Icing On The Heart

Ivy Lawson knew something was wrong the second she saw the truck.

Not in a casual, huh, that’s weird kind of way.

No.

In a oh absolutely not, I reject this reality, try again tomorrow kind of way.

Because nothing—nothing—good ever came from a black, stupidly expensive, clearly-not-from-around-here truck parked diagonally across two spaces outside the Maple Ridge Ice Rink like it owned the place.

And Ivy had lived here her entire life.

She knew every car.

Every truck.

Every person who thought backing into a parking space made them morally superior.

This?

This was suspicious.

This was aggressive.

This was personal.

She tightened her grip on her coffee and kept walking.

Nope.

Not her problem.

She had cinnamon rolls to ice, a bakery to open, and exactly zero time for whatever nonsense the universe was about to drop in her lap.

Three steps later, the truck door opened.

Ivy stopped.

Because of course it did.

Of course the universe said, you know what would really spice things up today? Emotional trauma.

A boot hit the ground.

Then another.

And then—

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Ethan Hayes unfolded himself out of the driver’s seat like he had personally been engineered to ruin her morning.

He was taller.

Which felt unnecessary.

Broader.

Also unnecessary.

And somehow even more… Ethan than he used to be, which frankly felt like overkill.

For one deeply unfortunate second, her brain tried to be nostalgic.

Oh, remember him? Remember when—

“Nope,” she muttered. “We’re not doing that.”

Because she also remembered other things.

Like how he left.

Like how he didn’t come back.

Like how she spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at her phone like it had personally betrayed her.

Hard pass.

He looked up.

Their eyes met.

And—great.

Fantastic.

He still had that look.

That soft, familiar, I know you look that made her want to simultaneously scream and throw a baked good at his head.

“Ivy.”

Her name, just like that.

Like he hadn’t detonated her entire emotional stability and then disappeared.

She blinked at him.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

“No.”

Ethan paused. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, nodding like she was declining a free sample at the grocery store. “I don’t have time for this today.”

“For what?”

She gestured vaguely at him.

His face.

His existence.

“This,” she said. “Whatever this is.”

His mouth twitched. “Good morning to you too.”

“It was a good morning,” she said sweetly.

“And then you showed up.”

There.

Perfect delivery.

If there were awards for emotional deflection, she would be thriving.

He huffed out a quiet laugh.

Which—rude.

He was not allowed to find her funny.

“Still the same,” he said.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Ivy shot back.

“I’ve grown. I’ve evolved. I’ve developed standards.”

She pointed directly at him.

“For example.”

His eyebrows lifted. “I’m a bad decision?”

“You were a catastrophic one.”

Silence.

Wow.

She really just said that.

Did she regret it?

…no.

Not even a little.

Ethan shifted, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I deserve that.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” she said. “Because I meant it.”

Another pause.

God.

Why was he still standing there?

“Move your truck,” she said. “You’re blocking the entrance.”

He glanced back at it. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

He did not, however, move.

Instead, he looked back at her.

Still standing.

Still in her way.

Ivy narrowed her eyes.

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“I know.”

He hesitated.

“I just… wanted to talk to you.”

She let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“You drove all the way here to talk to me?”

“Six hours,” he said automatically.

“Oh, my mistake,” she deadpanned. “That changes everything.”

His jaw tightened slightly, like he was trying not to smile.

Which—again—illegal.

“Can we just—” he started.

“No.”

Immediate.

Firm.

Uncompromising.

Because absolutely not.

He did not get to show up out of nowhere and just talk like they were catching up over coffee instead of… whatever this was.

“I have work,” she said, stepping around him.

He moved with her.

Of course he did.

Like a tall, emotionally complicated obstacle.

“Ivy—”

“Nope.”

“I just got back last night.”

“Cool.”

“I’m staying for a while.”

That made her stop.

Not dramatically.

Not in a cinematic, slow-motion way.

Just… enough.

“…why?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

Ethan hesitated.

And that was the worst part.

Because Ethan Hayes did not hesitate.

Not when they were younger.

Not when he decided to leave.

Not when he—

“I got traded,” he said.

She blinked.

Well.

That was new.

“To where?” she asked, immediately annoyed at herself for caring.

“Anchorage.”

Oh.

Oh, that was evil.

That was close.

That was “I could run into you at the grocery store and ruin my own day” close.

