He followed Art’s line of sight and spied another rental car with Birmingham plates rolling by. “More reporters,” he replied with distaste.
Blake had seen at least four other unfamiliar cars around town today. It was like a gang of midsize sedans had taken over Rosewood. The video hit the Internet the night before and everyone must have immediately booked their tickets and hightailed it to Alabama. It seemed that they all thought there was a story brewing here. He had no idea why. There wasn’t much going on. He and Ivy had made up. There shouldn’t be any more fighting.
If the hug they’d shared in the alley yesterday was any indication, they’d set all that aside. She’d surprised him at first, but it felt so good to have her pressed against him that he couldn’t help wrapping his arms around her. It had felt . . . right in a way that holding other women over the past few years had not. She fit perfectly, like she was meant to be there. His chest tightened at the mere thought.
But a hug was just a hug. It didn’t mean that in lieu of clashing they’d start kissing. No doubt, he was still attracted to Ivy. Now that he was no longer required to despise her, the idea didn’t bother him so much.
Grant seemed to think that was exactly what the reporters were after. That made him laugh out loud. They’d wasted their money if they thought anything illicit was going to happen on the street in Rosewood. The town had voted down the long-standing blue laws only last year, and that had been a scandalous headline. Buying beer on a Sunday! Did the paparazzi really think he and Ivy were going to make out on the street where they could photograph it?
He might have been considered naïve when it came to all this, but he wasn’t stupid. Blake had learned his lesson quickly. From now on, he had to act as though someone was always watching, whether it was Vera Reynolds, ready to spread the news to every old busybody in town, or a reporter set on blasting it into cyberspace.
No, if he got his hands on Ivy’s soft curves again, there would be no witnesses.
“All this fund-raiser nonsense can’t end soon enough,” Art said with a frown. “I hate all these outsiders lurking around. I don’t trust the lot of them.”
“Look on the plus side, Art. All those rental cars need gas.”
Art shrugged. “I suppose. One of them came in earlier today and asked if the coffee was brewed with organic, non-GMO coffee beans. I don’t even know what the hell that means. It makes me want to jack up the prices on them.”
“Well, I’ve filled up my tank. Feel free to raise the prices now.”
“Nah,” Art said, pulling off his ball cap to run his hand over his thinning gray hair and then tugging it back on. “I don’t want to overcharge the residents just to be spiteful to those leeches. I’ll just keep my mouth shut and pray the next week goes by quickly.”
Blake smiled. “Are you going to the fair tomorrow night?”
“No, I’m here until closing every day this week. My son is supposed to be going though, and taking the grandkids.”
“Okay. If I don’t see Dan and the kids, tell them I said hey.”
A couple of teenagers went into the convenience store and Art moved to follow them inside. “Will do. I’d better see to them. You have a good one, Blake.”
Blake waved and closed his gas tank. He was about to hop into his truck and head to his house when he heard a woman’s voice shout his name from across the street.
He turned in the other direction to see Lydia waving at him from Ellen’s Diner. He choked down a frown and waved back, hoping that was all she wanted.
“Do you have a minute?” she called.
He did, but he wanted to say no. Unfortunately, his mama didn’t raise him that way. Blake slammed his door shut and crossed the street to where she was standing.
“You won’t believe this,” she said with an exasperated smile. “Whittaker’s is raffling off dinner for two at the fair. My brother, Thomas, was supposed to come by after school today to haul the raffle bin and folding table to the fairgrounds in his truck. He just texted me that he has detention. The organizers told me I have to drop this stuff off at the livestock pavilion before they lock up for the night.”
Blake eyed the folding table and brass rotating raffle bin. There was no way they would fit in her little convertible BMW. She obviously wanted him to haul it for her. And as a gentleman raised in the South, he had a duty to hold doors, pick up heavy things, kill bugs, and haul stuff in his truck.
“Do you need me to drive it over there for you?”
“Oh, would you? That would save my skin.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Blake made quick work of carrying the items across the street and throwing them in the back of his truck. The fairgrounds were a mile up the road. It wasn’t a hardship to do it, and if it were anyone else, he wouldn’t hesitate. With Lydia, there always seemed to be strings or complications.
Lydia followed him to his truck. “You are such a darling,” she cooed at him.
He wasn’t so sure about that, but he accepted the praise with a faint shake of his head. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? You’re my hero!” Her gaze flicked over his shoulder for a moment and a smile curled her thin lips. Then she returned her gaze to him. “Thank you,” she added, and leaned in to give him a hug.
Blake accepted the hug because it was the polite thing to do, but before he could pull away, Lydia turned her head and planted a kiss square on his lips. He was stunned still for a moment before he could gather himself and jerk away from her. He’d never had a woman do that to him before. He was about to ask what the hell she thought she was doing when Blake heard a commotion across the street.
He turned toward the sound. Ivy was standing across the street with a pool of various bags and purchases at her feet. Her mouth was hanging open, her eyes reflecting fresh betrayal. He knew that look well. It was the same expression she’d worn when she’d caught him with that cheerleader. Dammit. Lydia had done that on purpose. She knew Ivy was there.
