Facing the Music

by Andrea Laurence

  On the other side of the Jaycees building, forty-one anxious bakers were waiting to hear the results. He wanted to turn in his scores and leave, but he still had to present the trophies.

  Estelle came back a few minutes later to collect their forms. “Just give us time to tally these up and we’ll announce our winners.”

  Blake, Maddie, and Otto gathered up their things and headed out front. A crowd of ladies were gathered there, the usual suspects by Blake’s estimation, with the exception of Lydia in the back. As far as he knew, she didn’t bake. She’d told him once that she was an executive chef. Apparently doing pastry was beneath her, somehow.

  She was in the back row by herself, so she hadn’t come to support anyone. And her eyes were glued on him. It seemed she wanted to get to him when she knew Ivy wouldn’t be around.

  Estelle walked up to the microphone and quieted the crowd. “Thank you, everyone, for participating in our thirty-fifth annual bake-off! I’d like to thank each of our judges for dedicating their time and their taste buds to our competition tonight.”

  The crowd applauded and Blake smiled and nodded his head appropriately. He noticed Lydia wasn’t clapping. She was just watching.

  Estelle turned around to the trophies. There were four of them on the table behind her—for best fruit pie, best cream pie, best custard pie, and best overall. Blake didn’t know why all these women bothered to compete every year. Vera Reynolds always won. Always.

  Estelle announced the winner in each category and Blake handed them their trophies with a smile. Vera, as expected, won best fruit pie for her famous apple pie. She also won best cream pie for her coconut cream. That had been Blake’s personal favorite, but he knew it wouldn’t beat her apple for best in show. People went mad over her apple pie. The best custard went to Mayor Gallagher’s wife, Marilyn.

  After a few moments of mock suspense, Vera received her trophy for best in show, and a polite round of disappointed applause followed. Everyone got up out of their seats at once. Blake scanned the room for Lydia, but he’d lost her in the chaos. He tried to take advantage of the commotion and make a dash for the back door.

  It was nearing dusk as he walked out. He was almost to his truck when he noticed a shadowy figure leaning against the driver’s door.

  “You’re a hard man to pin down, Blake Chamberlain.”

  Blake paused several feet from Lydia, well out of her touching range. He’d managed to avoid her since their ill-fated kiss at the gas station. “Evening, Lydia.”

  A wide smile crossed her face. It lit up her whole expression in a way that most people would find attractive. Lydia was a beautiful woman. She had a traditional beauty with long blond hair, blue eyes, peaches-and-cream skin, and an athletic figure. She had been popular in school, the captain of the varsity cheerleading squad. In any other universe, he and Lydia would’ve been a couple.

  In this universe, he just wasn’t into her. They had no chemistry. They had nothing in common. She wasn’t even much fun to be around. She’d wasted a lot of energy torturing Ivy and chasing him over the years, but it had been pointless. When she’d finally worn him down and he’d tried to think of her that way, it had been a disaster.

  “I found the greatest dress for tomorrow night. You’re going to love it. It’s black and pink, very chic. I don’t want to look like I’m wearing a tacky costume, you know?”

  “That’s great. I’m glad you found something you like.” Why was she telling him this? Blake was getting the dull ache of worry in his stomach.

  “So I was thinking dinner before the dance might be nice. It’s my night off at Whittaker’s, but I wouldn’t mind eating there if you don’t already have reservations. I mean, it really is the only place in town to go for a nice dinner.”

  Dammit. She thought they were going together to the prom. He thought he’d left this angst behind after graduation. “Lydia—” he began, but she ignored him.

  “Do you know what color tuxedo you’re wearing? I wanted to order you a boutonniere.”

  “Lydia,” he repeated.

  “I think pink would probably be best for my corsage, but I’ll leave that—”

  “Lydia!” he shouted. “Stop talking!”

  She jumped nervously and fell silent. Taking a deep breath, she frowned slightly, looking at him with pouty pink lips. She was irritated by his rude interruption, but he didn’t care.

