by Laura Simcox
For a long moment he watched her as she stood in the street, the briefest hint of a smile on her lips, staring after the car. Then she stepped forward, her gloved hands outstretched, and she began to shake people’s hands. A small silver bracelet on her wrist caught the light as she turned from one person to the other. She leaned close to a middle-aged woman, who whispered something in her ear. And then she threw her head back with a throaty laugh. That laugh revealed a world he wanted to step right into. It was confident, sexy. He didn’t have a clue who she was or why she was getting rock-star treatment, but he meant to find out. Clearing his throat, he maneuvered his way to the curb and stuck out his hand as she got closer.
Two seconds later, her feet hit an icy patch, and she slid toward him, her arms pinwheeling, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Oh, fuck me!” she gasped, just as he jumped off the curb and threw his arms around her curvy waist. The red beret on her head flew off and landed…somewhere. He didn’t care. That lovely head was buried in his shoulder, and Marcus inhaled the scent of lemon sugar cookies and something even sweeter, something that made his breath hitch. He wanted nothing more than to wish the crowd away so he could hold her for a second longer, but it wouldn’t be appropriate.
She lifted her head, and he stared into green eyes, still round with shock. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered back. “Are you okay?”
“Yep. But everybody heard me say ‘fuck,’” she murmured.
Her lips looked soft. And he was grinning like an idiot. Marcus shook his head. “No. They didn’t hear that.”
She pushed against his arms and blew a chunk of hair away from her face. “Thank God. Because that would have sucked.”
He let go of her waist with reluctance, then reached down to scan the ground for the red hat and spotted it next to her feet. He grabbed it and handed it to her. “They did hear you say ‘fuck me,’ however,” he announced with a wink. Shit. He’d said that kind of loud.
She glared at him. “It wasn’t a personal invitation. So get over yourself.”
He blinked at her. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ivy Callahan. Who are you?”
He froze. Callahan. The mayor’s daughter? The last time he’d seen Ivy, she was a freckly kid in braces, sitting with her friends in the corner of the drugstore and giggling behind her hand. But now? Gorgeous. And probably pissed at him. He stopped, glancing behind him. Where was Mrs. Fields? He needed a buffer.
Like a beacon, she walked over to them. “That was a close call, but you didn’t fall, so all’s well that ends well. Ivy, this is Marcus Weaver. Can you believe it?”
Ivy’s mouth dropped open. She turned to Alberta and whispered something in her ear. Alberta nodded.
Ivy cocked her head to the side and looked at Marcus. “Oh. Well, I’d like to speak with you. Walk into city hall with me.”
He raised an eyebrow at Alberta, who shrugged and turned to the crowd. “Inside, everybody,” she snapped out in her practiced schoolteacher voice.
Marcus followed Ivy up the steps, letting his gaze bounce over her killer legs and snug suit. Ivy Callahan. Wow. She sure had grown up.
Ivy turned, a flash of annoyance crossing her face. “You are the investor Herman’s been talking about, right?”
“Yes, but what does that have to do with…” Marcus gave her an automatic smile. “Never mind. What was with the welcome wagon back there? Are you…” He searched for an appropriate word, but he couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound ridiculous. “Famous?”
Ivy raised an eyebrow. “Depends on who you ask.”
“I see.” Marcus crossed his arms. “In any case, where’s your dad? I’d like to speak with him before the meeting starts.”
“You would? How come?”
“Because I wanted to say hello.”
She flicked a piece of imaginary lint from her spotless red suit. “Great. I’ll let him know. Anything else you need?”
Okay, so she was pissed. But she didn’t have to interrogate him. He had saved her from falling on her ass, after all. Marcus leaned forward, not even trying to keep the hint of condescension from his voice. “Look. It’s been fun chatting with you, but I’d really like to talk to the mayor. Okay, sweetheart?”
She went still for a brief second and then a slow grin spread over her face. “Sure, honey. Go ahead and talk to the mayor. You’re looking right at her.”