Ivy crouched down to gather up everything she’d dropped and headed as fast as she could in the other direction.
“Ivy, wait!” Blake untangled himself from Lydia’s greedy arms and jogged across the street after her. It took longer than he’d like to catch up with her, but sprinting was not an option anymore. “Ivy, please stop!” he begged, reaching for her shoulder and finally tugging her to a stop outside the antique shop.
“Let go of me.”
“No. Listen to me, that wasn’t what you think it is.”
She chuckled bitterly and shook her head. “It wasn’t you kissing Lydia?”
“No, it was Lydia kissing me. There’s a big difference.”
“Please,” she groaned. She adjusted her hastily gathered bags, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t bore me with excuses, Blake. You don’t owe me one, anyway. It’s not like we’ve gotten back together or anything. You’re allowed to kiss whomever you want to, even snotty Lydia Whittaker. It’s none of my business.”
Blake scanned around them for one of the rental cars or their suspicious occupants. He didn’t see any, but better safe than sorry. He opened the door to the antique store and gestured for her to go inside.
“I don’t need anything from in there.”
“There are rental cars all over town today. Would you rather we go inside or have this discussion on the street where Nash or some other sleaze can film it?”
Thinking better of it, Ivy ducked into the store, and he followed her. The only person in the shop was the owner, Miss Phyllis. She was stone-deaf and couldn’t spread any of their conversation around town even if she wanted to.
He led Ivy behind a multipanel lacquer screen, where they couldn’t be seen from the street. “Lydia and I are not together,” he insisted at last. “And I had no intention of or interest in kissing her.”
Ivy sat her bags down on a dusty dining room table and crossed her arms ov
er her chest. “You just tripped and fell into her, right?”
“Of course not. She asked me to take some things to the fairgrounds for her. I thought she was just going to hug me for assisting her.” He shook his head and winced. “Then she saw you coming and kissed me. But I did not kiss her.”
“It didn’t look one-sided.”
“Come on, Ivy. You’ve been gone a long time, but some things don’t change. I’ve never had any interest in Lydia, but you know that’s never stopped her from trying. Having you back has just made it worse. She’s probably more interested in upsetting you than she is in kissing me.”
“I have no doubt of that, but why would she think that seeing the two of you kissing would upset me?”
Blake placed a finger below Ivy’s chin and tipped it up so she couldn’t look away from him. “Really? I saw it in your eyes, Ivy. It did upset you. You dumped all your stuff onto the sidewalk.”
“It startled me,” she argued dismissively. “I didn’t expect to look across the street and see the two of you making out at the gas station. It gave me flashbacks to high school and all the things she used to do to me when we were together.”
Lydia had been full of tricks over the years. She was always looking for reasons to talk to Blake, especially if Ivy was around. She tried to get into the same classes and was always asking him to study with her. One time, she’d even invited Blake to her house for a party and when he arrived, he found out he was the only guest and her parents were out of town at a horse show.
Things like that, combined with her constant digs at Ivy, had worn Ivy’s nerves thin over the years. It was no wonder the incident with the cheerleader pushed her over the edge. Ivy had probably been waiting to lose him for years.
“It didn’t mean anything back then,” he assured her, “and it doesn’t mean anything now. I wouldn’t do that to you, Ivy. We went to all that trouble to make up; I don’t intend to throw it all out the window a day later. Besides,” Blake added, his voice low, “I’m more interested in the two of us moving forward than moving backward.”
Ivy’s dark green gaze focused on his, a touch of surprise reflecting back at him. “Forward? What do you mean by that?”
Blake wasn’t exactly sure. They weren’t really in a position to pick up where they’d left off all those years ago. She would be back in California long before his freshman boys mastered the new tennis module. But he knew he wanted something more. Maybe friendship. Maybe spending time together catching up on their lives. Maybe making out in his Corvette like they were teenagers again.
“It means whatever we want it to mean. There’s no reason we have to decide right this minute. Let’s just take it one day at a time and see what happens.”
She looked dubiously at him. “And no more fighting?”
“No more fighting,” he agreed. He had no more interest in going rounds with Ivy. It just made the situation worse and encouraged him to say things he regretted. “What do you say to making our truce official over blue cotton candy and some rides at the fair tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know,” she said, unconvinced. “I was just planning on leaving after the ribbon cutting.”
“Aw, come on. It’ll be like old times. We always had a great time at the fair. We can get on the Scrambler and scream like we’re going to die. It will be fun.”
“The press will be there,” Ivy argued.
“So? They’re going to take pictures of you no matter what you’re doing. You might as well let them take pictures of you having fun. You know who else will be there? Lydia. She’ll pounce on me the minute the ribbon-cutting ceremony ends if you’re not there with me.”
At that, Ivy chuckled. “Are you afraid of Lydia?”
“A little bit,” he admitted. “Look at it this way: if we go together, even as friends, it will make her absolutely green with jealousy and ruin her whole night. That’s got to be worth something, right?”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly, although a smile eventually spread across her face. “I will go and protect you from the evil clutches of Lydia Whittaker. But,” she said, “I can’t stay too late. I need to get home and work on some songs.”
