Always & Forever: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection, Books 1 - 4)

by Brenna Jacobs

  Which department? How many departments did he think there were? Oh. He thought she was from corporate. Would he decide immediately that Ivy was wrong for Bentley when he heard they met behind the coffee counter?

  When he didn’t answer right away, Adam opened his eyes and peeled himself off the wall. He arranged his face into careful neutrality. “She’s from the shop?”

  “She is. But—” Bentley didn’t have time to get defensive.

  Adam shook his head. “Nope. No excuses. Your sisters are scheming. Lex told Sadie there was a girl.” Adam was the only person who’d ever called Mercedes Sadie. “Sadie made me come in here and ask about her, but she didn’t tell me she was looking for details about a Cinderella story.” He shook his head again.

  Oscar tumbled over into Adam’s lap and handed him a book. “Read to me, Daddy.”

  Adam hugged his boy and said, “I’d love to, but I’m talking to Uncle Ben right now. Let’s do it later, okay, buddy?” Oscar bounced back up and ran back to his brother.

  “Do you like her?” Adam’s question felt simple and unencumbered with judgment.

  Bentley felt his smile growing. “I do like her.”

  Adam put out his fist again. “That’s all I need to know.”

  Bentley realized his life would have been much different if he’d grown up with brothers instead of sisters.

  A chime sounded and his mother’s voice came on over the house intercom. “Dinner is ready,” she said. “Time to gather at the table.”

  Bentley and Adam got up from the floor. Adam whistled, and the boys ran over to him. On his hands and knees, he made a horse noise and the boys leaped onto his back. He pretended to buck them off for a minute while the boys shrieked and gripped the back of his shirt, then he stood up with his hands behind his back, holding the boys on, and said, “We don’t make Grandma wait. Let’s eat.” He passed Milo over to Bentley, and the little boy clung to Bentley’s neck.

  They all hustled to the dining room, because Adam was right—nobody made Bentley’s mother wait. The table, set to perfection, was large enough to seat a dozen adults, but the twins got their own table in the huge butler’s pantry in the kitchen. It was a miniature replica of a fifties diner booth, complete with red vinyl and chrome details. The boys loved eating in there. Bentley was pretty sure their mom loved it when they ate in there, too.

  When everyone was seated, dinner came in on trays carried by two household workers, Paul and Todd, a couple of quiet and unassuming guys that did the weekend cooking.

  They lifted the covers and presented platters of cheeseburgers smothered in brie and mushrooms. Bentley’s mom clapped her hands in delight, as if she were surprised. Obviously not. Nothing happened in her kitchen that she didn’t approve, test, and approve again. But the presentation of the dinner made her happy. As did the reaction of her family. As Paul and Todd served the plates around the table, everyone oohed and aahed their anticipation.

  Lex plucked a French fry off her plate and bit into it. “Mm,” she sighed. “Truffle oil.”

  Eliza Hollis gave Paul and Todd a benevolent nod, dismissing them. Bentley had never noticed before how silently these guys went about their jobs. He wondered if he’d ever bothered talking to them. He couldn’t remember ever having a conversation longer than “thank you” with either one of them. They were probably about his age. He wondered what they thought of him, or if they thought about him at all.

  None of these thoughts had ever entered his head before. Why was he suddenly so interested in his parents’ domestic staff?

  He had just lifted his burger to take the first bite when Lex said, “Benny went out on a date this week,” as though that was the biggest news ever to hit the Hollis family. He knew he couldn’t fight her, so he played along.

  “Indeed, I did. Should we all clap for me?”

  His dad’s eyebrows went up, and a smile covered his face. “Anyone we know?” he asked.

  Bentley was not prepared to tell the whole family about Ivy, even though it was obvious from watching their interaction in the shop that Walter adored her.

  Bentley deflected. “I checked out that new Korean place. It was excellent. Have any of you tried it?” He tossed a hopeful glance at Adam.

  “We have a reservation for next weekend,” Adam said, and Bentley shot him a grateful look. “It’s impossible to get a table there.”

  Mercedes nodded in agreement. “I can’t wait. I’ve heard so many good things.”

