Facing the Music (6 page)

Gloria’s light brown eyes lit up. “That was my favorite lesson. Everyone gets so fired up about the Civil War around here, they forget the human race existed for millennia before the War of Northern Aggression. But enough of that. We need to get you acquainted with the plans. That’s why you’re here, right?”

“Absolutely.” Ivy let Gloria escort her over to the large conference table where they had big stacks of papers and drawings for activities.

“We’ve got a lot of great things scheduled. I’m certain we’ll earn enough money to rebuild the athletic facilities and then some. I’ve always fancied a pool so we could start a swim team. Dream big, right? Well, anyway, before we get into the details . . .” Gloria paused, looking around the room with a frown. “Where’s Coach?”

“He should be here any minute,” someone offered. “He had to wait for his health class to end.”

“Oh, all right,” Gloria said, continuing on. “I’ll just repeat all this to him later. Ivy, you’ll be working closely with Coach for nearly all these events. You’re the spokespeople of sorts.”

That wasn’t too bad. Ivy had always liked Coach Ford. Working with him wouldn’t be bad at all. “That all sounds fine.”

“Did I hear someone say Coach? Sorry I’m late, it’s sex ed week. You know how that goes.”

Ivy turned her head toward the voice in the doorway and knew, just knew, she was being punished. Or she was the butt of some hidden-camera practical joke show. The Fates weren’t
that
cruel . . .

Blake was looking right at her with the same knowing blue eyes from her dream. He smiled as if he somehow knew what she was thinking and knew she’d dreamed about him. The mere thought made her face heat with embarrassment and unwanted desire.

She was wrong. The Fates were vindictive bitches.

Blake didn’t even need
to see Ivy to know she was in the room. The moment he stepped inside, he could smell the warm, enticing fragrance of her favorite perfume. His chest immediately tightened as memories flooded into his mind. Ivy had millions of dollars at her disposal and yet she still wore the same thirty-dollar perfume he’d bought her at a Birmingham department store. It was called Love Song, and he’d given it to her for their first Valentine’s Day together.

The moment he tested it in the store, he knew it was perfect for her. She must agree, considering she still wore it. He doubted that had anything to do with its sentimental value. Or maybe it did. When his eyes found her in the group of people, there was something unexpected reflecting at him—desire. It was short-lived, though, replaced by something just short of horror and disgust.

“
Blake
is the head football coach?” Ivy nearly choked on her words. Her face flushed an ugly red, which seemed to be its normal state whenever he was around. That was only fair, since tight and uncomfortable pants were the norm for him when she was around.

“I am,” Blake said with his widest, most confident smile spread across his face. He’d been told that it was an all-American smile, as wholesome and endearing as apple pie. His whole life, this smile and the dimples that came with it could charm anyone. Well, judging by Ivy’s pinched expression, almost anyone. “I’ve been the head coach of the Rosewood Panthers since the start of the school year, when Coach Ford retired and moved to Orange Beach.”

“Coach Chamberlain!” Gloria said, oblivious to the emotional fireworks exploding around her. “I’m so glad you could make it. I was just going over some of the plans with Ivy. I was telling her how closely you two will be working together over the next couple of weeks.”

“Say what?” Blake jerked his smug gaze away from Ivy and forced it onto his boss. He hadn’t heard her right.

“The fund-raiser,” she said, her brows drawing together with concern. “You’ve been told about the plans, haven’t you? Your grandmother assured me you were fine with everything.”

His grandmother. Of course. The grand dame was scheming; he could feel it. She wanted to pull off this event her way and that meant keeping him—and apparently Ivy—out in the cold when it came to the details. “I apologize, but there must have been a family miscommunication.” As in, the stubborn old woman hadn’t told him a damned thing.

“Oh,” Principal Everett said. “I . . . I mean . . . I thought both of you were aware of the situation and had agreed to it. This is unfortunate. We never would’ve . . .”