  It felt ridiculous to say it out loud at his age, but he had to. “Lydia, we’re not going to the prom together.”

  Lydia chuckled. “Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we?”

  Blake couldn’t believe his ears. She was delusional. “Because I asked someone else.”

  Her eyes widened, and then narrowed as she frowned. “Oh, really? Let me guess . . . You asked Ivy, didn’t you?”

  He was walking into a minefield with her, but there was nothing he could do about it. “It’s none of your business, Lydia.”

  “Oh my God, you did ask her!” Lydia stomped her foot and pounded her fist into the door of his truck. “Did you not learn your lesson the last time? She doesn’t give a damn about you, Blake. She’s just using you for the press. You’re a fool if you think it’s anything else.”

  “Lydia, I don’t think that—”

  “What about us, huh?” she interrupted. “How do I explain to people that we’re dating one moment and you’re out with that skank the next?” She brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose, very dramatically. “This is so embarrassing, Blake. I told people we were going to the dance together.”

  “Why would you do that, Lydia? I never asked you to go.”

  The delicate line of her brow furrowed. “I know, but we’ve been dating. Why wouldn’t you take me?”

  “We were dating,” he corrected. “I broke it off three weeks ago.”

  Lydia waved her wrist dismissively and shook her head. “You’re just confused about your feelings. Eventually you’ll realize how great we are together and come back to me. We make sense, Blake. You and I are meant to be. This prom is our chance to put the past to rights.”

  Blake frowned at her choice of words. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “That you should’ve listened to me in high school when I told you that Ivy was all wrong for you. The quarterback and the head cheerleader are meant to be together—the alphas of our species. If you’d broken it off with her and dated me, your whole life would be different right now. She never would’ve written that song. You would’ve kept that winning streak going and won the Heisman Trophy. You would’ve been drafted by a better football team and would probably still be playing now.”

  He also could’ve married Lydia out of high school, gotten her pregnant, dropped out of college, and started working as a car salesman. His life wouldn’t necessarily be the perfect existence she described just by taking Ivy out of the equation. “That’s a pretty egregious stretch.”

  Lydia shrugged off his concerns. “Even if it was, we can’t change the past. But we can change the future.” She took a few steps toward him, resting her hand on his biceps. “Come on, Blake. Go with me tomorrow night. We’ll have a great time together just like we always do.”

  Blake wouldn’t call any time they spent together great. He wasn’t sure whether Lydia was completely delusional or just didn’t care about their incompatibility. “No, Lydia,” he said. “We’re not going to the dance together. Or to anything else together. You don’t seem to understand. You and I are never going to happen. Like I told you before, you’re a nice lady, but I’m not into you.”

  Lydia’s peach skin flushed bright red with anger and her hand dropped limp to her side. “You don’t have to be so cruel, Blake. I get it. You’d rather be with that rock star whore!”

  “This has got nothing to do with Ivy, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to her like that.”

  “Oh, so you c
an call her names in the bar and it’s okay, but if I say something, I’m just vindictive and jealous?”

  “Your words, not mine, Lydia, but a good choice.” Blake crossed his arms over his chest. If she didn’t move away from his truck in a minute, he was going to move her himself. He was already late for warm-ups.

  Lydia’s mouth dropped open in dismay for a moment before she shook her head and smiled. In an instant, it was like the last few minutes had never happened. “I understand you have other plans tomorrow and I’m sorry we can’t go together. I know Ivy is exciting. But remember,” she said, her face growing serious, “she won’t be here long. In a week, she’ll fly off to California and you’ll come back to me. I’m patient. I can wait for you. I’ve waited this long.”

  There was a calmness and certainty about her as she spoke that was near frightening.