  Bentley shrugged. “It’s not completely impossible to get a table.” He grinned at Mercedes. “Want to go tomorrow? You’d have to be my date, though. Some people,” he said, nodding his head at Adam, “can’t get a reservation.” Adam laughed. Mercedes rolled her eyes.

  “How about you get us a spot for tomorrow and come watch the boys. Adam and I will go eat and decide if it’s good enough to keep our reservation for next week.”

  Bentley laughed along with them, grateful to Adam for diffusing Lex’s attempt at sabotaging him. As if he needed to discuss his dating life with his sisters. In front of his parents. He made a mental note to get Adam and Mercedes a reservation at Chonggak for tomorrow night.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ivy shoveled a few more bites of leftover short ribs and kimchi into her mouth before running out the door to work. This Korean food was only distantly related to what she’d ordered at her favorite food truck for the past couple of years. This was bright and colorful, fresh and elegant. Every time she ate some of those delicious leftovers, she remembered the flavors and the feelings of her date with Bentley.

  He’d surprised her. He was so uptight at work, so nervous and stiff. When they’d gone to dinner, she’d been pleased to hear him laugh. It made her want to say clever things, that laugh. He’d been relaxed and comfortable with her, eventually. He told stories about his life, about his pets, about his sisters. Like any normal guy. He’d asked her about her family, and she’d told that her parents lived in Flagstaff, and her grandmother had talked her into coming to Phoenix for school. He’d asked about Grammy, but when she didn’t feel like saying much, he didn’t press.

  And the food. The food.

  Not only was she still dreaming about it, she was still eating leftovers four days later. He wasn’t kidding about ordering practically everything on the menu, and even with a full table, they’d eaten and eaten and barely made a dent in the platters. She wondered if she’d ever have the opportunity to eat at Chonggak again. They’d both looked over the menu, but she didn’t know much about non-food-truck Korean food (except how pretty everything was), so she left the ordering to Bentley. She didn’t study the menu or anything, but she’d noticed that there were no prices printed on the pages. What kind of restaurant had menus without prices, she’d wondered? An expensive one, she’d discovered.

  It was possible that all the young wealthy people in the city knew each other, and that they all ate at the same restaurant. But as they’d followed the hostess through to the back of the room, Bentley had politely said hello to everyone who called out to him without needing to stop and talk to any of them. Women reached up from their seats to touch his arms, and he kept his hand on Ivy’s elbow. He seemed to effortlessly make her feel like she mattered as much as anyone else there. More, maybe.

  After eating and walking back to her apartment, she realized that she hadn’t even felt nervous about the next part. But it turned out there was no next part. He’d walked her home, thanked her for a fun evening, handed her a large paper bag full of little white boxes, and said goodnight. Her heart fluttered a little when he waved at the door.

  And then he was gone, and she’d stood at her apartment door forcing herself not to creep over to the window and watch him get into his car and drive away.

  She had turned the light off and gone to the window, looking out to see if she could find him. Would he get into an actual Bentley? She’d meant to ask him, but Cars of the Wealthy didn’t come up in the dinner conversation. How could he drive anyt
hing else, though? And if his sisters didn’t drive a Mercedes and a Lexus, it was simply a missed opportunity. (She still thought of them as Bugatti and Ducati, but only in her private thoughts.)

  She’d ask him about his sisters’ cars. When he texted.

  If he texted.

  She’d spotted him unlocking a car. Not a Bentley. An understated Tesla, black and not at all flashy. That made her feel weirdly proud of him. And she’d continued to feel that same kind of giddy, pleased feeling ever since.

  Her next two shifts at Velvet Undergrounds were with Old Betty. In comparative terms, Elizabeth Grant was far less enjoyable company than Bentley Hollis. And now it was Sunday night, and she’d only heard from him once, the day after the date.

  Thanks for a fun evening, he’d texted. I hope we can do that again.

  That didn’t leave her a lot of room for response. He hadn’t actually asked her out again, and he didn’t even ask a question. What did he really mean?

  If he’d wanted to start a text conversation, he would have asked a question, wouldn’t he? Or at least been specific about what “that” was that he hoped they’d do again.

