by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair
He had to lean in quite a bit to maneuver them with Ivy. It got him close enough to catch a whiff of her perfume. He’d come home Tuesday with that same scent on his polo shirt. After he’d pulled it over his head, he’d held it to his nose and taken a deep breath. The scent was entirely different on her. It was warmed by her skin and mixed with her other cosmetics before it swirled in the air around him. Blake leaned a little closer and took a deep breath, as subtly as he could, holding it in his lungs for a moment.
“Are you sniffing me?” Ivy whispered.
“What?” Blake said. He was apparently not as subtle as he’d thought. “Of course not. Why would I sniff you?”
“Because I smell good,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Of course you do,” he whispered back. “You’re wearing the same brand of perfume I bought you in high school.”
Ivy turned to look at him, one brow subtly raised. “So you were sniffing me.”
There was no point in arguing now. “So maybe I was,” he admitted. Ivy opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted by cheering and applause.
“Three . . . two . . .” the mayor counted down with the crowd. “One!”
Ivy and Blake closed the scissors and the yellow ribbon fell to the ground in two pieces. Blake was ready to take off, but he was certain that wasn’t the way this was going to work. They went back onto the stage to get out of the way of the crowds and return the scissors. Before they could drop them and go, several photographers approached the platform.
“Could you hold the scissors up and smile?”
Ivy didn’t hesitate to lift up her half of the scissors again and smile brightly for the cameras. Blake went along with it for the sake of the cause, although he felt like the third wheel in every photograph.
“Right there, beautiful!” one man said.
Ivy did as she was asked, smiling graciously and posing in a way that seemed awkward but would probably make her look thinner in the pictures. It really must suck to think about things like that all the time. The casual, relaxed Ivy he remembered from school had made a brief appearance here in Rosewood, but the arrival of the press had chased her away. Now there was only the music icon.
She looked good. He couldn’t deny that. But his mind kept drifting back to her first day in Rosewood. Half-naked, hiding in the bushes. She had been nowhere near camera-ready that day. The only blush she’d been wearing was courtesy of her own embarrassment.
“Can we get one more of the two of you without the scissors?” one of the guys with a camera yelled from the back. The crowds had drifted past them into the fair, leaving behind only the photographers.
“Just one,” Ivy directed. Pointing to the large banner overhead, she added, “And you’d better get the fair sign in the shot! If I see one headline about Blake and me out on a hot date together, I’ll stop cooperating. Got it?”
Blake tried to smother his smile as the group of grown men nodded in agreement. His Ivy had grown a pair while they were apart. She wasn’t the victim of the press, at least not all the time. He was certain those men would cross her boundaries when the headline called for it, but there seemed to be an arrangement between them and their subject that got them the pictures they wanted and got Ivy the press she needed.
Blake leaned into Ivy and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her against his side. He smiled as a flurry of flashes went off, and then she immediately pulled away. For a moment Blake was a little insulted, but he realized she was moving to keep the photographers from taking another picture.
“Go take some pictures of the rides,” she said, shooing them off. “Nothing more to see here.”
Blake stepped down off the stage and offered Ivy a hand getting down herself. She was wearing a pair of black leather boots, but the heel was a little high for trolling the gravel grounds of the fair.
“Our work here is done,” Blake said as they stood looking at the fair beyond them. The sun was down now, and the lights had really begun to twinkle in the darkness. He turned away to look at Ivy and found an odd expression on her face. Her lips were twisted in thought as she watched the Ferris wheel slowly rotate.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You’re not thinking about standing me up, are you?”
“No. I was just trying to remember how long it’s been since I’ve done something like this.”
“Don’t worry,” he said with a grin as they walked under the archway and into the fairgrounds. “It’s like riding a bike.” He reached for his wallet and bought two wristbands for the rides at the ticket booth. The woman snapped on the hot pink plastic bracelets and pointed them in the direction of the rides as though the giant, lit-up machines weren’t visible for miles.
If Ivy was nervous about tonight, she hid it well. They screamed on the kiddie rides, ran through the fun house, and rode blankets down the gigantic plastic slide. He bought her the requested bag of pink cotton candy and they ate it together on a bench near the midway.
Every now and then, someone would stop Ivy to ask for her autograph. The fair drew people from all around the county, not just residents of Rosewood. They weren’t used to seeing a star like her just roaming around in a public place.
Blake would stand back watching as she graciously complied with every request. She was especially great with her younger fans. She would crouch down to talk to the kids, signing whatever they had with them with the pink Sharpie she apparently carried in her purse.
“Do you always have a marker with you?” he asked after the last fan disappeared.
“Always. You can’t autograph T-shirts and posters with a pen. I never know when someone will ask. I’m surprised it took this long. I think people in town are too polite to ask me.”
“I’ll tell Otto and he’ll sell your autograph to raise money.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” she said with a casual shrug. “I wouldn’t—” She stopped midsentence and sighed. There was a photographer only a few feet away, shooting as they walked. “I wish he would go away. I’d like just ten more minutes of peace. Is that too much to ask?”
