“What do you need packed up?” He asked, glancing over at her chaotic living space. “A lot.” Ivy half-winced. “Everything?” Silas pushed away from the counter, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets as he surveyed the apartment. “I’ll tell Boris to bring extra boxes,” he said. “And special trays for your baneful beauties there,” he added, jerking his chin at her plants. “I wish I’d thought to name my business that,” she laughed. He watched her wander into the other room, savoring the swish of her hips and the following bounce of her curls.
