Facing the Music

by Andrea Laurence

Ivy caught her breath and nodded. Instead of explaining, she held up the ivory invitation. That said it all. “Help.”

  “You got invited to Miss Adelia’s for tea?” Pepper said, coming out of the back room with a bottle of perming solution. The stationery was distinctive and infamous enough for the citizens of Rosewood to recognize it and its significance by sight.

  Ivy swallowed and nodded. “Yes. For today. What do I do?”

  Even the woman in Sarah’s chair was wide-eyed with surprise. She’d obviously never been invited, either. “You need to go next door and get a dress from Beverly. She’ll know what to do.”

  “She’s right,” Sarah chimed in. “Go ask Miss Beverly for help. She’ll find something just right. When you get done, come back here and we’ll do your hair and makeup. That ponytail won’t do.”

  “Okay.” Ivy spun on her heel and headed back out of the salon to Dressin’ Up, a ladies’ clothing boutique owned by Miss Beverly Perkins.

  Ivy dashed inside with slightly more decorum than her previous arrival. She took a deep breath and moved through the racks of clothing to the counter at the back.

  “Miss Beverly?” Ivy asked.

  Miss Beverly’s head shot up, her platinum-blond curls bouncing around her face. “Well, hey there, Miss Ivy.” She put down a sweater she was folding and came around the counter to give her a big hug. She was a petite, plump southern woman in her late fifties with a smile nearly as big as her hair.

  “I need your help.” Ivy held up the invitation.

  Miss Beverly gasped. “I have just the thing,” she said, turning and disappearing into the back room. She came out a few minutes later with clothing draped over her arms. Her gaze drifted over Ivy’s body for a moment, and then she nodded to herself. “This is a size six. It should be just right. Take it back to the dressing room and try it on.”

  It was a two-piece outfit. The long skirt was dark chocolate brown, but the fabric was light enough to move easily and not weigh her down. The top was an ivory lace tunic with long bell sleeves. It had a brown suede belt to go over it.

  It was elegant and seasonally appropriate without going too far. This was refined, luxurious in style and feel, and if a fall chill crept into the air, she would still be comfortable.

  She came out of the dressing room and found Miss Beverly waiting for her. Ivy did a little turn so the skirt would swirl around her legs.

  “Oh honey,” Miss Beverly gushed. “That looks wonderful on you. I knew it would. Do you like it?”

  Ivy nodded enthusiastically. “It’s perfect. Thanks so much.”

  The store owner came up to her and quickly snatched the store tags off both pieces. “You go change and I’ll get this rung up for you.”

  Ivy returned to the dressing room, changed, and emerged a few minutes later to pay for her purchase. Miss Beverly handed over her large shopping bag and Ivy waved good-bye as she headed back to Curls.

  She was halfway between the boutique and the salon when she spied Lydia coming out of the bakery. Lydia turned in her direction, giving her no opportunity to avoid another confrontation.

  Lydia was digging in her purse for something, a bag from the bakery on her wrist. Pulling out her car keys, she looked up and finally noticed Ivy. Her lips instantly tightened into a frown. She slid her sunglasses onto the top of her head, pushing back her blond hair, and narrowed her gaze at Ivy.

  When she laid her eyes on the invitation in Ivy’s hand, she came to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk. “Is this some kind of practical joke?” she asked.

  Ivy’s brows went up, following her line of sight to the cream stationery she was clutching. “I assure you I wouldn’t waste my time trying to trick you. It’s absolutely authentic.”

  Lydia’s face scrunched up in irritation, forming deep creases between her eyebrows. “Her standards have certainly dropped over the years. Apparently anyone can be invited to tea now.”

  “Have you been invited, Lydia?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, and then paused. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Who cares about having tea with some little old lady? I honestly have better things to do with my time.”

  Ivy nodded as she responded. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Well, while you’re eating dry old cookies in the heat, I’ll be spending my evening with Blake.” She held up the bag from the bakery. “I just picked up his favorite treat. Who knows, maybe I’ll let him lick the cream cheese frosting off me later.”