Chapter Two
The public meeting room was stifling hot, and Ivy glanced back at the hissing radiator in the corner. Maybe she could go over, pretend to fiddle with it, and then slide a couple of feet to the right toward the open door and make an escape. Would anyone notice if the mayor went AWOL from her first town-hall meeting? Probably.
She looked at the crowd of people in front of her; some were wandering and chatting, others shifting restlessly on the room’s tightly packed folding chairs. A lot of them she’d known most of her life, and a handful were unfamiliar. But then she had been gone for four years. Things change. She certainly had. The last time she was in Celebration, she’d been fresh of out college and ten hours shy of getting married to a guy she didn’t really love when she’d jumped in a car with her grandmother and left town. Now she was back. And she’d replaced the engagement ring with a mayor’s gavel.
“Excuse me.” Alberta waved from the front row. “Ivy?”
“Yes, Alberta? What can I do for you?”
Before Alberta could respond, the man sitting next to her rose and hoisted up his trousers. “We’re out of doughnuts, aren’t we? Always used to be three dozen at these meetings but Sherry only brought two dozen. Plenty of people here didn’t even get one.”
Alberta took a dainty bite of a pink-frosted doughnut and spoke around it. “That’s because you ate three of them, Ronald.”
“Put a sock in it, old bag.” Ronald Watkins smoothed a hand over his comb-over hair and scratched his ear.
Alberta sniffed. “Ivy, I know the town council is supposed to sit in the reserved seats, but I find myself unable to concentrate on the business at hand.” She heaved herself up and moved to an empty seat.
Ronald glared at her. “Good. Don’t see why she’s on the council anyway. Don’t own any commercial property in town.”
“Doesn’t. She doesn’t own, Ronald,” Alberta snapped.
“That’s for damn sure. And a good thing, too,” he muttered as he returned to his chair. “Don’t even see why we have to be here today. This ain’t a council meeting.”
Alberta leaned over. “We’re here to support our new mayor. Now quit complaining.”
Ivy let out a slow breath and turned to the woman behind her, who sat at a desk clicking a ballpoint pen. “Is that conversation going in the minutes, Sherry?”
Sherry, administrative assistant to the mayor of Celebration, rolled her eyes. “You want it to?”
“No. All I want is to get these heels off and flop in front of the TV,” Ivy answered.
“You and me both, hon. I’ve been sitting here recording this mess for twenty years. Your dad always hated town hall meetings, too.” Sherry drew a frowny face on the legal pad in front of her and then placed a large dot on the forehead. “That’s a bullet hole.”
Ivy suppressed a snicker. God, she loved Sherry. “That’s kinda gross. Although some drips of blood might make it more real.”
“Yeah.” Sherry gave her a smile and flicked back her frizzy, gray bangs. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Mayor Callahan, but something tells me you’re stalling.” She stared at Ivy over her glasses and smiled, exposing the small gap between her front teeth. “I remember when you used to sit in your dad’s office chair, pretending to be mayor. Twelve years old and you could work the phone better than he could.” She laughed. “And now look at you. You can do this.”
“Thanks, Sherry.” Ivy gave her a hug. “Here we go.” She turned around. “Good afternoon.” A couple of pairs of eyes looked up, but the dull
roar in the room continued. Shit.
Ivy turned to grab a scarred wooden gavel, fumbled, and caught it just before it hit the floor. She rapped sharply on the front of the metal desk, and the noise reverberated like a clap of thunder. Double shit. All of a sudden, the room was quiet.
Noise echoed in the hall, and Ivy turned with an exasperated sigh but stopped short when she saw Marcus filling the doorway. His expression was relaxed, but she noticed the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his chiseled jaw. His tie was crooked, too. But he was still gorgeous.
As if sensing that she was ogling at him, he adjusted his lapels. “Sorry to interrupt. Had a bit of car trouble.” Marcus gave her a crooked smile and walked to the back of the room where he stood with his arms folded across his broad chest. He stared at her, his expression neutral.
