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

by Brenna Jacobs

  A knock at the door. Four knocks, actually. Not a loud, power-asserting slam, not a cheesy rat-a-tat-tat. A straightforward knocking that was nothing more than a request to be let in. Ivy shook herself. She really needed to stop with the overanalyzing.

  She opened the door. He stood on the welcome mat, a bouquet of flowers cradled in his elbow. His eyes darted to her face, the space behind her, his shoes. If she hadn’t as recently as twelve seconds ago told herself to stop analyzing, she’d have thought he looked nervous.

  But that was impossible.

  This was Bentley Hollis. And she was…

  “You’re beautiful.” He said it like it had just occurred to him. Like it was some kind of revelation. “I love that dress.”

  She felt herself blushing, so she turned and walked back inside. She didn’t want him to think he could win her over that easily. She was not the kind of girl to swoon over a compliment. At least, she’d never been before. Over her shoulder, she said, “Come in. Are those flowers for me?”

  He either cleared his throat or laughed, it was impossible to tell with her back to him. “They are. Yes. For you. Here.” He handed her the bouquet.

  Working at the Glen, she’d had experience with flowers. She could tell the difference between a bouquet that came from the grocery store and one that had an actual florist behind it. This one was the latter. She filled up a glass vase and put the flowers on the table in her tiny kitchen. She couldn’t deny that they brightened up the room.

  “Thank you for that,” she said. “They’re pretty.”

  Pretty. They were more than pretty, and she knew it, but that was what she had words for right now.

  He checked his watch. “We have a reservation in twenty minutes. It’s a nice night, so do you want to walk?” He didn’t give her a second to answer before he said, “Or I have a car if you’re more comfortable driving.”

  Was he nervous? Because he was acting like a nervous person would, talking too fast, trying out all kinds of places to put his hands, bouncing on his feet.

  She’d have thought that his nerves would make her feel more in control. Wrong. His jitters were contagious.

  “I’d like to walk. It’s so much harder for you to kidnap me if we’re not in a car.”

  He nodded. “Harder, but not impossible. Don’t underestimate me.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from laughing at that. Her laugh seemed to dislodge some of his anxiety. His shoulders dropped down from around his ears.

  “I won’t underestimate you any longer,” Ivy said with a grin. “Let me grab my bag.”

  One more glance in the mirror, and she saw that her smile made the “fine” look better.

  They clanked down the metal apartment building stairs, and Mr. Thompson put his head out his front door, one story down from hers. “Oh, Ivy.” He made it like a pronouncement. Oh, Ivy. Something very important will follow. But it didn’t. That was simply the way he talked.

  “Hi,” she said. “This is my friend Bentley.”

  My friend Bentley. She liked the sound of that. Bentley said hello and moved to shake Mr. Thompson’s hand, but the older man backed visibly away. Ivy put her hand on Bentley’s arm and gave a tiny shake of the head. His hands went in his pockets.

  “Have a nice evening, Mr. Thompson.” Ivy gave him the standard wave, and he nodded his head as though they’d agreed on something. He slid back inside, back end first, barely missing closing the door on his own nose.

  Ivy led the way down the last flight of steps, across the sidewalk, and into the street. “So, that was Mr. Thompson,” she said. “He’s got a germ thing. He’s also got a set of vintage boxing gloves. And about a dozen cats.”

  “That’s a strange combination.” Bentley said it with a careful control in his voice, as though there was an obvious judgment, but he wasn’t going to make it.

  “Boxing gloves and germs?” she joked.

  “I was thinking boxing gloves and cats.”

  She liked when he smiled out the side of his mouth like that.

  “I googled you.” Oh, no. She had not intended to open with that. Or to admit it at all.

  He seemed to take it in stride. “And?”

  “There is only one Bentley Hollis in the valley that is less than eighty years old.”

  He shrugged. “That’s how I get all my social media names. Lucky, right? Anything else?”

  “You’re rich.”

