by Susan Ward
Ivy should know that by now.
“It’s. Not. Right.” She says each word with a shake of her head.
“Well, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the pillow this morning. You’re more militant than usual.”
“Not militant at all. It steams me up when I see people treating others the way they treated you.”
“Put a period on it already. Money isn’t everything.”
“It is when you haven’t got any,” Ivy shoots back. “And there’s a giant pot with your name on it and you won’t go get it.”
“I’m hardly destitute. I own my own house and business. Compared to a lot of people these days I’m doing well and should be thankful.”
Ivy shakes her head, annoyed. “You be thankful. I’d rather continue to be angry with Dean.”
The way she says that makes me laugh. “I know it’s hard for you to accept that Dean divorced both me and you, Ivy. But it’s time for you to move on like I have.”
She grimaces. “Not funny. And I’ll move on when the three of them start being fair to you.”
I shake my head. “Yes, something’s gotten you fired up today, but you are the best friend a girl could have.”
And she is. Ivy is always there for me in good times and bad. Even during my worst moments of life like the night I showed up on her doorstep after I’d found out about Dean’s affair. She took me in and held me together through the months of divorce court. I hadn’t wanted to dump my problems on Jade, not with Gary and Dean being buddies and business partners.
As she sips her coffee she studies my face, and after a few seconds her gaze sharpens. “Speaking of destitute—”
Oh no, I don’t want her going there. “We weren’t—”
“You’re all dolled up today,” she says right over me, “and did your makeup for a change. I couldn’t help but notice on my way into work that Mr. Tall, Blond, and Fuck-Me Sexy was sipping from a Java Hut cup.”
Yep, she went there.
I meet her probing stare with what I hope is a deadpan face, but I can feel my cheeks rapidly move through five different redness levels.
“Don’t blow this out of proportion. I bought a homeless man breakfast. You don’t have to make a big deal out of everything.”
Her brows furrow. “I didn’t. I just noticed the Java Hut cup and the eye makeup. Which looks fab, by the way. You should do your eyes more often.”
“That discussion I’m not having this morning. I’ve really got to get these deposits to the bank.”
I scoop up the cash drawers, determined to make a hasty retreat to my office, but before I can get away, Ivy says to my back, “All right, we won’t talk about EJ. Not how hot he is. Not how nice he is. Not how into you he must be to stay out front of the bar for two months straight. Or that we’re both a smidge fascinated with him.”
“I’m not fascinated by him at all.” Looking over my shoulder, I lift my nose and she battles back my bravado with an intimidating, all-knowing stare. “Really, Ivy? You actually think EJ is someone I should get involved with?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what did you say?” I counter, frustrated.
Her expression turns gloating. “Nothing. But I find it interesting you brought up getting involved with him all on your own. Not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. He might be just the bounce-back fling you need. A rolling stone, and what I’m guessing is one fucking great lay by the looks of him. You already know the worst about him—that homeless part and everything—and you’d know what you were getting into.”
“Which I’m not. Getting into anything, I mean.”
“But if you were, I’m saying it’s not a completely crazy idea. More direct and honest than most hookups are these days. No worse than the jerks I meet on Bumble. If you’re thinking of jumping on him, I say do it.”
“But I’m not.”
I beat a fast escape to my office, but before my door is closed, Ivy calls out, “You look incredible today. I say go for it.”
Chapter Three
Willow
IT’S NOON AND I’m sitting at a table by the front window trying to focus on the burger Ivy made. I don’t know how we ended up having lunch in the bar.
When I got back from dropping the deposits at the bank, the blinds were open, the table set, and our meals were made.
She hasn’t brought up EJ again, much to my relief. But she sat me with a clear view of him so I have to watch his unending street show while we eat. Or rather, can’t stop myself from glancing out the window to see what he’s doing.
By the time I finish my food, I’ve given up pretending not to watch him. He’s got a large circle around him listening, mostly women—no surprise. He’s quite a showman. He knows how to fire up his audience, or gaze at a girl while he sings to make her blush.
It’s no wonder that case of his has a pile of bills in it by evening every day. His sexy smile is enough to melt any girl’s heart to reach for her wallet. He probably clears almost as much in week as I do owning the bar. Which makes it confusing that he doesn’t try to get a room or an apartment, and continues camping wherever he stays at night.
I wonder if Ivy knows where he hangs out when he’s not here.
I frown.
Stupid thought.
Why would she?
Ivy’s not exactly the friendly, let’s-get-to-know-each-other type with anyone. She’s more like an onion. You’ve got to peel back her hard outer layer to get to something resembling soft. And even the soft is pungent.
“Good looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?” she says, amused.
“I suppose so. It’s hard to tell with that beard.” I try to sound disinterested, but she laughs, and I know I didn’t succeed.
“Oh, come on, Willow. He’s an attractive man. Admit it.”
“For a homeless man, I guess he is.”
“Since when are you so uppity? Attractive is attractive no matter what he is. And he’s not your typical homeless man, not by any measure. Anyone can see that.” Her brows crinkle pensively. “I think he’s backpacking around because he wants to, not because he has to.”