  Finally, she stepped away from his truck, disappearing into the darkness of the park that sprawled in front of him. Before she vanished completely, she stopped and turned back to him. “I know I’m right, Blake. We belong together. And one day, I’m certain we will be.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ivy always loved parade day. She arrived early to check in and prepare for her first time being in the parade itself. There were men dressed as clowns, a group of tiny baton-twirling girls, a float with a throne for the new Miss Rosewood, and easily fifty children in red-and-white marching band uniforms.

  Her father looked like he was up to his ears in band kids and their drama. She remembered what it was like the day of a performance. The moment he saw her, he grinned.

  “Morning, Peaches. Are you ready for your big parade debut?”

  Ivy shrugged. “I just have to smile and wave.”

  Trent nodded. “You’ll do great. Will you get to come by today after the parade?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “You know the game is on,” he added with a smile.

  “Yes, but I also have prom tonight, Daddy. That trumps football, remember?”

  “I suppose,” he said with a touch of disappointment in his voice.

  “Are you taking Mama to the eighties prom?”

  At that her father laughed. “I did that already. We were the totally awesome class of 1983, remember?”

  “Mr. Hudson?” A teenager with a bass drum stood impatiently nearby.

  “I’ll let you get back to work, Daddy.” Ivy leaned in and gave her father a hug.

  “See you later, Peaches.”

  Ivy checked in with the parade organizers, who pointed her in the direction of her queue location. She headed that way, pausing when she noticed two saddled horses waiting there. Horses. Frowning, she tried to determine if she was in the wrong place. The band was in front of the horses and the fire truck was behind them. There was no other place to go, she realized as a cold sweat broke out across her brow.

  Gloria’s words from the planning meeting echoed in her mind. “ . . . we’d like both of you riding in the parade . . .”

  Riding. Ivy’s heart was jumping in her throat as she looked at the massive black horse in front of her. It snorted and stomped its hoof impatiently on the pavement. There was no way she was climbing on the back of that beast. Horses hated her, and she hated horses. It was a mutual distrust.

  “Uh, can someone tell me what that is?”

  Gloria, who had been giving a pep talk to a couple of students from the marching band, turned around to face Ivy. She looked in the direction Ivy was pointing with a confused look on her face. “It’s a horse, dear.”

  “Thank you for that clarification,” she said, unable to shelf the sarcasm even for her favorite teacher in school as she panicked. “Why are we riding horses? No one said anything about riding horses. When you said we’d be in the parade, I envisioned us waving from the back of a convertible. Not on horseback.”

  “Uh-oh,” Blake said, coming up to them from the parking lot where the parade was starting. “Sounds like the city girl is a little rusty on her horseback riding skills.”

  Ivy sighed and put her hands on her hips. “I am not rusty. I never had them to begin with, so they couldn’t possibly be rusty.”

  Gloria paled slightly at her words. “You’ve never ridden a horse?”

  “Some kids can’t afford horseback riding lessons, you know? The closest I’ve gotten was a pony ride at a birthday party when I was six.”

  “But wait,” Blake said, his brow furrowed in thought. “I distinctly remember a music video of yours with you riding down the beach on a horse.”

  “That was a stunt rider,” Ivy admitted.

  “Well, I really wish someone had mentioned this,” Gloria complained.

  “I would have, gladly, if someone had told me this was what we were doing. Why are we riding horses, anyway? Shouldn’t we be on some float made of crepe paper or something?”

  Gloria sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Whittaker Farms is sponsoring the event today. They made a huge donation to the cause and in exchange, they wanted you and Blake to ride their horses in the parade. It was good advertising for them since the parade is being broadcast on the local station and on Birmingham networks. You two are our stars, so of course the clips most likely to air will have you in them.”

  Even better. Not only was it a horse, it was a horse that was somehow tied to Lydia. The beast would probably buck her off on principle.

  “We’re walking down Main Street at two miles an hour. I think you can handle it.”

