A jammed ladder, a pressed fern, and the boy who refuses to stop catching her.
Ivy Brooks thought she could handle a simple prop hunt at Snowdrop Books. She didn’t count on a jammed mahogany ladder, a judgmental metallic screech, or Noah Bennett deciding he was her unofficial spotter.
This bonus scene sits alongside Merry Matchmaking.
❄️❄️❄️
Metal gears ground together with a deafening clank, locking Ivy Brooks halfway up the rolling mahogany ladder at Snowdrop Books.
Clamping one hand around a stack of faded hardbacks, she hooked her leather boot desperately over the third rung. Her heart stuttered as dust shook loose from the nearby shelves.
“Don’t move,” Noah Bennett ordered from the floor below.
“That falls entirely outside my current plan,” she squeezed out through gritted teeth.
Glancing over her shoulder brought instant regret.
The wooden contraption stood a perfectly sensible five feet tall. On an average Tuesday, it looked completely reasonable. Right now, it swayed with enough enthusiasm to remind her that gravity held long-standing grudges.
Down at the base, Noah gripped the mahogany side rail. He kept his opposite palm raised, ready to catch her if she tumbled. The worn threads of his green flannel pulled at a specific, tucked-away corner of her chest. Meanwhile, the crisp scent of antibacterial soap mixed with the sharp bite of winter wind drifting upward.
“You’re okay,” he promised in a low rumble. “The track just stuck.”
“It made a horrible noise.”
“It always makes a horrible noise.”
“That specific metallic screech sounded deeply judgmental.”
A sudden twitch disrupted the flat line of his mouth. “Ladders judge everyone.”
Swallowing hard against the dry lump forming in her throat, she clung tighter to the wood. “I need to reach the folklore shelf.”
“Folklore is a terrible reason to risk your life.”
“My shoot requires the red edition.”
“There are three red ones.”
“This volume contains the pressed fern,” Ivy squeezed out, her knuckles white against the mahogany. “Mrs. Waverly told me about it.”
Noah’s grip on the railing tightened. “Mrs. Waverly is a fountain of random information.”
“She said it was a ‘relic of a better era,’” Ivy added, the ladder groaning under her weight. “I suspect she mostly wanted me to climb something precarious while you were in the neighborhood.”
A reluctant smile broke across his face. “She always did admire your commitment to the shot. ”He blinked slowly. His raised hand dropped to his side. “Of course it does.”
Shifting her weight on the narrow slat sent a piercing groan echoing through the quiet aisle.
Noah tightened his knuckles around the railing. “Okay. Don’t do that.”
“My boot slipped.”
“I know.”
He waited in absolute silence. His dark eyes tracked the frantic rise and fall of her shoulders until her breathing finally leveled out. His old habit of noticing her nervous tells remained profoundly annoying. It also made her feel … safe in a way she actively refused to acknowledge since returning to Snowball Falls.
“Hand me the books,” he instructed, reaching up.
A sharp spike of panic hit her chest. “If I let go…”
“I’ve got the ladder.”
Studying the familiar lines of his wrists, she surrendered the dusty hardbacks one by one. His calloused fingers grazed her bare knuckles on the final transfer. A sharp, electrical pull tore straight up her arm and lodged firmly in an inconvenient place.
“Okay,” he exhaled softly. “Now step down.”
Ignoring him, she pushed against the shelf to propel herself to the left. The locked wheels refused to budge a single inch.
“The left wheel is completely jammed,” she said. “I just need one more foot.”
“I can rock it,” he offered. “Gently.”
“Use the word gently one more time.”
“Gently,” he repeated. A sudden, reluctant smile broke across his face.
The heavy wooden frame shifted forward before the gears unlocked with a loud crack. Ivy pitched backward with a startled yelp as the entire structure jerked an inch across the floorboards.
Reacting on pure instinct, Noah lunged into the gap. He buried his broad shoulder into the mahogany rung. His arms banded tight around her calves, pinning her securely against the wood.
A stillness swallowed the narrow aisle.
