back to look for the music box. I can’t let him find it.”

Ethan is frozen in place while his mind apparently pieces things together, unintentionally leaving me to push the wardrobe alone. My back is against its side while I attempt to scoot the monstrous thing back in place. It goes nowhere. “Uh, a little help here?”

“Crap. Sorry. You shouldn’t be doing this anyway.”

“It’s fine.” I grunt. “I got my stitches out today, and I’m mostly healed up.”

He perks up and grabs my arm to stop me. “Who took them out? Was it that same creep from the ER?”

“It was a nurse,” I say, rolling my eyes and stifling a smile. “A female nurse.”

“Oh, okay,” he mutters quietly before sliding the wardrobe into place with minimal effort. “You gonna tell your Gran you found the music box?”

“I think I want to surprise her with it when I’m done fixing up the house. But I do owe her a visit. Maybe I can sniff out whether she had any clue what Pop was up to when he hid it back here.”

“You want me to come with?”

There’s so much hope swelling in his eyes as I watch him struggle to appear casual. Eventually, he’ll get bored of me, and he won’t look so dejected each time I have to put more distance between us.

That distance doesn’t have to be there.

Shut it, you. My subconscious clearly has no problem drowning in drama.

“Thanks,” I give him a soft smile, sliding my denim jacket on. “But I should go alone.”

“Right,” he says, pressing his lips into a fake smile.

He follows me out the front door. I wave goodbye as he climbs in his truck and drives away, praying that same excuse doesn’t become the story of my life. Because I don’t want to go alone for very much longer. But it’s the fear of being hurt that’s keeping me from saying yes.