Blake eyed the man, and then his gaze shifted to the giant Ferris wheel behind him. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Come with me.”
Ivy seemed hesitant, but she didn’t argue. They got in line for the Ferris wheel and piled into one of the carts together.
“You know I don’t really like these,” she said as they jerked to a start and lifted into the air. “You’d better not rock it.”
“I promise I won’t rock it,” Blake said. “I just thought this would be one place those guys couldn’t follow you.”
“Thanks,” she said, her hands nervously clutching the lap bar. “I’m having a hard time adjusting to them being here. In California or New York they make sense. But here, at home? It feels . . . I don’t know . . . more intrusive, somehow.”
“Do you still think of Rosewood as home? It’s been so long since you left I was beginning to think you forgot all about this place.”
Ivy turned to him, her expression serious. Something about the way her dark green eyes focused on him made him aware of every muscle in his body. He tensed in response to her intense appraisal and wondered what she was thinking.
“You know what they say,” she said with a smile. “Home is where the heart is.” She sat back against the seat and looked away. “I know I left mine here with you.”
Ivy couldn’t stop the words from coming out. They were true, and she had difficulty not saying what was on her mind sometimes, but honesty wasn’t always the best policy. What good did it do, really? Their situation was already complicated enough.
At least Blake had the good sense not to respond. She probably scared the hell out of him. They both sat back and admired the view in awkward silence. She didn’t like heights, but it was pretty. They could see the whole town sprawled around them. Ivy could even make out Blake’s family home in the distance. The faint white of the massive building stood out against the dark tree
s.
Leaning back, Blake stretched his arm along the back of the cart. Ivy eyeballed him with a smile curling her lips. “Are you trying one of those sneaky ‘yawn and put my arm around your shoulder’ moves?”
“Me?” he said innocently. “No, but that’s not a bad idea.” He curved his arm around her and instinctively she snuggled against his side and rested her head on his shoulder.
Things between them had changed, and quickly. She hadn’t really had much time to process it, but she knew one thing—removing the anger left just one thing simmering between them: attraction. She and Blake had always had amazing chemistry.
“You know,” Blake said after a moment, “when you came home, I was expecting you to be this huge diva. I figured you would roll into town barking demands at people with an entourage in your wake and a tiny dog in your purse. So far, the only thing you’ve demanded is pink cotton candy.”
Ivy chuckled beside him. “I’ve met the people you’re talking about, and I told myself I would never be like that. In LA, I do have an entourage of sorts. My styling crew, my manager, and my bodyguard are usually with me wherever I go, but that’s just what I need to have to work. I have never,” she said, “owned a little dog. I did consider getting a bloodhound just to freak people out, but I travel too much.”
“I’m having a hard time trying to imagine you walking down Rodeo Drive with a bloodhound on a rhinestone-studded leash. But,” he continued, “I’m glad you’re not one of those spoiled, entitled little brats. I was really surprised to find you’re still very much the same girl I . . .” His voice trailed off before he finished the sentence. “Used to know,” he added at last.
“We’ve both changed. We’ve gotten older, had more experiences, good and bad. But I think you stay who you are at the core. My mama didn’t raise me to be a prima donna, so the money and the fame didn’t change that. Frankly, if I came home acting like that, she’d slap me back down and quick.”
“You’re great with your fans, too. Very gracious.”
Ivy made it a point never to be rude to a fan. Occasionally, some would cross into creepy territory and her bodyguard, Dominick, would step in, but with the average teenage girl, all they wanted was an autograph and a selfie. It didn’t cost her anything to comply with their wishes, and she probably made fans for life in the process.
“I try to be. If they don’t buy my albums and pay to come to my shows, I’m back to the coffeehouses, you know?”
Blake laughed. “I think you’ve outgrown open mic night.”
“You never know when you can end up back there. That thing with Sterling did damage.” More damage than she’d wanted to admit. She’d put out two albums without a problem, making her feel pretty bulletproof about the whole thing. She’d been so wrong. “I feel stupid for getting involved with a guy like that.”
Blake shifted slightly in the cart as they slowed near the very top. Ivy sat up as he turned to look at her. “What about getting involved with a guy like me?”
Ivy’s heart stuttered when their cart jerked to a stop. Her eyes widened as she searched his face for a sign that he was messing with her. “What?”
“Don’t overthink it, Ivy. It’s not a proposal of marriage.” His hand caressed her cheek, his thumb gently grazing her skin. “I just want to kiss you. Would that be all right?”
Ivy looked around nervously. She wasn’t sure whether it was the height, the paparazzi, or the thought of kissing Blake that was making her heart race and her palms sweat. She wanted him to kiss her. But what would that mean? What would it lead to?
He was right, she was overthinking it. With a surge of bravery or stupidity, she leaned forward and brought her mouth into hard contact with his. Too hard, actually. He was completely unprepared for her sudden assault and her face collided with his. Their foreheads clunked together with a hollow thud just as their mouths smacked into each other.
“Ow, Jesus,” Blake said, pulling back. “I think you split my lip open.” One hand shot to his forehead and the other to his mouth. His fingertips were dotted with tiny red spots as he pulled them back to examine the damage.