The sudden absence of space between them pulled all the oxygen from the air. The intense heat of his palms radiated straight through the thin nylon of her tights. Above her knee, his chest rose and fell.
“I apologize,” he muttered in a breathless rush. His grip loosened just a fraction. “I only meant to…”
“Everything is perfectly fine,” she babbled at lightning speed. “You caught me.”
“Yes,” he rasped. “Because, that was my goal.”
Forcing her boots down to the next rung, she descended the rest of the way in total silence. Her feet hit solid ground. She lingered right there within the narrow circumference of his personal space for three long seconds.
He held his ground just as stubbornly.
Absolute stillness blanketed the shop. Golden afternoon light slanted through the frosted front windows, illuminating the swirling dust between their bodies. Upstairs, the old iron radiator clicked rapidly through its heating cycle.
“You still attack ladders with your old momentum,” he murmured.
Rolling her shoulders back, she set her jaw. “What does that even mean?”
“You rush,” he stated evenly. “You bypassed the locking mechanism completely. You assume gravity will cut you a break.”
She folded both arms securely across her chest. Her chin tipped up defensively. “I survived intact.”
“You survived,” he agreed. His dark gaze dropped to her boots. “Because you had a spotter.”
Those words disrupted her thoughts more than if he’d shouted.
Pivoting on her heel, she reached for the nearest display table. She began aligning a perfectly tidy stack of paperbacks. “I never asked you to be a spotter.”
“I know that perfectly well.”
His acceptance sliced far deeper than any argument.
“Ivy,” he pleaded softly. “I kept a respectful distance.”
Spinning back around, she met his stare. “You constantly hovered.”
“I worry about you.”
“You swallowed your words and substituted anxiety instead.”
He nodded slowly. “I did exactly that.”
The resulting silence stretched down the aisle.
Letting out a long breath, she dropped her defensive posture. “Climbing up there was a mistake.”
“Agreed,” he murmured. “Scaling that track alone invites disaster.”
A familiar tightness gripped her throat. She studied the sharp angles of his face. His enduring ability to remain endlessly careful, completely present, and infuriatingly right drove her utterly mad.
“Thank you for the rescue,” she offered in a hushed tone.
“You are entirely welcome.”
Closing the final inch between them, she reached up to smooth the rumpled edge of his flannel collar. The soft fabric sat perpetually crooked against his neck. It maintained the same charming asymmetry he carried through all the years she knew him.
“There,” she whispered. Her fingers fell away slowly. “You look a bit more composed.”
“I sprinted the entire way from the clinic.”
A genuine smile broke through her defenses. The expression surfaced with a deep, familiar warmth before she could suppress the reaction.
The sharp focus in his dark eyes melted into something infinitely softer. “I missed seeing that.”
Snatching her hand back to her side, she broke the physical connection. “Stop.”
“I will stop,” he assured her softly. “Unless you ask me to continue.”
Parting her lips to argue, she snapped them shut a second later. Her entire vocabulary completely abandoned her.
Out on the street, a passing pedestrian brushed the hanging door chime. The bright jingle sliced right through the heavy tension pooling in the aisle.
Taking a deliberate step backward, she cleared her throat loudly. “I need to get back to work.”
He dipped his chin in agreement. “My patients await my return.”
They both remained entirely motionless. Their feet stayed rooted to the wooden floorboards.
“If that track gives you any more trouble,” he added, shifting his tone to carefully neutral territory. “I work right down the street.”
Catching his gaze directly, she held it. “I know exactly where to find you.”
He finally turned and walked out the door a full sixty seconds later. He left behind a shop vibrating with an aching emptiness.
Tipping her head back, Ivy stared up at the jammed wooden structure before shifting her focus to the worn red spine holding the pressed fern. A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She turned away, abandoning the ladder exactly where it stood.
❄️❄️❄️
Somewhere between the jammed gears and the pressed fern, something shifted.
Neither of them named it. Neither of them fixed the ladder.
Snowdrop Books stayed exactly as it was.
And so did the space they kept leaving between them, careful, charged, and waiting.
Thanks for spending a little time back in Snowball Falls.
❄️ The North Wind tree is waiting.
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