I roll my eyes, though I am confused as to why Ivy takes every opportunity to build EJ up. It’s so unlike her. “That’s crazy. Why would anyone choose to live outdoors in Seattle?”
She shrugs. “Maybe it fuels his creative process.”
I gape. “You think he’s homeless out of devotion to his music?”
“It’s as good a theory as any. It’s what my brother thinks.”
“What else does Joey think?”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “I knew you weren’t immune to EJ.”
Crap, I feel my cheeks heating. “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”
“Yeah, you do. EJ’s crazy charismatic. I can understand you being fascinated by him.”
“I’m not.” I snort, gathering up the plates to take to the kitchen.
Ivy glances up at me speculatively. “What do you want to do this afternoon? Continue to watch the free show or go to a movie?”
Free show.
Nice way to circle back to talking about EJ.
Why is she like a broken record when it comes to him?
“Can’t do either. I’m thinking of boxing up Dad’s stuff and cleaning out the apartment so I can rent it,” I tell her, hoping this will get her off the subject of EJ once and for all.
Her face snaps toward me, surprised. “It’s about time. Do you want some help?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Ivy tosses down her napkin.
We walk across the bar.
I stall just outside the doors to the kitchen and my gaze strays out the window again. “Why do you suppose EJ plays outside my bar every day? Don’t you think it’s strange how he just showed up two months ago and decided this was the street he should work?”
She shrugs “Haven’t thought about it.” Her eyes start to gleam. “Ma
ybe he’s taken with you.”
Taken with me?
Inwardly I groan. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Her eyes flare wide. “I’m not being ridiculous. I’m serious. I think he’s really into you.”
I use my shoulder to push through the doors. “Aren’t you a little suspicious of him? Afraid? Concerned? Anything? Rain or shine, there he is. Doesn’t it seem odd to you?”
Ivy shakes her head. “No, Willow. Not in the least.”
“OH CRUD!” IVY SHUDDERS. “It’s worse than I remember.”
My emotions run rampant as I stand rooted in the entry hall. It’s exactly like I remember, Ivy. Neither of us has been in here for seven years. Not since that night my dad threw me out.
I drop my tote on the console table beside the front door. “Dad was such a pack rat. It doesn’t seem possible, but there’s even more piled everywhere than when I was little.”
“That’s because you weren’t here to get rid of what you could while your dad was downstairs in the bar.” Ivy begins to rummage and examine random items as she weaves her way through the tall stacks of boxes in the living room. “Your old man was the worst hoarder I’ve ever seen. Look at this crap he kept.”
My gaze moves in dismay across the mountains of clutter, fighting against that putrid odor of an apartment shut up too long. Magazines, books, newspapers, unneeded treasures bought from yard sales, clothes, shoes, and assorted whatever.
“I’ve gotta get some air in here before I puke.” Ivy moves briskly across the room, struggles with the ancient window latch, then using both arms and all her might, manages to shove the pane up four inches. “There. That’ll help”—she arches a brow and makes a face—“a little. Where do you want to begin?”
I’m shaking my head, an involuntary gesture. “Are you sure it’s even worth it? It’ll take months to get this place in shape to rent out.”
“Not that long. Not with me helping you.” She plants her hands on her hips. “It’s a good idea, Willow. You’re going to have no problem finding a tenant for this apartment.”
“If it doesn’t kill us first.”
She laughs. “It won’t. And you’re sitting on your own pot of gold here.”
Ivy’s right about that. When we Googled to see how much we could get from a tenant, we both nearly fell from our chairs. Apparently, this neighborhood is now considered “up and coming” and in that trendy, gentrified phase rich young techies want to live in.
I can get four grand a month easy for this space. That’ll sure take the burden off until I can get the bar making more of a profit—that is if I can get Dad’s apartment inhabitable. And from how it looks at present that’s a big if.
“Where do you want to start?”
I look up to find Ivy waiting for my game plan. Sighing, I let my gaze float once again over the massive task in front of me. “Let’s start in here and work out to the other rooms. We move everything to the entryway. And when that fills up, I’ll get the dolly and we’ll move it to the floor-above storage space until we can get it disposed of. We just have to make sure we leave a path to the front door so we can escape from here.”
Ivy snorts. “Sounds good to me. How should we sort it?”
Damned if I know. “I’m pretty sure most of it’s going to land on the trash pile. We should probably sort into pure trash, recyclables, and things we can donate to charity.”
“Maybe not.” Her voice is muffled. She’s half into a giant box that must be half empty because Dad died before he filled it, and is struggling to reach something, then pops up holding a vase. She turns it over to read the bottom. “I thought this had the look of quality to it. It’s Waterford crystal. We should make a new pile. Things we can sell at a yard sale to pay for painting and carpeting this place.”
“Only we don’t have a yard.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, parking lot sale. We can have it behind the bar.”
I carefully navigate the narrow path left through the living room. Twirling my long black hair into a tight roll, I tie it in a knot then push up my sleeves to get to work.
Ivy hands me the vase. “Are you okay being in here?”
