by Mimi Wells
“Hey—I’m not the one who bailed on family dinner last night,” Ivy countered.
“I had a meeting.” Violet picked up the top book and propped it in one of the nooks of the tree trunk.
“You always have a meeting.”
Violet twisted her lips. “Not always. Often, but not always.”
The “you’re too busy” litany was a familiar one in the Macpherson household, directed in turn from family member to family member depending on who was up to their eyebrows in the task at the moment. Since Ivy heard this from one or both of her parents every time she called home, she was happy to deploy it in a different direction for once.
“What brings you to my little corner of the world?” Violet asked after she’d finished with the children’s books and was now off to tackle the collection shelves at the end of the stacks.
“Nothing much.”
Violet shot her a look.
“Okay, fine. I could use some advice.”
Violet didn’t look up from where she was sliding a copy of the latest Stephen King into its slot on the shelf. “About what?”
Good question. Was it this story she couldn’t seem to get a handle on? The pressure to create something amazing just to keep her job? Or was it just how unsettled she was about what almost happened with Rand?
“I’m not sure, exactly.”
“Best to start at the beginning, then.”
So Ivy did, talking her through the upheaval in the office, her discovery of Julian Wolf in the airport, and her determination to find him in Dogwood Mountain.
Violet frowned, rearranged a series of manga in proper numerical order, and turned to Ivy. “I still don’t know what the problem is. All of this sounds like your usual kind of thing.”
“It’s Rand,” Ivy blurted.
Violet stopped her busy movements and turned to Ivy with a curious expression on her face. “Rand. Cooper?”
“Of course Rand Cooper,” Ivy said.
“A-ha.” Violet arched one slim brow and looked coolly at her younger sister. “I didn’t know you and Rand had a thing.”
“We don’t. We aren’t. We—” Ivy gave up, sinking into one of the comfortable chairs tucked into a quiet back corner of the main reading room and sighing. “I got here yesterday with a plan firmly in mind, and now my brain is nothing but static.”
Violet glanced around, and finding no one watching, perched like a bird ready to take flight on the chair next to Ivy. “It’s okay for you to be interested in Rand. I mean, it’s taken you long enough.”
Ivy frowned at her sister. “What are you talking about?”
Violet flapped a hand at her. “Please. It’s been obvious since the seventh grade there was something going on between you two. Obvious to everyone except you two.”
Ivy drew back, scowl deepening. “No. There has never been anything between me and Rand Cooper.”
“Only because you refused to let there be.”
That moment with Rand, the way the hallway seemed to contract around them in a cocoon of warmth. She’d refused to admit, even to herself, how close and tempting that canopied four-poster bed in the Daylily suite happened to be. Or how a mental picture of the two of them tangled in the crisp cotton of that bed had been burned on her brain like she’d seen it in a photograph.
She filed the picture away in a deep cabinet and closed the drawer. Hard.
“Honestly, Vi, I don’t know where you come up with this stuff. You’re reading too many romances or something.”
“I do love a good romance, but I’m on a psychological thriller streak lately. You just hate being wrong.”
Ivy met Violet’s deep, no-nonsense brown gaze, and coughed. “Fine. Whatever. It still doesn’t do anything to solve my work problem. Got any suggestions?”
“Nothing you haven’t already thought of, probably. Be persistent, ask questions, pester the right people, the usual. You’ll figure it out.”
Vi had more confidence in Ivy than she did herself. “I hope so. This is really important, Vi. We’re talking my future at Scoop.”
She shrugged. “Scoop’s not the only media outlet around. As hard as you work, you haven’t figured out just how valuable you are, have you?” She tilted her head the same way their mother did.
Ivy smiled in spite of herself. “Okay, fine. You’re not going to tell me what to do, are you?”
“I hate to go all Charlotte’s Web on you, but you really need to stop being ‘humble,’ Wilbur, and remember that you’re ‘terrific’ and ‘radiant.’”
“Tell my editor that,” Ivy said, standing.
“One thing at a time, sis.”