  So, she hadn’t answered. And maybe now he thought it meant she didn’t have fun.

  Ivy shook herself. She was overanalyzing.

  He’d volleyed. It was her turn (three days ago) to hit one back. She picked up her phone to send him a message. She could tell him that she’d finished off the short ribs and that they were as good cold as they had been hot.

  Could she use the word “hot” in a text without sounding like she was trying to say something she wasn’t in fact trying to say?

  Opening the text icon, she scrolled to his message. Maybe she’d misinterpreted it. Thanks for a fun evening. I hope we can do that again. Nope. It said what she’d thought it said. She put her phone on her knee and cracked her knuckles.

  “Okay, Ivy,” she told herself. “You can do it.”

  She thumbed in, Hi. I just finished the ribs. So yummy.

  Almost immediately, she saw that he was typing. Instead of words, he sent a picture of himself with two little boys climbing on his head.

  I’m going to assume that those are not your children, she sent back.

  Correct. Nephews. When it’s family dinner night and my sisters make me crazy, I hang out with my little dudes.

  Well, that was adorable.

  But now what was she supposed to say?

  Do your nephews have names?

  It was a reach, but he answered.

  Milo is the one on top of my head. Oscar is the one on top of Milo.

  Charming. But now what? Turned out she didn’t have to think too hard about it. His next message said, So the ribs are gone. Should we go get more?

  She felt a giddy shiver run up her arms. She texted back.

  Certainly someday. But. This time you should come where I eat. Lunch? Tomorrow?

  If he said yes, Lucille was going to go mad. In the best way.

  Love to.

  Ivy clapped her hands, then quickly looked around, glad she was alone.

  Opening the front door at Centennial Glenn, Ivy noticed the things that had become usual to her. The smell, for one. She remembered how, when Grammy had first moved in, the full-strength pine-scented cleaner didn’t do much to mask the scents of concentrated elderly life. Add to that an aging building with significant water damage that was certainly culturing some wicked spores in the walls, as well as the cafeteria’s occasional foray into brussels sprouts-based cuisine? No one was going to argue the place smelled good. With Bentley along, Ivy paid new attention to what had become normal, if not inoffensive. She decided the best way to deal with this was to pretend not to notice. Bentley followed her lead.

  Then there was the white noise. The sound of buzzing fluorescent light tubes mixed with the hum of medical machinery to create a muffling that, Ivy noticed, made her feel like she was underwater. Too bad that hadn’t hidden the scrape of the metal front door against the slightly buckled concrete in front of it. She’d noticed Bentley’s flinch as the opening door screeched at them.

  And there was the lighting. The few small windows in the lobby were draped with heavy curtains to keep the heat out, and those fluorescent lights against the low ceiling flickered in and out of effectiveness, casting an unhealthy glow over a few people who, frankly, didn’t need any help looking unwell. The eight faux-leather recliners fanned around a decades-old television set which added its blue flickering to the already depressing light in the lobby.

  Roxie flicked her glance up from her computer monitor and immediately back down, then did a double-take. “Hello, Ivy. Ivy’s friend,” she said, the longest thing Ivy’d heard her say without eyeballs on the screen.

  “Hi, Roxie. This is Bentley. We’re here to have lunch with Lucille.”

  Roxie nodded, still looking at the two of them. “Lucille’s entertaining.” She nodded in the direction of the shabby upright piano in the lobby where Lucille sat playing some song Ivy had never heard before but was willing to bet it had the word “love” in the title. She thanked Roxie and caught her unsubtle grin, then walked into the lobby toward the piano. Bentley followed.

  When Ivy decided to take Bentley to eat in the Centennial Glen cafeteria, she might have neglected to consider all the ways in which Lucille shunned subtlety. Beginning with her completely over-the-top pretense of surprise at seeing Ivy. When Lucille’s song was finished, Ivy leaned over and gave her a squeeze around the shoulders.

  “Well, hello, darling,” Lucille gasped as though she hadn’t seen Ivy for months. She twisted a bit on the piano bench. “And who is this?” she asked, holding out her hand toward Bentley.