  Well. There was the other thing she didn’t think she’d say. Any second now, she could give him details of her last stomach flu or tell him she dreamed about his messed-up hair.

  He nodded, as if people bluntly told him about his financial situation every day. “My family is very successful. And I’m doing pretty well, too.”

  “And I didn’t find this on the internet—just my personal sleuthing skills—but you have recently taken a job as a barista.” Ivy was very aware of Bentley’s left arm brushing against her right arm as they walked down the sidewalk.

  Turning to look at her, he said, “That seems odd to you, doesn’t it?”

  She could feel his eyes on her face, and she stopped walking. “Only a little,” she said, which wasn’t the truth at all.

  “I needed to experience something different,” was all he said. Somehow it seemed like the perfect answer. “Left here,” he said, pointing up the street at the intersection.

  Ivy watched him relax, his shoulders moving down and back. “What would we be talking about if you hadn’t stalked me online?”

  “Oh, now, hang on.” She shook her head. “You’re giving me way too much credit. I didn’t stalk you. I only got two pages deep. Everyone knows real stalking doesn’t go into effect until at least the fifth click.”

  “Of course. Everyone knows that. So, maybe you’d be giving me a lesson in online research skills?”

  She chuckled. “I could talk about a few things. I know everything there is to know about the 1967 Camaro Rally Sport Super Sport. And I make excellent crepes. And I could take your blood pressure, if you found yourself needing to know.”

  “Those are very interesting things,” he said, pointing at the next intersection. “Turn right here. And I appreciate knowing that you could take my blood pressure. You never know when that’s going to come in handy.”

  Sage nod. “Exactly. I might save your life tonight.”

  “And if I were in the market for an antique muscle car…” he began.

  “Now, wait a minute. Don’t diminish the ’67 Camaro to a category. It happens to be America’s most perfect car. It’s so much more than a muscle car. It has hideaway headlights,” she said, making a folding in and out motion with her hands. “It has a 350 big-block engine, and it absolutely guzzles gas. It was the original year, and no Camaro has ever come close to being as good as that one.” She could feel her smile stretching across her face, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was talking about the car, or because she was talking to him.

  “How do you know all that?” he asked.

  “My dad. He had one when he was a kid, and he passed the love on to me. Too bad he didn’t pass the car on to me. I’ve never had one.”

  “You’ve never had a ‘67 Camaro?” Bentley asked.

  “I’ve never had a car,” Ivy clarified. “But I have my eyes open. There are a few beauties rolling around the streets here, and I’m first in line whenever anyone wants to sell.”

  Bentley looked at her again, something in his eyes that she wasn’t sure how to label. “I think if I squinted I could see you behind the wheel. But I have to say, I’m surprised. I would never have guessed that about you.”

  “I am,” Ivy said, “a woman of unsuspected complexity.”

  She thought he’d laugh, but he didn’t. He said, “I believe you,” like it was the most important sentence he’d ever spoken.

  She gulped.

  “Here we are,” he said, pointing to an unassuming door in an office complex. He opened the door for her and instantly her mouth started
watering. The combined smells of meats, vegetables, spices, and something savory and understated made her stomach growl. The entry was full of giant green plants that made it feel like they were going to eat in the jungle. “Welcome to Chonggak,” a woman said. “Do you have a reservation?”

  Only then did Ivy realize that almost every table in the restaurant was full.

  Bentley gave his name to the woman, and she smiled and gestured to the back of the seating area. “Please, follow me.”

  At every table they passed, Ivy stared at the gorgeous, colorful meals. She wanted to ask the hostess to tell her what everything was called so she could order one of each. Even with her attention riveted to the food, she noticed people nodding, smiling, and waving to Bentley. Apparently, this was a wealthy-person’s restaurant where the rich friends came to play. She was careful not to look too closely, just in case Chad was one of the rich friends. Or Delancey. It was possible that Ivy didn’t really belong here, but it was also possible that she didn’t care. This may be her one and only shot at eating this gorgeous food, so she planned to enjoy it.