“Speak for yourself, committee queen.” She checked her watch. “Yikes. I’d better get back home before Mama sends out the National Guard.”
Violet gave Ivy a quick hug at the front door before disappearing into the director’s office. Ivy rewrapped her damp scarf and headed back through the chilly twilight to her car. At least it had stopped sleeting. She’d just cranked the engine when a dark gray Tahoe passed her and turned up a side street.
Finally! This day might not be a complete loss after all. Ivy slapped her car into gear, hit the gas, then slammed on the brakes to avoid nailing the side panel of a lumbering old Crown Victoria. She waved at the driver, mouthing “Sorry!” and merged onto the street, leaning on the accelerator as she took the corner to catch up with the big Chevy.
She followed the car up and around the next block, feeling obvious, until she saw it turn into a parking lot. Perfect. She took the same turn and waited to see who emerged.
Ugh. The Tahoe’s driver turned out to be an older man in a navy peacoat rather than the muscled movie star in a faded green army jacket she’d hoped for. It wasn’t like her instincts to be so wrong.
“No,” she reminded herself out loud. “Your instincts are not wrong. You’re just not looking in the right places.”
But she had been. The Cooper House Inn was a perfect place to hole up with someone new. And she hadn’t explored the whole place to her satisfaction, had she? She’d neglected all the rooms on the first floor, for one. Those two upstairs wings had been a little too conveniently closed off, hadn’t they? And that whole weirdness with Rand. Was that something unexpected or a distraction meant to knock her off balance? She set her jaw and turned the Jetta around.
Turning into the gravel lot behind the inn, she did a quick survey. A couple of smaller cars sat next to a white Toyota with Georgia plates and a barcode sticker in the back window that was clearly a rental. On the other side of the lot close to the Catamount were a newer Nissan with a Red Sox bumper sticker—Jessica’s, no doubt—and an old Volvo wagon in bluish-gray paint. She frowned. Could she have been wrong about the car she saw at the airport? The weather had been terrible, and she’d only gotten a quick glimpse of Julian Wolf’s getaway car in the first place.
She cast her gaze upward at the top story of the inn. The curtains were pulled closed on most of the big dormer windows along the roofline, but one stood open, exposing a foot-wide section of lightweight white sheers. Odd, considering that room was in the wing of the inn that had been closed off.
Just then, a shadow passed by the opening. A tall male one, with broad shoulders. Ivy grinned to herself. Perhaps her instincts weren’t so off after all.
It took all she had not to charge back upstairs, but the sun was sinking, her family was waiting, and to tell the truth, she didn’t trust herself around Rand Cooper right this minute. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d bust Julian Wolf, and it would be glorious.
*
Ivy stood at the stove stirring a deep saucepan of homemade tomato basil soup. The recipe was simple, made from the last of the summer’s tomatoes Laurel and Holly had canned late that August and fresh basil from the clay pot on the kitchen windowsill. The coffeepot she and Rand had bought earlier that day burbled on the counter. Her father stood at her elbow, tending a pair of grilled cheese sandwiches in a cast iron skillet swimming with butter.
>
“Daddy, was Dale Gentry at the Liars Club breakfast this morning?” Dale, a round, florid man with a big laugh, owned the Creekside Cabins with his wife, Evelyn. The Gentrys hosted a motley assortment of families and hikers throughout the year, along with RV types who paid to park in the large lot with hookups across the street from the cabins themselves.
“Sure.”
It would be possible for Julian and his secret love to hole up in one of the cabins nestled by Dogwood Creek. Not likely, but just in case her intuition about the Cooper House had been fried by her earlier encounter with Rand, she had to make sure. “Did he mention anything about who’s staying at the cabins over the holidays?”
Alex Macpherson scooped the sandwiches out of the skillet and slid them onto plates without answering. Then he poured himself a fresh mug of coffee, a stolen break from the evening’s craziness. This last night of packing was going to be a busy one. The whole family was eating in shifts.
Ivy set a bowl of soup next to her father’s plate. “Did you hear anything unusual about the guests in town?” she prodded. She assembled another pair of sandwiches and placed them in the skillet, then moved her bowl and plate next to her dad’s on the counter and began to eat.