  Ivy frowned at Blake. His words were meant to be supportive, but she just didn’t believe him. There was press everywhere. She could just imagine the fun they’d poke at her expense if her horse bucked or veered off course to eat the petunias out of the flowerbeds.

  “I’ll be right beside you,” Blake said, reaching out to take her hand. “You’ll do great.”

  Ivy looked up at him and this time found confidence in the depths of his baby-blue eyes. “Okay,” she agreed. Then she turned back to Gloria. “Any other livestock involved this week?”

  “No,” she said with a quick shake of her head.

  “Any other major details or things of note that people have neglected to tell me?”

  “No,” Gloria repeated. “After the dance tonight, it should be smooth sailing until the concert.”

  “That’s if I don’t fall off and break my leg,” Ivy muttered under her breath. “Whittaker Farms better be insured.”

  Gloria smiled nervously and turned back to talk to the firemen who had just pulled up with the ladder truck.

  “It will be fine, Ivy.” With her hand still in his, Blake led her over to the two horses. A teenage boy with a Whittaker Farms T-shirt was holding their reins. One horse was big and black as midnight with a white stripe down his nose. The other was a little smaller and a milky gray color with a long white mane.

  “Hey, Coach Chamberlain,” the boy said.

  “Hey, Thomas. Ivy, you remember Lydia’s little brother, Thomas, don’t you?”

  Ivy looked at the teenage boy for a minute, remembering that Lydia’s mother had had a baby when they were in fourth grade. It seemed impossible that the tiny baby she remembered was actually the high school senior standing in front of her, but she could see the family resemblance.

  “Yes,” Ivy said with a polite smile. “Hi there.”

  “Who are we riding today?” Blake asked.

  “Well, this big brute here is Angus,” Thomas said as he gestured to the large black horse. “And this is Willow,” he said about the smaller gray mare.

  “Which one am I riding?” Ivy asked with large eyes.

  Thomas shrugged. “That’s up to you, ma’am. Angus is large, but he’s pretty even-tempered. A little hardheaded, but as my mama says, most men are. Willow is sweet but a little skittish. Both should be fine to ride, even for a novice rider.”

 
That was what Ivy needed to hear. “I think I’d probably be more comfortable with Willow.”

  Blake nodded. “That sounds fine.” He looked back at the marching band, which was queuing up with Ivy’s father at the front of the group. “Looks like we should mount up.”

  “Would you like some help up, ma’am?” Thomas asked.

  “Yes, please. I’ve never done this before.”

  A look of momentary concern flashed in Thomas’s eyes before he smiled and handed both sets of reins over to Blake. “Sure thing. Let me grab a mounting block from the trailer.” He disappeared around the corner and returned about a minute later.

  “Here you go. You’re going to grasp the reins with your left hand and shift all your weight onto your right foot. Put your left foot in the stirrup, then push yourself up and swing your other leg over.”

  Ivy looked at Thomas dubiously but did as she was told. With her left foot firmly in place, she hoisted herself up and swung her right leg over the horse. With both feet in the stirrups, she adjusted herself in the saddle and took a deep breath of relief.

  Turning to Blake beside her, she said, “That wasn’t so bad.”

  “You’ll do fine. I told you that.” He smiled wide, looking as handsome as ever. Ivy didn’t remember him riding horses, but he seemed very natural astride Angus. Everything from his plaid shirt to his worn brown boots seemed to suit perfectly.

  “Did you know we were riding horses today?”

  The smile immediately dimmed. “I think someone mentioned it last night at the bake-off,” he said, but she could tell he was lying.

  “You knew! You knew and you didn’t tell me.”

  Blake threw up his hands defensively. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

  Ivy growled low in her throat and turned back to the boy patiently waiting beside her horse.

  Thomas handed her the reins. “Give her a squeeze with your legs to start her going. To stop, lean back and pull gently on the reins. Don’t tug hard, don’t yell at her, and don’t say ‘T-R-O-T,’ ” he spelled out.

  Ivy frowned at him. “Why not?”