  The woman seated them near a water feature on the wall, which muted the noise of conversations in the crowded restaurant and made it sound like they were alone.

  Bentley pushed Ivy’s chair in and looked around before he moved to the other side of the table, sitting with his back to the people in the room. She thought that was considerate of him, especially taking into account how many of them he seemed to know. He moved away from them and made it clear that Ivy was the one he wanted to see. She felt the skin on her cheeks warm.

  “Did you see the food?” she whispered. “It was all so pretty. It’s Korean, right?”

  He nodded. “Know what you want?”

  “I think… everything.”

  He smiled at her. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll order us a bunch of stuff, and you can take home what’s left of anything you like.”

  “You assume there will be anything left,” she said.

  “That sounds like a challenge.”

  She shrugged. “Take it how you will.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Going out to dinner with Ivy was so much different—so much better—than any of the dates Bentley had been on in a long time. She didn’t seem to expect anything of him. She took him at face value. She didn’t try to make herself seem like the most interesting person in the room; she simply was the most interesting. She didn’t show off. She didn’t fawn over him. She was cool, and Bentley (who knew very well he’d be better described as “tightly wound”) deeply respected anyone who was effortlessly cool. Unless she really was like all those other girls, but a better actor. He didn’t think so, somehow. She seemed to think he was funny when funny was expected. She thanked him for dinner, but without the gushing that often came with a visit to a really nice place.

  He’d tried to explain it to Lex, but he quickly found that she hadn’t outgrown the younger sister trick of teasing him about girls.

  She leaned in and asked him in a too-sweet voice, “Want to tell me something else that Ivy said?” her voice bouncing over Ivy’s name.

  Bentley knew the only way to push off an offensive attack was with an attack of his own. “I want to tell you everything she said,” he answered. “Let’s start with how she said hello when I got to her door.”

  Lex rolled her eyes and picked up her phone. “Not listening.”

  Bentley smiled. “Oh, but did I tell you about her other job? She’s a CNA.”

  “Almost a nurse?” Lex asked, her bored voice coming out around the phone she practically hid behind.

  “Be nice.”

  “Sounds like you’re being nice enough for both of us.”

  “That’s always been my job,” he said. He adored his sisters, he really did, but Lex could take the wicked wealthy woman stereotypes to a whole new level. He knew she wasn’t as big a snob as she acted, but her acting was very convincing.

  Bentley and Lex sat in their parents’ media room, waiting for Mercedes and her husband and kids to show up for family dinner. Hollis family dinner was a weekly formal affair that their mom loved. She sent out engraved invitations. To her children. Every week. And nobody missed a family dinner. Once, Lex was in the hospital with appendicitis, and the whole family descended on her room for Sunday dinner. As much traveling as their father did, he knew never to be away over a weekend. Bentley thought it might have been written into his parents’ pre-nuptial agreement. It was certainly carved in stone as far as his mom was concerned.

  “What’s for dinner?” Bentley asked, trying to get Lex back into a talking mood.

  She shrugged. “I never read the cards anymore.” The invitation always mentioned what meal would be served, as if that would make any of them think twice about coming. Bentley laughed about his mom’s tradition, but he’d never want to miss it. He wondered how Adam, Mercedes’ husband, really felt about giving up every Sunday evening. If he minded, he didn’t say. At least not in front of the family.

  For the first time, Bentley wondered if he could invite Ivy to Sunday dinner. It had been two years since he’d brought his last date home for one of these. Kate. She’d been a good sport, but she was pescatarian, and Bentley’s mom had not arranged the meal accordingly. When she broke up with him, Bentley had to wonder if Sunday dinner had anything to do with it. Or maybe she just hadn’t liked him enough.

  But Ivy would make a few ripples at the dinner table. Not only her outspoken nature, but her general air. Her punk-rock vibe. Bentley smiled at the thought of the whole family sitting in mouth-open shock. But then it occurred to him that he couldn’t put it past Lex not to say something horrible. Like “So, Ivy, was it? Where do you work? Oh, did you know Bentley owns that company? So you’re kind of the help. How cute.”