“Gloria?” Ivy spoke up. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell us what you have planned? I realize this might be awkward, but I’m certain both Blake and I are willing to do whatever is necessary to help the town rebuild.” Her dark green eyes were fixed on him as she spoke, laying down her challenge.

Well played. Now, if he balked, he’d look like a selfish ass.
We’ll see how agreeable she is when she realizes the extent of what she just signed up for
. “Absolutely. Please continue. I hope I didn’t miss much.”

Looking visibly relieved, Gloria sighed and brushed her hand back over her neatly coiffed light brown hair. “Thank goodness. I was telling Ivy how critical you two are to the upcoming events. To be perfectly frank, we’re milking your success for all it’s worth. Not every little town has a famous singer and an NFL quarterback to call their own. It kicks off with the county fair on Thursday night. The fair itself will run through Sunday, but your main role will be that first night. You’ll be at the ribbon-cutting ceremony to open the fairgrounds and welcome everyone to the celebration. Friday,” she continued, “we’d like Ivy to judge the Miss Rosewood pageant and Coach to judge the pie bake-off. Both will end, of course, well before the football game Friday night.”

“Can we trade?” Blake jested. A couple of people in the room chuckled at his joke.

“No way,” Ivy retorted. “I can’t sit around all day eating pie. My personal trainer would kill me.”

“Saturday morning,” Principal Everett interjected, “we’re having the parade where we present the new Miss Rosewood to the town. It’s not really a fund-raiser, per se, but we’d like both of you riding in the parade.”

Blake nodded along as his boss talked. This was all basic stuff. Smile for the cameras, show-pony chores. No problem.

“Saturday night is the dance.”

“Dance?” Ivy asked.

“Yes!” Gloria’s eyes lit up. “We are so excited about this. We’re hosting a retro Second Chance Prom. The theme is ‘Flashback to 1986!’ ” She grabbed a flyer off the table and showed it to them both.

Blake had seen it before, but hadn’t paid a bit of attention to it. He thought it was a school dance. His students seemed so obsessed lately with eighties style.

But apparently Gloria was just as enamored with the decade as the kids were.

“Ticket sales for this have been wonderful. Everyone is so excited to dress up for the dance. Not everyone got to go to their prom, so this is a rare opportunity for a lot of folks.”

Ivy didn’t seem to share Gloria’s enthusiasm. She was frowning at the flyer. “So, am I singing at the dance?”

“Oh no!” Gloria said. “If they want to hear you sing, they need to buy tickets to the concert next weekend. We want you and Blake to reprise your roles as prom king and queen.”

“Wait a minute,” Blake said, his hands going up defensively. “We’re being good sports, but don’t you think that’s pushing just a little too far?”

“I was worried about this one,” Gloria admitted. “But it isn’t as intense as it sounds. There’s one spotlight dance. Just one. The rest of the time, you don’t even have to be together. It’s more of a figurehead role. A prom needs a king and queen and it made sense for it to be the two of you.”

“Just one dance?” Ivy repeated for confirmation.

“Yes, just one.”

“But it’s a slow dance,” Blake interjected. “You’re going to have to touch me for three to four straight minutes without cringing.”

Ivy crossed her arms over her chest, pushing the firm flesh of her breasts up until they were deliciously displayed by the V-neck of her top. “I do believe I can manage that as long as your hands stay where they belong.”

“More’s the pity,” he said, thinking of a couple of places he’d love his hands to stray.

“Then there’s the concert,” Gloria interjected. “During the week leading up to that there aren’t official activities, so you have a little downtime after the big weekend. Blake will be teaching, of course, and we were hoping Ivy could do some press events to stir up publicity for the concert and the cause.”

“I’m hoping you can put me in touch with your publicist,” Pepper added. “I’d like to work with her to get you on a couple of high-visibility morning shows and celebrity entertainment news programs. Perhaps we can schedule it so Blake can appear in a couple of those as well.”