Holy shit, his voice was sexy. And his blue eyes glittered at her even from all the way back there. A shiver went up Ivy’s spine. She wasn’t sure if it was from her nerves or from seeing him again. Probably both. Well, she’d have to get over it. Like, now.
She blinked and gave herself a mental shake. For God’s sake, she had spent the last four years playing puppet master at an upscale retirement community in Arizona. Every day of her life had been full of navigating the daily activities of three hundred seniors, including her own grandmother. She could be mayor of her hometown. And Marcus Weaver wasn’t going to distract her. Nope.
Behind her, Sherry let out a polite cough. Ivy clasped her hands. “Hi. I’m Ivy Callahan, your new mayor of Celebration. I’m glad you’re here. Why don’t you all take your seats, and I’ll start things off by introducing the town council.” She’d said it too fast, but it had come out of her mouth. It was a start.
In front of her, chairs scraped and people murmured as they settled in. Where was Herman? Or for that matter, why hadn’t he come in with Marcus?
An unwelcome thrill shot through her. Oh, God—how was she going to meet with Marcus this afternoon when she was still reeling that her childhood crush had turned into James Bond? And he had the arrogance to match the looks. He’d actually called her “sweetheart.” What the hell was that about? Maybe if she hadn’t basically told the guy to go fu—
Sherry cleared her throat loudly.
“Right,” Ivy said. “Let’s start with you, Ronald.” Ronald stood up and gave a light tug to the back of his trousers. Ivy gestured to him. “Ronald Watkins owns several properties in town, and he manages Pick ’n Shop Grocery.” He turned to the crowd and saluted before sitting back down. They gave him light applause.
“Alberta?” Ivy motioned to her.
Alberta popped out of her seat and turned around. Ivy smiled. “Alberta Fields is a retired high-school English teacher for Celebration Public School.” The applause doubled and a couple of cheers burst from the back of the room. Alberta grinned.
Pausing, Ivy glanced to her right. She’d been avoiding looking directly at the next person on her list, but she couldn’t avoid it any longer. Introducing your former fiancé, the one you dumped at the rehearsal dinner of your own wedding was…well, awkward.
She swallowed and then tilted her head toward him. “Preston?”
Preston Parliament stood with a holier-than-thou look on his face. Ivy knew that look. It was a defense mechanism, and it didn’t help matters. Neither did the cashmere sweater over his shoulders or the college ring on his hand, embedded with a big-ass diamond.
She was well aware that plenty of people wondered why in the world her dad had hired Preston to work at city hall after everything that had happened. But she knew why, and if Preston could lure in a decent company to buy his family’s empty business, then it was well worth the hassle of putting up with him.
Ivy forced a smile. “Preston Parliament is Celebration’s town planner, appointed as a member of the council by the previous mayor.” She glanced at Preston’s stony, aristocratic face, silently willing people to be cordial. Not for Preston’s sake, because he was a big pain in her ass, but just to keep the peace.
A couple of people clapped, but after that only dead silence. Preston gave a curt nod and started to sit down. From the back of the room a voice called out. “Hey, Parliament. You gonna find a buyer for the bakery anytime soon? It’s been for sale for what? Three or four years now?”
Oh shit, here we go. Ivy sighed inwardly.
“Of course,” Preston snapped, puffing out his chest. “Brian Callahan hired me to bring business to town. I’ve only been on the job six weeks.”
Ronald stood and fished through the doughnut boxes on the desk. “Don’t know what you’ve been doing other than a fat lot of nothing. Town can’t have some minimum-wage factory taking over that property.”
“Okay, folks,” Ivy said, “This is an informal town meeting. We’re just here so that you can get to know me a little bit better. And on that note, I’d like to announce that—”
There was a burst of phlegmy coughing out in the hallway, followed shortly by the appearance of Herman Weaver in the doorway. The old man glared at her, defiant, and then stomped to his seat on the front row. He shrugged out of a threadbare woolen coat and flung it over the chair. “I’m here.”
“I see that,” Ivy said. “Don’t sit down yet. Everyone, this is Herman Weaver. He owns Weaver Realty and is the longest-serving member of the town council.”