Her question brings me up cold and I’m wondering what my expression reveals that she would ask me that. This is going to be enough of an emotional burner without talking about my dad.
I begin to sort through a box so she can’t see my face. “I’m fine. Just concentrating on how to tackle this.”
“A bulldozer would be nice or maybe just a couple of big strong hunky men. Unfortunately, we don’t have either,” she jeers.
“There are times it sucks not having a man in my life.”
“Are you thinking about your dad or Dean?”
“Neither.” Damn, she’s probing today and bringing up all the touchy subjects.
“You don’t have to put on a strong front with me, Willow. And it would be normal if you were having a hard time from being in here. What your dad did to you was awful.”
“I don’t want to talk about my dad. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
I feel the burn in my eyes, reminding me that isn’t true. It’s something I live with every day still.
I try to keep my thoughts on the collection of items I’m sorting. When I catch a fast glance of Ivy out the corner of my eye, I find her watching me.
“Your dad was wrong, Willow. You were a good daughter and he shouldn’t have thrown you out for making one mistake. What happened was as much your dad’s fault as anyone’s. He should have watched out for you more, been more of a parent than your boss, then you wouldn’t have fallen for Eric James. Girls don’t get involved with guys that are trouble unless their dads aren’t doing their job.”
“My dad did his best after Mom died.”
“Maybe he did, but he still shouldn’t have kicked you out for one mistake,” Ivy insists.
“But what I did was wrong—”
She stops my words with her hand on my lips. “He was your father and he should have been there for you. You should have been his first concern. That man had his priorities wrong. He cared way too much about the bar and money. And look where it got him. Dying alone in this place surrounded by worthless crap when you would have been there if he’d only reached out to you.”
My emotions cascade in uncomfortable waves, though I do appreciate Ivy saying that. Even as bad as the memories make me feel, having her on my side gives a small measure of soothing to the sting.
“Now let’s see how much we can get through before I have to hit the road,” she states firmly.
Her determined nod causes me to smile and we each dump the contents of a box in front of us.
Five hours later, we’ve made a nice dent in the first room and there isn’t any space left in the entry hall to add to the piles we’ve got there.
Ivy checks her watch. “That has to be it for tonight. I’m meeting Joey for dinner. We should take this upstairs to storage and head out for the night.”
“I’m going to stick around and do more. We’re not even done with the first room.” I brush the wayward hairs from my face with an arm.
She scrunches up her nose. “Why don’t you join Joey and me for dinner instead?”
“No. I’d rather get this done as quickly as possible.”
“We’ll do a bit each morning before the bar opens. I’ll come in early. It’s not like we have to get it done in one day.” She springs to her feet. “I’ll go get the dolly. Help you move this load before I take off.”
As she hustles out of the apartment, I sit on the dirty carpet and stare. I’m grimy, tired, and feeling overwhelmed. There’s just so much to do.
There’s a bang against the door and I turn my head to find Ivy struggling to maneuver the cart inside. I jump to my feet and weave through the piles in the entry hall.
“I don’t think it’ll fit.”
She yanks hard on the handle. “It will if I make it.”
&nbs
p; I laugh. “Don’t. You should cut out. You don’t want to be late meeting Joey. I’ll load it myself and take it upstairs.”
Her brows pucker. “Are you sure? We’ve got quite a stack waiting to be moved.”
“You’ve done so much already. Getting it upstairs is the easy part. Skedaddle.”
She kisses me on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, girl.”
“Have a good night, Ivy.”
Once the cart is loaded as high as I dare, I wheel it toward the elevator. As I step onto the third floor and drag the cart behind me, my jaw drops.
The giant open space is empty. I didn’t expect that. Last time I was up here it was crammed floor to ceiling with boxes.
Listening to the groaning wheels roll on oak, I study the floors in amazement. The wood looks nice like someone refinished it recently, and through the wall of giant last-century windows, soft light from the setting sun pours in.
As I unload the boxes I’m wondering what’s up with the third floor being nearly the most inhabitable space in the building. Maybe before his death Dad was renovating it to rent out. It’d make an amazing loft for someone. It needs to be built out, a kitchen put somewhere, and a bathroom added, but if I could accomplish that I’d have another rental in the building.
I study the giant open space around me.
Only that will take money.
More money than I have.
I smile—but maybe someday.
When I get back down to my dad’s there’s an upswing in my mood pumping through my veins. With the rent I’ll make from Dad’s apartment, I can slow down. Maybe even hire another person to work in the bar so I don’t have to spend so many hours here to keep it afloat. Maybe even have time to think about me again and have coffee dates.
Coffee dates.
I grimace.
Being busy with Ivy kept me from remembering my blunder this morning with EJ. Tomorrow I’ll make sure I don’t do anything he can misinterpret as my being interested in him.
It isn’t that he’s not attractive, because he is. It isn’t that he’s not a nice guy…because he is. It isn’t that I don’t think Ivy’s right that there’s a lot more to him than we suspect…because I do. And it isn’t that my disobedient inner female doesn’t have thoughts about him…because, boy, does she.