Alex dunked a corner of his grilled cheese into his bowl of soup. His bushy eyebrows pulled together. “Lots of questions tonight.”
“It’s my job to ask questions.” She took a bite of her own sandwich.
“I thought your job was writing.”
Ivy chewed and swallowed. “It is. But the best writers ask lots of questions first.”
Alex polished off his soup and sandwich without comment and took a long drink of coffee. He set down his mug and turned to her. “Run by Annie’s in the morning if you want to talk to Dale. He’s usually there for breakfast because Evelyn says she’s retired from kitchen duty on weekends.”
“Great.” Ivy flipped the sandwiches on the stove. She’d be able to charm info out of Dale Gentry. He was a gregarious sort who loved to talk about the interesting people he’d hosted over the years. Not like hard-to-crack, too-tempting Rand Cooper.
Laurel pushed into the kitchen on a swirl of cold air, stamping her feet on the mat in the mudroom and closing the door firmly behind her. “Daddy? Mama’s asking for you.”
“Yup.” He shrugged on his canvas coat and pushed past Laurel to head back to the kitchen shed.
Ivy slid one of the sandwiches onto a fresh plate, which she set on top of the one her father had just abandoned and turned off the heat under the skillet. “Here. I’ll get you some soup.”
“Thanks.” Bark Ruffalo pushed his way inside through the dog door and sat, ears pricked in expectation, at Laurel’s feet.
Ivy handed Laurel a bowl of soup, then tore off a corner of her own sandwich and tossed it to the dog.
“You’re going to spoil him,” Laurel scolded. She blew on a spoonful of soup to cool it.
“That’s what aunts are supposed to do, right?” Ivy countered.
Laurel looked down at her dog. “Don’t get used to this, Bark Ruffalo. She’s just going to leave you behind and break your heart.” Bark Ruffalo dropped his head and stared at them, then walked over to his pillow and settled down with a theatrical sigh.
Ivy laughed. “That dog has more personality than most of the people I work with.”
“Now do you see why I had to keep him?” Laurel returned. “How did it go today?”
Ivy bristled, alert. “Why?”
Laurel stared at her, eyes wide. “Just asking. Yikes, Ivy. You’d think I’d busted you with a boy or something.”
Ivy’s ears and cheeks burned with sudden heat.
“You’re blushing.” Laurel’s voice was triumphant.
“I am not.” Ivy busied herself with the empty bowls and plates, dropping them with a clatter into the wide porcelain sink.
“You totally are.” Laurel’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me what happened or I’ll tell Mama you and Rand hooked up.”
“We did not hook up,” Ivy barked.
“You did something.” Laurel chuckled. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since I caught you necking in the back pasture with that pasty guy from the newspaper staff. What was his name?”
“Harrison Thomas? Ew. I can’t even believe you brought that up.”
“Believe it. So what—you ran into Harrison Thomas downtown and he finally swept you off your feet?”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “You seriously have to get out of this town. No, I did not see Harrison.”
“Then you totally did something with Rand Cooper.” Laurel folded her arms and pasted a placid smile on her face.
“I didn’t do anything with Rand,” Ivy protested. “Except have lunch.”
“Oooh,” Laurel cooed. “More to the story.” She plopped into one of the kitchen chairs. “Dish.”
Ivy went to the stove to avoid looking at Laurel and flipped the last sandwich to keep it from going too dark on one side. “We walked around downtown, bought a new coffeemaker, ate a T-Rex burger and a club sandwich at the Brontosaurus, and checked out the Cooper House Inn. Then I dropped in on Vi at the library and came home.” She turned to Laurel and shrugged. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing,” Laurel repeated. She didn’t sound convinced.
In the long pause, Laurel stared at her sister expectantly, and even Bark Ruffalo raised his head and cocked it, waiting.
Ivy cracked. “We almost kissed.”
“About time,” Laurel said, banging her hands on the kitchen table in emphasis, then froze. “Wait—did you say ‘almost’ kissed?”
