Page 151 of Buckin' Around

Releasing her, I make for the sidewalk before I turn into a blubbering damn mess. I need to collect Ives from Uncle Brady and head home.

We have some packing to do.

Six days later, a passport is delivered via courier to the cottage.

Agnes Marie Lockwood.

Urgh, Ives. What was that woman thinking?

It’s Ivy’s picture, and the name on the passport matches the birth certificate. I make a mental note to send in a name change when things settle down.

Ivy will always be her name.

Period.

Our flight leaves in two hours, and I’m rushing around trying to find Mr. Fluffy as Ives has her afternoon nap.

Not sure if that’s the best idea before a long-haul flight, but I need the time to organize myself and pack a few final things.

So far, I have decided to only take the essentials. Clothes, a handful of Ivy’s favorite toys... If only I could find Mr. Fluffy.

Dammit.

I rummage through the toy box and then the toy basket.

Lord above, this girl has too much stuff already, and she’s only... well, according to her birth certificate, turned one last week.

January 11th.

My little girl’s birthday is January 11th.

I stand, hands on my forehead.

Now is not the time to get distracted.

I scan the room, looking for the only toy she can’t go without. The only damn one I can’t find.

It was hell getting her down for her nap without him.

Dropping to my knees I fish every goddamn toy out of the toy basket and am left staring at the one thing left in the bottom.

A navy velvet scrunchie.

My eyes close briefly. It’s been almost three months without any contact. Riles never gave me her cell for back home. The number she gave me all those months ago is disconnected. Most likely, she used an international SIM card. And I don’t have her email.

Only her bank account . . .

Not helpful at all.

I’m an eejit, alright.

But an eejit that is head over heels in love for a little woman in Northern Ireland. And if I have to climb over those emerald hills to get to her, I will.

I spent most of my life not caring about much at all. Everything was a passing phase. Nothing held weight. Until Riley.

And I would move mountains for her.

I snatch up the scrunchie and continue the search for our long-eared friend. When I finally double-check behind the sofa, there he sits, squeezed between the wall and the furniture.