“Yes,” Gloria continued. “This is really an important part of the fund-raiser, because although not everyone can come to the concert, everyone can call or go online and donate directly to the Rosewood Gymnasium Fund. It really broadens our target audience.”

“And then the concert?” Ivy said. “And that’s it?”

“That’s it!” Gloria smiled wide, as though she thought her excess enthusiasm might spill over into the two of them. It didn’t.

“Okay.” Blake sighed and started counting on his fingers. “Ribbon cutting, pie eating, pageant judging, parade waving, prom dancing, interview chatting, and concert singing. Does that about cover it?”

“That covers it.” Mayor Gallagher stepped forward and slapped Blake on the back. “Easier than winning the state championship. Before you know it, we’ll have a new, state-of-the-art facility for your kids to practice and play so they can win that trophy. Easy as pie.”

Blake nodded and eyed his ex-girlfriend across the room. She was trying to look upbeat and excited about this whole thing, but he knew her well enough to know it was a struggle. She wasn’t happy about any of it. Winning the state championship would be easier than getting through the next two weeks with her.

Easy as pie? Yeah, sure. Maybe one of those blue-ribbon-winning pies that the ladies in town agonize over and practice baking for weeks.

It wasn’t even lunchtime and Blake needed a drink.

Chapter Six

Ivy had come
home from her meeting with a jumble of emotions inside. Primarily panic. Her hopes of avoiding Blake over the upcoming days had been dashed. He was the central focus of her time here, and for her to demand otherwise would make her seem selfish and shallow. She wasn’t going to walk away. That was what everyone, including Blake, probably expected her to do.

Despite what people might think, she genuinely wanted to help her hometown. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to come out of the tornado shelter and find half the high school destroyed. She was going to do whatever it took to raise every penny she could. If that meant dealing with that smug, cheating bastard, so be it.

Ivy was first and foremost a professional. She had the ability to turn off pain and focus on music when she was performing. That was what she intended to do in Rosewood. She would smile for the cameras, stand by Blake’s side, raise a fortune for the new gym, restore her career, and get the hell out of here.

She was wrestling with those thoughts when she approached the front steps of her cabin and found an ivory envelope lying on the bristly welcome mat. The beautiful, heavy stationery with the gold embossing and elegant scripted handwriting left no question it was what she thought it was.

But why on earth would Ivy receive such a thing?

Adelia Chamberlain had invited her to tea this afternoon. The same Adelia Chamberlain who had called Kevin personally to request that Ivy perform at the charity concert. Blake’s grandmother was the epitome of an upper-class southern lady. Refined and elegant, she ruled over the Chamberlain family with an iron fist that felt deceptively like a silk glove.

Receiving an invitation to tea with Adelia was something women in town waited for their whole lives. That kind of thing didn’t happen to just anyone, and when it did, you sure as hell didn’t turn her down. Even on short notice.

Ivy eyed the time on her phone. She had three hours before she needed to be at the Chamberlain mansion.

Crap
. Had she even packed anything appropriate for a formal tea? Ivy burst into the cabin and went straight for her closet. She flipped through hangers, frowning at every piece. Jeans and leather pants were the uniform for a rock star, most days. Occasionally she’d change it up with a skirt or a bustier. If she wore a dress, it was a loaned gown for a red carpet event.

Ivy eyed the invitation again. She needed to RSVP first. And then she would tackle her outfit.

Ten minutes later, she was back on the road to town. She managed to keep all four wheels on the pavement as she squealed around the turn from Second Avenue onto Magnolia Way and came to a sudden stop in the parking spot outside her mother’s salon.

Ivy leaped from the car and blew through the front door. The bells announced her arrival, but it wasn’t necessary. Ivy’s desperate shout of “Mama!” the minute her feet hit the tile floor did that for her.

Sarah looked at her with wide eyes. She had a woman’s hair in one hand, scissors in the other. “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

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.

“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.