  Flexing her jaw, Ivy fought to keep her mouth closed. The flames of jealousy were licking at her face but she could not, would not get upset about the idea of Lydia being with Blake. Even if it was true—and Ivy wasn’t certain it was, considering how he’d spoken to Lydia that night at Woody’s—it wasn’t any of her business. Blake was a grown man, able to date whomever he liked.

  “That’s probably for the best,” Ivy finally replied. “You really don’t need the calories.”

  Lydia’s mouth dropped open, and then she looked down self-consciously at her figure. Ivy took the opportunity to reach for the door to the salon and slip inside. There wasn’t a spare pound on Lydia—she was the definition of petite—but she was vain. Suggesting she’d gained weight would send her into a tizzy. And if she was going to be naked under Blake tonight, Ivy was happy to make Lydia feel a little more self-conscious than usual.

  The sign on the door said the shop was closed for lunch, so she flipped the lock to keep Lydia or anyone else outside. “Mama?” Ivy called out when no one could be seen around the place.

  “We’re in back, dear.”

  Ivy followed the voices into the storeroom. Back there, along with all the salon supplies, were a table and chairs and a television where her mother and Pepper would eat their lunch and relax between clients. They were chatting over sandwiches and glasses of sweet tea.

  “That was quick,” Pepper noted, then looked at her with a frown. “What happened? You’re all flushed.”

  Ivy waved her hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. I just ran into Lydia outside the shop. That’s not nearly as important as my new outfit.” She pulled the clothes from the bag and received grand approval.

  “I think your hair needs to be up,” her mother said, the hair always her first thought.

  “A loose, romantic bun,” Pepper added. “You’re young and you should still look that way.”

  Sarah put down her sandwich and came over to examine the outfit, then Ivy’s face. “We don’t keep a lot of makeup here, but we should have just what you need. Go sit in my chair and we’ll be out in a minute. I think we can get you done up before my two o’clock root job.”

  Ivy hung up the outfit and dropped herself into the same salon chair she’d sat in as a child, when she’d begged her mother to curl her hair and paint her nails with pink sparkles. The memory from her childhood brightened her mood, and thoughts of Lydia slathered in cream cheese frosting were quickly forgotten.

  “Work your magic!”

  “Grandma Dee!”

  Blake blew through the front door of the Chamberlain mansion without bothering to knock. There was no sense making their houseman, Winston, run to answer the door when it was just him. He’d lived here for eighteen years. He was hardly a guest.

  Besides, he needed to have a private chat with his granny.

  “Grandma Dee!” he yelled again, going through the marble-tiled foyer to the library, where his grandmother spent a lot of her time. There, he found the twelve-foot floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with leather volumes, velvet curtains, and a large desk with his grandmother’s infamous custom stationery. But no granny.

  In the bay window, curled up with a book, was his baby sister, Hazel. She was the youngest of the Chamberlain kids and the only one still living at home. She was currently a senior at Rosewood High and—thank the Lord—had taken health class before he was hired there.<
br />
  “Hey, brat. Where’s Grandma Dee?”

  Hazel looked up from her book, pushing up her glasses to focus on the other side of the room. Since Hazel had learned to read, she always had one book or another in her hands. If she wasn’t in Grandma Dee’s library, she was at the Rosewood library on the square. He’d bought her a Kindle for Christmas the year before, but every time he turned around, she had a real paper book in her hands again. She was a purist.

  “I don’t know,” she said with an irritated frown. “Cookie was making a fuss in the kitchen not too long ago, so it might be teatime. Check the backyard.”

  “Thanks.”

  Hazel shrugged and turned back to her book. Turning out of the doorway, Blake cut through the kitchen to look out at the backyard. His grandmother thoroughly enjoyed her gardens, and it was there he spotted her white head sitting at the table beneath the gazebo. The tiny table had a vase of fresh flowers and a tiered platter set up. Yep, it was time for tea.

