Ivy
Ellie and I stormed through the aisles of the home improvement store. Our mission was clear: gather every piece of decor that would transform two empty spaces into havens for our soon-to-be-born children.
Trailing behind us were four men, each armed with enough weapons to declare war.
That was Aidan's condition when leaving home to go shopping. Neither Ellie nor I was allowed to complain about having bodyguards.
"Wallpaper," I panted, ticking items off my list with a sense of urgency that bordered on manic. "We need wallpaper."
"Got it," Ellie called from two shelves over.
"Paint next," I directed one of the men who was pushing my cart toward the paint section.
My eyes skimmed over the rainbow of paint cans, searching for the perfect shade. Then I saw it—a soft, pastel blue that seemed to whisper tranquility. I snatched the color swatch, holding it up to the light. Perfect.