Only because people vote for him year after year just to shut him up, she wanted to add. But she didn’t. Herman was what he was—a crotchety, old man whose glory days were behind him. Many years ago, he’d been a prominent business man, but now he just liked to keep his finger in the pie. And as long as he didn’t try to eat the whole thing, she could put up with him.
Herman hitched up his trousers and sat next to Ronald without acknowledging the smattering of applause.
“Ivy?”
She turned and looked at Alberta. “Yes?”
“What was your announcement?”
“Oh. Of course. I’d like to make everyone aware that although this is technically my first day in office, I’ve been working with Preston on ideas for attracting more business to downtown Celebration.”
Preston cleared his throat loudly. She ignored him. The last thing she needed was for him to blurt out anything before she was ready to share it. The town council hadn’t even seen her plan yet, and she definitely hadn’t come up with a way to pay for it.
“I’ll speak more about that another time, but I welcome your ideas, too. You can come talk to me any time so we can work together to get our town back on top.” She took a deep breath. Damn, this was uncomfortable. “So, it’s time to introduce the last member of the town council…And that would be me.”
There was hearty applause, and her stomach jumped. It was Q&A time, and she could get through it as long as she could block out how hyperaware she was of Marcus Weaver. But that wouldn’t be easy. He was staring at her, and bits and pieces of fantasies she’d entertained about him years ago surfaced in her mind. Marcus in a tux, taking her to the eighth-grade dance. Marcus waiting for her on the gazebo steps at sunset with a rose in his hand. Marcus, rescuing her from a burning car. Good God, how embarrassing.
She folded her hands and dug a thumbnail into her palm. He wasn’t fantasy Marcus anymore. He was lot more real and a hell of a lot more stimulating.
Shake it off, Ivy. Just be yourself. That’s what her dad had told her. And she had to do something to get rid of the burning feeling in her cheeks. Not to mention the cramp in her toes from the new heels she was wearing. So she backed up to the desk, hitched herself up, and sat down, crossing her legs. “Who has a question for me?”
Preston’s hand shot up.
Ivy ignored him. “Who in the audience has a question?”
A little girl in the middle of the room waved her arm wildly. Ivy pointed at her with a smile. “Go ahead.”
“My momma said that she went to high school with you and you got straight A’s and so you’re going to be a smart mayor. And you’re nice, t
oo. Are you going to visit my class?”
Aww, this wasn’t so bad. “Tell your momma I said thank you. And I’d be thrilled to visit, so just ask your teacher to call me,” Ivy answered. “Next question?”
A man called out, “How’s your dad?”
Ivy had heard that question a hundred times in the last few weeks, but the shock hadn’t completely worn off. Her dad was larger than life, strong and steady, and four weeks ago, on a cool October morning, he had gone outside to grab the newspaper and suffered a heart attack. It had been terrifying to get that phone call, and Ivy had been on a plane within hours. She could still see the love in her mom’s eyes when she’d walked into that hospital room. She lifted her chin.
“He’s getting stronger every day. He’s watching his diet, and his recovery has been progressing smoothly.” Without warning, a lump rose in her throat. She tamped it down. “And he appreciates all the cards and get-well gifts.” She held up a hand. “I do have a message from him, though, about that. He said if he gets any more bleeping fat-free cookies, he’s going to start using them for hockey pucks. But he wouldn’t mind a gift subscription to Netflix.”
Laughter erupted. Good. She was on a roll. “Next question?”
A teenage girl raised her hand. “You’ve been to Arizona, right?”
“Yes. I lived there and managed a retirement community. I moved back here when my father…” Ivy paused. “When my father became ill and decided to resign as mayor, I put my name in for the job. I won the special election, and the rest is very recent history.” She smiled.
The girl twirled a lock of hair and frowned. “So, like, when you were in Arizona did you spend a lot of time outside?”
Ivy gave her a slow nod. “Yes.”
The girl beamed. “That’s what I thought. Because my friend told me that your tan must be a fake bake, being that it’s November and all, but I said it was real. I was right.”