“Yes.”
Laurel let out an exasperated groan. “What in the world is your problem? It’s been obvious since the seventh grade there was something going on between you two. Obvious to everyone except you two.”
Ivy stared at her sister, openmouthed. “That is exactly what Violet said.”
“And we know Vi is always right, right?” Laurel stated. “You and Rand Cooper should have been a thing forever ago. Don’t you think it’s high time you did something about it?”
Ivy could feel the blush creeping back up her neck and burning the tops of her ears. She tossed the last sandwich on a paper plate. “Rand Cooper and I are not a thing. We’re not going to be a thing. We had a moment, okay? It was weird, and now it’s over.”
“If you had one moment, you could have more,” Laurel said, waving her finger.
Ivy groaned. “You’re impossible.” She yanked a sheet of aluminum foil off the roll to cover the sandwich, then snatched an old jacket off the hook in the mudroom and shoved her arms in the sleeves. “I’m done. If I have to put up with fruitcakes, I may as well go for the real thing.” She shut the door behind her with more force than she’d planned, but that couldn’t be helped. She stalked down the gravel path that led to the kitchen shed.
Chapter Eight
Hey.
Wake up.
Wakeup
Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup
Wake uppppp
WAKE UP!!!!!
The insistent ping of Jada’s text tone dragged Ivy out of a dream where she and Rand Cooper were completing a lab report about hormones and their effect on the human sex drive. What was worse was that she was sitting in his lap, and they were both in their underwear.
Or was it better?
She sat up groggily with her phone, forcing her mental picture of Rand wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a cheeky grin into the dark recesses of her subconscious.
Last night, after a couple of hours of packing apology boxes with red and green shredded paper, a jar of Macpherson apple butter, and a hand-signed holiday note written in old-fashioned copperplate, she’d begun mapping all the rental property addresses on the lists she’d gathered from the realty offices. She wasn’t sure what time she finally fell asleep, but once she did, she slept hard.
Ivy stifled a yawn. You know it’s the weekend, right? she texted Jada.
Gossip doesn’t ca
re about weekends.
Ivy squinted at the time and groaned. Nine-thirty? She’d been home less than forty-eight hours and was already turning into a three-toed sloth.
News on the Instaho, Jada tapped out.
Tell me, Ivy texted back. She watched the three gray dots impatiently.
Paris got her confirmation. Instaho is def preggo. Wife is suing him for everything. It’s gonna get ugly in Bel-Air.
Ivy groaned. She’d better hop to or she could kiss that window office goodbye.
Any news from Wendy?
Not sure. She’s in the Hamptons until Wednesday. Get a move on, girl! *kiss emoji*
*scream emoji*
Ivy dropped her phone on the bedside table with a clatter. Laurel’s bed was empty, of course. Probably out feeding woodland creatures or something equally adorable and useful. She cast a glance at the printouts scattered near the chair where she’d set her plugged-in laptop. She had a long day ahead. Better get cracking. She dragged herself out of bed to shower and dress.
Downstairs, a box of croissants from Blossom Bakery sat on the counter. Nothing like a signature favorite on a whole wheat everything from Ess-a-Bagel, but they’d have to do. Plus, she’d missed her opportunity to buy Dale Gentry breakfast and ask about who was staying at the Creekside Cabins. She tore into the croissant with ferocity and chewed, disappointed in herself. She certainly wasn’t acting like she had a story to write, much less one that might vault her into a whole new position at Scoop.
The further away she got from what she was now thinking of as the moment, the more unsettled she got.
It wasn’t like her to be this way. She should be focused on her story, not yesterday’s unexpected weirdness with Rand Cooper. And yet it was thoughts of Rand filling her head, not daydreams about a private office with a window in the Scoop offices in midtown Manhattan. The fact that she couldn’t determine whether that almost-kiss with Rand was something real or just a distraction made it worse.
Through the window over the sink, she could see Laurel and her parents making the back and forth trek to the old Explorer, back seat folded down to accommodate all the cake boxes. Ivy stuffed the rest of the croissant in her mouth and went outside to help.