Ivy could feel the blood rushing to her face with embarrassment even as her own forehead throbbed. “Oh, Blake, I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She leaned in and brought her thumb to his lip, inspecting the damage she’d done. He’d already stopped bleeding, it wasn’t a serious injury, but she still felt bad about hurting him.
“I know what you were thinking.”
With a smile that made him momentarily wince, Blake captured her face in his hands and moved in slowly to avoid another collision. His lips were soft but firm as they pressed against hers. Ivy leaned into him, trying to be gentle after hurting him, but he didn’t seem concerned. His thumb stroked the line of her jaw as he deepened the kiss and coaxed her mouth open.
Ivy was all too happy to comply, relishing the soft glide of his tongue along hers. He drank her in, groaning softly against her mouth as though she tasted better than the finest wine. She lost herself in the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck to get closer to him.
“Ivy,” he whispered against her lips before tasting her again. The low rumble of his voice sent a shiver through her body. Goose bumps shot up across her skin, her breath coming short and rapid from her lungs. His every move, every touch, combined to build an aching arousal she couldn’t fight.
The cart jerked into motion again and they started their descent to the ground. Before prying eyes could see, they reluctantly pulled apart. Ivy straightened up in her seat, tugging her blouse down and smoothing her hair.
“Is my lipstick . . . ?” she started to ask, but stopped when she looked at Blake. Plum Passion was smeared all over his lips. It wasn’t exactly his color, either. “Oh dear, you’ve got my lipstick all over you.”
The cart stopped again, giving Blake time to reach into his pocket and fish out an extra napkin from earlier. He wiped away every trace of the lipstick, leaving his skin a little pink from the rubbing. “Better?”
“Yes. What about me?”
“Beautiful as always,” he said, shoving the napkin back into his pocket.
The cart continued down, and a moment later they arrived at the bottom to unload. Climbing off the ride, Ivy couldn’t shake the sudden realization that they were on a date. This wasn’t their first date at the fair. They’d gone together for several years in high school and college. It was tradition.
But this time, she felt conflicted about it. Of course she thought Blake was handsome; she always had. And they had forgiven each other for the wrongs they’d done. But what was the point? In a little over a week, she was headed back to California. Her life was there. His life was here.
And yet her lips, and several other places, still tingled from that kiss. It made her realize that in the past few years, she hadn’t been well kissed. Most of the men she’d dated recently were high profile enough that women flung themselves at them. They didn’t have to be good. They didn’t have to try.
Kissing was a skill highly underrated by men. Most didn’t seem to realize there was a perfect balance of mouth openness, saliva, tongue, suction . . . it wasn’t very romantic when you thought about it that way, but it made a difference. Having her head swallowed or nearly gagging on a guy’s tongue was not sexy.
Blake’s kiss . . . that was sexy.
“Are you okay?”
Ivy looked up to see Blake at her elbow, his brow knit with concern. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “You just looked a little . . . unsteady.”
Yes, his kiss had made her quite literally weak in the knees. “You know me and heights,” she said dismissively. “I get a little shaky.”
Blake nodded, but she could tell by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that he didn’t believe her. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” she said, looking around for her camera-toting shadows. “I think I’d better go while I can.”
“I’ll walk you to
your car,” Blake said, cupping her elbow to lead them through the crowds to the exit. “I don’t want one of those creeps following you out there in the dark.”
“Thank you.” They made their way out of the fairgrounds and into the big, grassy lot where all the cars were parked.
“It’s not entirely altruistic,” Blake admitted as they neared her rental.
Ivy fished her keys out of her purse and unlocked her door. She pulled it open and tossed her bag inside before she turned back to him. “What’s in it for you?” she asked. “Another kiss?”
Blake shook his head. “We can’t have that with all those reporters roaming around. I made the most of my time on the Ferris wheel for a reason. But I did want to ask you a question.”
Ivy smiled coyly, feeling the strange rush of youthful romance coming back to her. “And what’s that?”
Blake planted his hand on her car and leaned in. “I wanted to know if you would go to the prom with me. Again.”
Chapter Eleven
“What about this one?” Pepper held up a hot pink taffeta bridesmaid’s gown. “It’s got a big bow on the butt.”
Ivy wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t care if it is a retro prom, there will be no bows on my ass. I don’t need it to look any bigger than it already is.”
Earlier Friday afternoon, Ivy had picked Pepper up and they drove to Birmingham to scope out a few thrift stores. There wasn’t much of a market for vintage fashion in Rosewood, so this was their only hope. They had to find dresses and fast, because Ivy had to be back in Rosewood by five to judge the beauty pageant.
She hadn’t given much thought to what she would wear before, but now that she had a real date for the prom, things had gotten a little more serious. She plucked a turquoise dress off the rack. It was floor-length with big, puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.
“Ugh,” she groaned, putting it back on the rack. “This may be impossible. Eighties fashion was just . . . wrong.”
“It was fun,” Pepper corrected. “You’ve got to get into the spirit of it. Big hair, loud clothes, fun colors, chunky accessories . . .”