“You’ll be home long before you turn back into a pumpkin,” Blake assured her.
“And,” she added, “I want the pink cotton candy.”
Blake had to laugh at her list of demands. “Whatever color you want, Ivy Grace.”
Chapter Ten
Ivy’s manager returned her call later that evening, skipping the pleasantries, as usual. “And I quote,” he began, “ ‘Blake Chamberlain has an excellent penis! It is quite large and he is very skilled in using it.’ ”
Ivy groaned into the phone. She had forgotten about saying that. Of course Nash would be there to record it. “He was filming longer than I thought.” She had deliberately avoided the Internet since that incident, not wanting to know what would show up about her this time. “How bad is it?”
“Well, TMZ and a couple of other entertainment news sites have picked up Nash’s video. Most of the audio is bad and the dialogue undecipherable, but for some reason, you seem to have shouted that part about Blake’s penis. They’re having a field day with it, of course. Care to fill me in?”
Ivy sighed. “I was apologizing to him about the song. It wasn’t about his penis, we all know that. When I said that last part, he asked me to repeat it louder, so I did. I hadn’t seen a single photographer since I got here. I thought it was safe.”
Kevin chuckled. He’d been working with Ivy too long to be fazed by the drama that seemed to follow her around. “How many times have I told you? You have to live your life as though someone is always taping you. It might have been safe before, but Rosewood is officially contaminated. If you haven’t noticed the reporters sniffing around already, you will. The video has sparked quite a bit of interest.”
Ivy frowned and sank into her kitchen chair. “You’re probably right. But what are they interested in? That thing in the alley was embarrassing, but there’s not much more to it.”
“Well,” Kevin explained, “there’s buzz going around that you and Blake have copious amounts of sexual tension. Apparently the hug you shared seemed to cross a boundary or two. Their tongues are wagging at the thought of you reconciling with the man who started your whole man-bashing career. They are, of course, more interested in the inevitable fallout and what song you’ll write about him this time.”
“Just great,” Ivy said. Although she was thankful to have her name in the press for something unrelated to Sterling Marshall, she really wished it wasn’t about Blake. She’d just apologized to him for the last time he’d been dragged into the spotlight. Now she’d have to do it again.
“So what is going on with you two?”
“I, uhh . . .” Ivy was at a loss. What was going on? She didn’t know. They’d apologized and hugged. She’d agreed to go to the fair with him tomorrow. That was all, really, but if the Internet saw more, maybe they were right. She’d felt . . . something between them. She wasn’t about to share that fact with her manager, however, until she knew what that something was.
“Nothing, really,” she explained. “There’s certainly not a reconciliation in the works, nor will there be another song about him. I owe him that much. Since I’ve arrived all we’ve done is fight. We were trying to be adults and talk out our issues before all the activities we have to do together begin.”
“What activities?” Kevin asked.
“So you didn’t know?” Ivy was a bit relieved that Kevin hadn’t kept those details from her.
“Know what?”
“That I’m attached at the hip to Blake for the next couple of weeks. It was all part of the big plan. We’re the town celebrities,” she said, mimicking Gloria’s tone. “Having a private discussion in an alley to clear the air was preferable to having a knock-down, drag-out argument while the
papier-mâché float we’re forced to ride on together makes its way down Main Street.”
Ivy didn’t have to see Kevin to know his eyes were squeezed shut and he was rubbing his balding head. He always did that when he got news he didn’t like. “So you two are good now? No more fighting?”
Ivy certainly hoped so. It was exhausting. “I think so.”
“Well, even though the video is a minor glitch, it was a good plan. You were right to try to clear the air before everything got under way.”
“So what do we do now that the press is in town?”
“You focus on what you’re there to do. Try not to cause any more scenes in public and I’ll take care of the rest. I spoke to your publicist this afternoon. She’s going to put together a few press releases about the tornado and the upcoming fund-raisers in Rosewood. With the video of you two center stage, we can promote why you’re there and all the good you’re doing for your hometown.”
That was probably the best plan. Since everyone already knew she was here, there wasn’t any sense in trying to keep quiet about it when she could be drawing national attention to the cause. The peace was most certainly over, though. “The press will be all over me at the fair tomorrow night.”
“Maybe, but that’s the point, as you well know. The press uses us and we use the press. If they want to write about you and Blake, make them talk about the fund-raiser you’re doing together. It will draw the national attention the cause needs. We need to sell concert tickets and drum up online donations. Every time that video of you two is played, I want ‘Text ROSEWOOD to 55515 to donate ten dollars to the tornado fund’ coming up.”
“That sounds like a good plan. I’ll try to stay out of trouble,” Ivy said. “But I make no promises.”
Kevin’s low chuckle rumbled in her ear. “I know, Ivy. Trouble just seems to find you.”
The lights of the rides were starting to glow brighter against the darkening late-summer sunset. The music from different games and booths filled the air, along with the tantalizing scents of funnel cakes, roasted corn, and ribbon potatoes.
Facing the Music Page 12