  Fortunately her guest had not yet arrived. He needed to have a chat with his grandmother about her . . . withholding . . . of information about Ivy and the fund-raiser.

  He opened the door and stepped out onto the wooden deck. Following it around the house, Blake cut through the lawn to the large white gazebo.

  His grandmother had her back to him, but she did not look at all surprised to see him round the table and flop down into her guest chair. “Grandma Dee,” he said, his tone pointed. Without elaborating, he eyeballed the tiered display of teatime treats on his grandmother’s Raynaud Duchesse china. There was an array of sandwiches and sweets, puff pastries filled with Lord knows what, and a few promising-looking fruit tarts. He plucked a cucumber sandwich from the platter and popped it unceremoniously into his mouth.

  As usual, his grandmother was not at all fazed by his rude display. Adelia Chamberlain was damn near unflappable. She gazed at him down the line of her nose, sizing him up through her fashionably square glasses. Her white hair was always perfectly coiffed in large curls that were pulled back and fell to her shoulders. She had never had the tight perm of the usual grandma set. She also didn’t dress like most grandmothers. Today she had on a houndstooth pantsuit with a burgundy blouse beneath the jacket.

  As a former Auburn player, he’d have to mention to her that this suit needed to be burned. But first things first.

  “Blake Chamberlain, you are damn lucky my guest hasn’t arrived yet. I’d hate to have to whip you in front of her.” Her mouth flattened into tightly drawn disapproval.

  Blake smiled. His grandmother hadn’t whipped him once in his whole life. Of course, he’d been deathly afraid of her until he was twenty-three. “That’s fine. I’ve already had a public whipping this morning. I’ve had my fill for today.”

  Adelia arched a curious eyebrow at him. “I’m quite certain you deserved it.”

  “You would be, since you caused it. I went to the first meeting about the fund-raiser today. Turns out there’s quite a bit to the plans I hadn’t heard about yet. Gloria was extremely concerned.”

  His grandmother sniffed delicately and straightened the flawless linen tablecloth to avoid his gaze. “Gloria is very often concerned,” she said in a noncommittal tone.

  “Turns out that you,” he said pointedly, “were supposed to fill me in on the details. Like how I’m supposed to spend nearly every moment of the next couple of weeks with Ivy Hudson. Ivy Hudson! How could you not tell me this?”

  “Don’t raise your voice at me,” Adelia snapped and met his gaze. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t feel it was necessary.”

  She immediately held up a hand to quiet his protest. “Sometimes being a Chamberlain means doing what’s best for the town. Putting Rosewood’s needs above your own. It’s not always the easiest thing to do. I knew it would be difficult for you. So, yes, I left out the offensive details.”

  Blake’s hands tightened to fists in his lap. “So you admit you knew it would be hard for me and yet you set me up anyway?”

  “I did not ‘set you up.’ I said it would be difficult for you to put the town’s needs over your own. I withheld the parts that would keep you from doing what needed to be done. If you knew everything you know now, would you still have agreed to participate?”

  He opened his mouth to say “Yes, of course I would,” but he couldn’t lie to his grandmother. Blake would not have agreed to this. He would’ve felt bad, but he would’ve requested some changes. At least then it would’ve been early enough in the planning stages that the changes wouldn’t wreck the whole plan. He would still have helped Rosewood rebuild. He just wouldn’t have had to bleed for it.

  “You’ve proved my point with your silence, Blake. Rosewood is not just a town. It’s our family legacy. It’s the Chamberlains’ duty to watch over the land and the people that call it home.”

  Blake crossed his arms over his chest. “If it’s all so important and our family has a responsibility to the town, why not just write a check for the gym and spare me the public humiliation? You and I both know you can afford it.”

  Adelia watched him for a moment before delicately taking a sip of her tea. “And what good would that do? While I will be contributing to the cause, writing a check for the whole thing does nothing but rebuild the gym itself.”

  Blake frowned at his grandmother. “Isn’t that the point?”

