Ivy helped him out of the car, steadying his steps while gently reminding him to take it slow.

Boyd followed behind, unable to resist teasing, “You two really are the picture of marital bliss.”

Jamison shot back in his usual fashion, “Would we be married if we weren’t?”

Ivy glanced over her shoulder at Boyd, a little embarrassed. “Um… can you not call me ‘Aunt’? It makes me sound ancient.”

Boyd scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. “So what should I call you then?” He and Ivy were about the same age, and calling someone his age “Aunt” just felt wrong.

“Just call me Ivy,” she replied breezily, unbothered by formalities or family titles.

But Boyd hesitated and turned to Jamison for guidance. “Uncle, is that okay?”

Jamison gave the woman beside him a sidelong look. “You’re messing up the family tree.”

Ivy waved it off. “I don’t care. I’m not accepting ‘Aunt’–it makes me feel like I’ve skipped straight to middle age.” She turned to Boyd again, her tone firm. “Just call me Ivy. I insist.”

Boyd saw that Jamison wasn’t protesting, so he grinned and went with a compromise. “Alright, Ivy it is.”

Ivy didn’t say anything more, but Jamison wasn’t pleased. He thought, If you call me ‘Uncle’ but my wife ‘Ivy’, doesn’t that mess up the generational order?

Once they were inside, Boyd set down the medicine he’d been carrying, then pulled a few documents from his briefcase.

“Uncle, do you have the energy to go over some files right now? I’ve organized the projects you asked me to follow up on.”

Jamison nodded. “Let’s talk–in the study.” He turned to Ivy and instructed, “Go freshen up and change, then get some rest in the bedroom. I’ll join you after I discuss things with Boyd.”

Ivy thought to herself, Who asked you to join me?

“I’m not tired. I want to head home–Katrina’s still waiting for me,” she said. On the way over, she’d gotten a text from Katrina asking when she’d be back.

Jamison glanced at the wall clock. It was already three in the afternoon.

“Wait a bit. I’ll finish up with Boyd, and he can drive you home. While you’re at it, pack up your things and move in.”

Ivy’s eyes went wide. “Move in?”

“What else? How can you take care of me if you’re not living here?” Jamison said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Ivy was stunned. Only now did she realize there was no escaping this.

Seeing her at a loss for words, Jamison shot her a meaningful look before heading into the study with Boyd.

Half an hour later, Jamison emerged from his business meeting just as the doorbell rang. Two housekeepers sent from the family estate had arrived.

Not seeing Ivy in the living room, Jamison frowned and headed toward the bedroom. “Ivy…? Ivy?”

No answer.

Boyd guessed, “Uncle, maybe she got tired of waiting and left on her own?”

Jamison’s face darkened. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

Ivy was in the backseat of a rideshare, and when she saw his name pop up, she rolled her eyes but answered anyway.

“Hello?”

“Who told you to leave without saying anything?”

“I did say something! Didn’t you see my text?”

Jamison paused, pulled his phone away, and checked his messages. Sure enough, there it was–sent twenty minutes ago, just three words.

[Heading out now.]

He was still annoyed. “I told you Boyd would drive you. What’s the rush?” If he didn’t trust her, he’d almost suspect she was sneaking off to meet another man.

Ivy had no interest in arguing. “I’ll come by tonight. Just finish your work and get some rest–your health is your own responsibility.”