“That feels unnecessary,” she said.

His mouth twitched. “Yeah. I got that impression.”

“So what,” she went on, crossing her arms.

“You’re just… back now? Like a seasonal allergy?”

“I was hoping for something slightly warmer than that.”

“Well,” she said, “you’re in the wrong town.”

A beat passed.

Then—

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Oh.

There it was.

The audacity.

The timing.

The years late apology dropped in a parking lot like that was supposed to fix anything.

Ivy stared at him.

Really stared this time.

At the familiar lines of his face.

At the way he looked like he actually meant it.

At the boy she used to love buried somewhere under all that distance and time and really questionable life decisions.

And for one horrible second—

It almost worked.

Almost.

Then her brain rebooted.

“Wow,” she said flatly. “That’s crazy.”

Ethan frowned. “What?”

“That you’re saying that now,” she clarified.

“Years later. Next to your illegally parked truck.”

His shoulders dropped slightly.

“I didn’t know how to—”

“Yeah,” she cut in. “You didn’t.”

That one landed.

Even she felt it.

Good.

“Look,” he tried again.

“No,” she said, softer now—but firmer.

“You don’t get to ‘look.’ You don’t get to explain it away like it was just bad timing or miscommunication or whatever version helps you sleep at night.”

He went quiet.

And for a second, neither of them spoke.

The cold pressed in.

Her coffee had gone completely forgotten in her hand.

And suddenly, she was very, very tired.

“I have to go,” she said finally.

“Ivy—”

“I mean it.”

She stepped past him.

This time, he didn’t follow.

Good.

Growth.

Progress.

She made it to the door, hand on the handle, when—

“Are you going to the game tonight?”

She froze.

Of course there was a game.

There was always a game.

Maple Ridge ran on two things: baked goods and hockey.

“No,” she said.

“You always go.”

She glanced over her shoulder.

Just enough.

“People change.”

And then she walked inside.

The bakery hit her like a reset button.

Warmth.

Sugar.

Sanity.

“Ivy?” Maya called. “You’re late, which means either you got kidnapped or—”

She took one look at Ivy’s face.

“…oh no.”

Ivy dropped her bag.

“He’s back.”

Maya gasped.

“NO.”

“YES.”

“Ethan Ethan?”

“How many Ethans do you think I have unresolved emotional trauma with, Maya?”

“…fair.”

They stared at each other.

Then Maya leaned forward.

“Details.”

Ivy grabbed an apron.

“There are no details.”

“That is a lie.”

“He has a truck,” Ivy said.

“…okay?”

“A stupid one.”

“…that feels personal.”

“It is.”

Maya crossed her arms.

“Did you talk to him?”

Ivy paused.

“…I verbally attacked him.”

Maya’s eyes lit up.

“Oh my God, I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Was it devastating?”

“I think I blacked out for part of it, but I hit several strong points.”

“Excellent.”

Ivy nodded.

Then immediately groaned and dropped her head onto the counter.

“He’s staying.”

Maya went very still.

“…I’m sorry, what?”

“Got traded. Anchorage.”

Maya winced.

“Oh, that is close.”

“Right?? Like what is that. Who approved that.”

“The hockey gods hate you.”

“Clearly.”

A pause.

Then—

“So… you’re going to the game tonight,” Maya said.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I would rather eat raw flour.”

Maya tilted her head.

“You ate raw cookie dough yesterday.”

“…that’s different.”

Maya smiled.

And that was the problem.

Because she was right.

Because Ivy knew it.

Because no matter how much she pretended otherwise—

She would go.

She always did.

Outside, Ethan sat in his truck, staring at the rink.

“Well,” he muttered. “That could’ve gone better.”

He rested his head against the steering wheel.

Then laughed.

A little helpless.

A little wrecked.

Because Ivy Lawson was still Ivy Lawson.

Sharp.

Fierce.

Completely unwilling to make anything easy for him.

And honestly?

He deserved that.

He deserved worse.

He sat there for a long moment.

Then straightened.

Because one thing was clear—

He wasn’t leaving.

Not this time.

Not without trying.

Even if she hated him.

Even if she never forgave him.

Even if every conversation went exactly like that one.

Ethan started the engine.

Game tonight.

And if he knew Ivy at all—

She’d be there.

Even if she’d rather fight a bear than admit it.