  He shot Lex a glare that she didn’t see, which was just as well, because how was he supposed to explain that he was mad at her for something she only said in his imagination?

  Bentley got up when he heard the front door. He got there in time to intercept his nephews, Milo and Oscar, who were headed straight for the food. With a toddler under each arm, he leaned over to receive a kiss on the cheek from his older sister, who looked lovely but exhausted. Twin three-year-olds could do that to a person, he guessed. Mercedes’ husband Adam gave Bentley a brotherly slap on the back. He looked tired, too. Maybe they liked Sunday dinners because Uncle Ben took the boys away and wore them out.

  “Let’s go to the Grandma Room,” Bentley said, and both boys cheered. Before Mercedes was even expecting the twins, Bentley’s mom had begun creating spaces for her future grandchildren. She’d designed three different Grandma Rooms, but the twins only knew about one: the one with slides, a ball pit, and dozens of dress-up costumes. Next door was the princess room, which looked exactly like it sounded. His mom was hopeful that someday, granddaughters would arrive. The boys wouldn’t be tempted to go inside the princess room. The video game room was waiting for them to grow into it. Until then, Bentley made sure it was in working order when he came to visit.

  He tossed one nephew and then the other into the ball pit and sat with his back to the door. That gave him sightline and kept the boys contained. They moved through the room, whizzing from one point to another, always bouncing to Bentley between each activity. Milo would stand in front of him and hold Bentley’s face between his hands to talk to him, but Oscar preferred the attention-getting tactic of barreling into Bentley’s stomach or climbing up his shoulders.

  After ten minutes of “Uncle Ben, watch me!” and “No, watch me!” Bentley thought he might start looking like Mercedes and Adam if this lasted much longer.

  He felt the door open a fraction and scrambled out of the way. Adam stuck his head inside and said, “You guys okay in here?”

  Milo and Oscar hung upside-down by their knees from a bar over a foam mat. They called out “Look, Dad. See what I can do,” and Adam made encouraging comments as he sat down next to Bentley.

  “Thanks for g
iving us a minute,” Adam said, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. “I love Sundays.” A ball from the ball pit came sailing across the room, and somehow Adam raised his arm to deflect it without opening his eyes.

  Bentley laughed, and Adam said, “My ninja skills have only improved with fatherhood.”

  Bentley picked up the ball and threw it back.

  “How’s work?” If this conversation was going to happen, it had to happen now. Adam knew the rules: no business talk at the dinner table. “Are you enjoying being the guy behind the counter?”

  “Going great. Yeah, I love working in the shop. Maybe I’ll do it forever.” Before he said it, he hadn’t realized that’s how he felt, but now he smiled at the thought of going in to Velvet Undergrounds for a few shifts every week indefinitely. As long as Ivy was there.

  He felt himself smiling at the thought. “How about you?” he asked. Adam held a seat on the Hollis board. So did Mercedes, but she chose to stay home with the boys. She gave input, and she had a vote, but the day-to-day work she’d done for the company after earning her business degree was phased out to others.

  Adam talked about work, told a funny story about a guy in the CFO’s office, and laughed about a formal event he and Mercedes had recently attended. Adam was good company, and he was great for Mercedes. He was completely comfortable with the Hollises. He’d come from money, so he wasn’t overwhelmed by the family culture.

  Again, Bentley wondered how Ivy would fit in.

  “How about girls?” Adam said, surprising him. “Dating anyone these days?”

  Bentley felt his neck flush, and he knew there was no hiding that. If Adam could see projectiles while his eyes were closed, he could see this.

  “I met a girl.”

  Adam opened one eye. “Yeah?” His smile was welcoming, encouraging. “At work?”

  Bentley nodded. “We went out this week. She’s…” he didn’t know how to finish that sentence, but his smile must have given something away.

  “Right on,” Adam said, putting his fist out for a pound. “Which department?”