the older woman.
The mail carrier was prompt. As soon as Ivy saw her walking toward her neighbor’s house, she scooted out the front door with her basket. She had to be right behind the mail lady. She waited a moment on her property before scurrying behind the carrier.
“Don’t mind me,” Ivy said brightly. “Looks like we’re going to the same place.”
“That’s surprising,” the woman said with a grin.
Ivy sighed. Summer Beach was a very small town. “I thought I’d treat Darla to something special.” She held a finger to her lips to indicate silence.
The postal carrier deposited the mail, and the lid made a resounding clunk. “Have a good day,” she whispered, clearly amused.
Ivy pressed herself against the wall in case Darla looked through the peephole. She could hardly breathe from anticipation. She’d have to act fast.
Darla opened the door. In a flash, Ivy stepped to the door. “I just baked banana nut bread, and I have a couple of loaves left. I thought you might like them.”
“That’s a lie if I ever heard one,” Darla said, moving to shut the door.
But Ivy had planned for this. She stuck the sturdy boot she’d put on—not exactly warm weather wear—into the door and wedged it open. “Sorry, Darla, but we have to talk. Now. I’m coming in.” Ivy shut the door behind her.
She was in. Never having been in Darla’s home, Ivy quickly glanced around. The living room opened into the kitchen beyond. Everything was circa the 1970s, from the harvest gold countertops to the avocado green refrigerator. Ivy quickly surmised that Darla didn’t like change.
Darla’s eyebrows shot up in shock. “I could call Chief Clarkson on you.”
“For breaking and entering with hot baked goods? I don’t think so. Besides, he’s rather fond of this recipe, too.”
Folding her arms, Darla narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”
“I want to give you this,” Ivy said, thrusting the basket toward her. “And I want you to stop this nonsense about Shelly.”
“Ha.” As if the basket were radioactive, Darla took a step back. “You’re still upset about that day at Java Beach.” She huffed. “That was nothing at all.”
“Then why haven’t you gone back? I’ve never known you to miss a day there.”
“I needed a change.”
Ivy lifted an edge of the flowered dishtowel. A mouthwatering aroma wafted toward Darla. “Just out of the oven.”
Darla whipped around. “Oh, all right. I’m sorry. Now go.” She tried to snatch the basket.
Ivy shifted it just out of reach and shook her head. “Not so fast. I need answers. Why are you doing this to poor Mitch? And Shelly? After I saved your life on the beach, I thought we’d become friends.”
“For a while,” Darla allowed. “I just don’t want to see Mitch ruin his life.”
Ivy held back. She’d expected this. “That’s strange. Bennett told me he’s never seen Mitch so happy or settled.”
“Men don’t always know what’s best for them.”
“Hmm. I think you’re afraid that Mitch might forget about you after he marries.”
Darla only shrugged.
“Did you know that Shelly looks upon you as Mitch’s mother? She’s hoping that after they have a baby, the child will call you Nana.” Shelly hadn’t exactly said that, but Ivy was grasping at anything to diffuse this situation.
Darla grew quiet, clearly considering this.
“I know Mitch is no replacement for your son, and I’m so sorry you lost him at such a young age. But sometimes, we get to choose the family we want. I know there’s a lot of love between you and Mitch. He misses seeing you at Java Beach.”
“He dropped off some croissants the other day.”
“Did you two talk?”
“I didn’t open the door.” Darla hung her head.
“He’s hurting, too,” Ivy said softly.
“He is?”
Ivy nodded. “You see, he hopes that you and Shelly will get along. And I know you want to see him happy.” She slid the basket onto the kitchen counter. “I can slice this for you right now.”
“Well, okay.” Darla brought out a cutting board in the shape of a pig and a bread knife. “While you do that, I’ll get my mail.” She returned with a stack of bills and flyers. On the top was a letter postmarked Italy.
Darla noticed Ivy glancing at it. “That’s from the pen pal I’ve had since childhood,” she said. “We’ve never met, but sometimes her letters are the only things I have to look forward to in a day. We began writing when we were kids, and her parents wanted her to have an English-speaking pen pal. ”
Ivy was intrigued