  “No. This is about more than just a gymnasium. It’s better for the town to work together to rebuild. It generates a sense of pride and community. While Rosewood is still a small town, it grows a little larger every year. The sense of intimacy is being lost. People aren’t shopping downtown; they’re shopping online or driving to Birmingham. They’re getting burgers at the drive-in place on the highway instead of eating at Ellen’s or Pizza Palace. The attendance at the Fourth of July picnic was lower than ever this year.”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes I go into town and I don’t even recognize people anymore. There was a time when I knew every family in Rosewood. We don’t just need to rebuild the gym, Blake. We need to rebuild the network that holds this town together. The tornado was a tragedy, but it offered us the perfect project to make that happen. And as the oldest of the Chamberlain children, you’re going to lead the charge. It doesn’t make a lick of difference who’s working with you, because you’re working for the common good.”

  Blake sat back in his chair. He reached out for the platter and shoved a butter cookie into his mouth. He might be a teacher, but he’d just been schooled.

  “Now, if you’re quite finished complaining, I’d like you to move along. My guest should be here any minute.”

  Blake was sitting forward, gripping the arms of the chair to stand, when he caught a glimpse of movement at the back door. Winston was escorting his grandmother’s guest outside. The hair and the clothes were quite different from this morning, but even from this distance, he knew who it was.

  “You know, you could’ve told me you were having Ivy over. I would’ve put off this discussion until later.” He leaned across the table, narrowing his eyes at her and speaking in a lower voice. “Did you plan this?”

  His grandmother smiled and folded her hands in her lap. It seemed like a sweet smile, but it was unnerving to Blake. His grandmother was no docile, cookie-baking granny. She was a strategist. He just wasn’t entirely sure what she was planning. She didn’t tip her hand very often. Even when his grandfather was alive it had been she who ran the show. She was more a Chamberlain than her husband ever was.

  “I didn’t invite you over,” she said. “You barged in and didn’t bother to ask who I was expecting. How could I have planned it?”

  Blake wasn’t sure, but he knew she had. He stood up from his chair, but he had no way of escaping unless he jumped the wooden railing of the gazebo and took off at a sprint across the lawn. He wouldn’t give Ivy the satisfaction of spooking him that badly. That meant sta
nding his ground.

  Just then, Winston arrived at the steps of the gazebo. “Mrs. Chamberlain, Miss Hudson has arrived for tea.” He held out his arm, gesturing for Ivy to go ahead.

  She looked beautiful, and so different from the other times he’d run into her. At the cabin, she’d been quite literally a blank slate: no makeup, no clothes, no hairstyling. At the bar, she’d been done up for a rowdy night on the town with dark eyeliner and sexy but severely styled hair. Today at the fund-raiser meeting, it was a more casual in-between look with a sleek ponytail and a pink gloss that made her lips look shiny and kissable. That had been nice, but right now, she was just about perfect.

  Blake felt like Goldilocks as he looked Ivy over. This look was soft and romantic. The pale cream lace of her top accented the peachy tones of her skin. The dark waves of her hair were pulled into a braided bun at the back of her neck. Soft tendrils fell around her face, highlighting the delicate blush and golden glow of her eye makeup.

  She thanked Winston, taking a few steps up before reaching the top and realizing Blake was standing there behind the wooden post. In that moment, the smile that lit up her face faded. In the pit of his stomach, Blake ached for it to return, but how could he witness it when he was the one who chased it away?

  “You look . . .” his voice trailed off as he got lost in the depths of her emerald-green eyes. He cleared his throat and started over. “You look lovely today, Ivy.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her body language a little stiff. Ivy seemed almost more uncomfortable when he was nice to her than when they were fighting.

  She didn’t say anything else to him. Instead she turned to his grandmother and offered her hand. “Thank you for inviting me over, Mrs. Chamberlain. It’s an honor to share tea with you today.”

  His grandmother smiled at her, showcasing the smile Blake knew was saved for the public. “Of course I had you over, dear. I drew up the invitation as soon as I knew you had returned to Rosewood. Please have a seat.” She gestured over to the seat Blake had recently occupied.