  I should have warned him, Ivy thought. This whole idea of surprising him was a bad one. But Bentley surprised her right back. He took Lucille’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “My name is Ben. I’m very pleased to meet you. I heard you playing Gershwin,” he said, a word Ivy had no reference for. “That was beautiful. Do you sing, too?”

  Did she sing, too? Ivy rolled her eyes. Lucille wouldn’t ever leave the piano now.

  With a demure dipping of her chin, Lucille admitted to having sung a few times.

  “What’s your favorite?” Bentley asked.

  Lucille’s hands came together under her chin. “Oh, ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’ definitely. Do you know it?”

  Within seconds, somehow Bentley Hollis was sitting next to Lucille at the piano bench, hands on the keys and asking her what key she preferred to sing in. Partway through the song, Ivy dragged her eyes away from the pair of them and pulled up a chair. She knew Lucille wouldn’t stop at one.

  In fact, Lucille did not stop. She kept saying titles, and Bentley kept playing them.

  How was it possible that Bentley knew these songs? Not just knew them, but had them memorized? Lucille, clearly smitten, would finish a song, graciously accept Bentley’s praise, rest her hand on his arm, and ask for another. Ivy was feeling fairly smitten herself at this point.

  Midway through the fourth song, a jarring electronic bell tone rang through the lobby.

  “That’s lunch,” Ivy said. “Sorry to break up the concert.”

  Lucille smiled at Bentley. “You’re staying for lunch, aren’t you? Care to accompany me?” She slid off the piano bench and held out her hand. All three of them pretended not to notice the effort that went into the movements.

  Bentley’s eyes met Ivy’s over Lucille’s head. The question written clearly on his face was, “Do you mind?” He was handling this better than Ivy could ever have imagined. He was a natural.

  Ivy nodded. “Good thing you’ve got two arms,” she said, slipping her hand around Bentley’s free elbow. When he tugged her hand in tight, she felt a shiver go all the way up her arm.

  Lucille kept up an unending stream of chatter as they walked to the dining room, which was a glorified cafeteria, but the residents didn’t have to stand at the sneeze guard to get their meals. A couple of young girls made t
heir way around the room, checking for food restrictions and delivering plates.

  Ivy settled Lucille into a chair and Lucille immediately got out a deck of playing cards. “Hearts?” she asked Bentley, a twinkle in her eye that might have actually been a wink. “Ivy’s Grammy and I used to play hearts every day while we waited for lunch. Melody. She was my best friend.” Lucille patted Ivy’s shoulder. “She’s the one who brought Ivy and me together, and I thank her for it every day.”

  Ivy felt her throat constrict a bit at the mention of her Grammy. It was good to hear Lucille so eager to share her love and her stories.

  When Bentley told Lucille he’d love to play, she dealt out a hand and Ivy lost spectacularly. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the crease in Bentley’s cheek when he smiled at her. It was only a few minutes of waiting, but Lucille took full advantage. She began an interrogation so unsubtle that there was no space for embarrassment.

  Lucille chattered at Bentley. She told him tiny pieces of stories guaranteed to make him ask curious questions, which she chose to answer with vague references and promised to tell him more later. She was reeling him right in.

  Bentley was in a perfect position to fall in love with Lucille just like Ivy had—just like everyone did. But Lucille wasn’t the only one who could be subtle. Bentley answered all her questions about his family, his schooling, and his current prospects without saying anything to suggest that he was a Hollis, and without revealing anything Ivy didn’t already know. She wished he wasn’t quite so good at that, because Lucille could ask him things Ivy wouldn’t dare. He wasn’t being evasive, merely humble. It didn’t matter, though, because he was charming the socks right off Lucille. They seemed to both be having a good time, and Ivy felt herself relaxing. Even though Ivy knew that if they were playing Hearts for money, she’d be broke.

  Monday was chicken parmesan day, the surest bet in the Centennial Glen dining room. When the dining-staff girl stopped at their table, she asked if everyone would be eating. Ivy said yes, and the girl came right back with three plates and a paper receipt, which Ivy pocketed. There were a few other tables that had obvious non-residents at them, and Ivy explained that to Bentley.