About That Night. Beth Andrews
are you doing out here?” Ivy asked seventeen-year-old Gracie Weaver as the teenager flopped onto the seat and shut the door. “And where’s your coat?”
Ivy shook her head. Great. She sounded like a mom. Not Ivy’s mother, of course. One of those sitcom moms who always had time for their kids, cared about whether they were warm enough.
One of those moms who loved their daughters instead of blaming them for ruining their lives.
“Brian said he saw you leave,” Gracie said, her teeth already chattering. “I figured you’d be here.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“One of the guests wants to speak with you. Said it was important.”
Ivy’s fingers tightened on the glass so hard, she was afraid it’d shatter into a million pieces. Slowly, carefully she set it on the console next to her sunglasses and an empty to-go coffee cup.
“Oh?” Her voice sounded strangled, so she cleared her throat. “Which guest?” she asked, though she already knew.
Oh, yeah, she knew.
“The guy in the cowboy hat.”
“Tall? With blond hair and green eyes?”
“Yes and yes. Plus, he’s the only guy in the building—probably in the whole town—wearing a cowboy hat. Not sure how else to narrow it down for you.” Gracie frowned and rubbed her hands together, then blew on them. “Do you think it’s acceptable to wear a cowboy hat indoors? Because my grandma would have a fit if Dad wore his baseball cap inside the house.”
“Let’s focus on the topic at hand, shall we?” If Ivy didn’t keep Gracie on track, the kid could veer so far off topic, they’d never find their way back. “I’m sure whatever the cowboy wishes to discuss, he can do so with Wendy.” It would serve the cowboy right if Ivy sent her uptight supervisor over to see what he wanted. “Besides, I already switched tables with Vanessa. She’s more than capable of getting his drinks.”
“But he wants to talk to you,” Gracie said.
“He seems like a guy well used to getting his way.” She remembered the confidence in his eyes, bordering on arrogance. The way he held himself, as if he owned the room and everything—and everyone—in it. “This will be a great life lesson for him.”
“What if he gets upset?”
“He’ll get over it. A little disappointment never killed anyone.”
“I wouldn’t disappoint him.” The teen was all innocent earnestness and dreamy sighs. “He’s completely hot. And nice. We had a very interesting conversation earlier, and he didn’t come across as creepy at all.”
Ivy smiled. Leave it to Gracie to put her in a better mood, no matter what the situation. “Well, noncreep or not, I have no intention of doing his bidding.”
“I’m just saying he seems decent. And,” Gracie continued, pulling something from her pocket, “he gave me this for finding you.”
Ivy raised her eyebrows at the one hundred dollar bill currently being waved in her face. “Really? He bribed a minor to do his dirty work?”
Gracie wrinkled her nose. “I think it was more of a tip. Which means he’s generous.”
“What it means is that he’s willing to pay any price to get his way. That he doesn’t mind throwing his money around.”
“You could give him a chance. Maybe he just wants to get to know you.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” Ivy said blandly. “After speaking with me for less than five minutes, he’s intrigued by my mind. Attracted to my sparkling personality.”
Oh, to be so young and innocent in the ways of the world.
Ivy almost envied the teen.
“It’s possible,” Gracie insisted. “Who knows? Maybe he’s your soul mate. And if you don’t go back there, you could miss your chance with him.”
“Honey, I believe in soul mates as much as I do Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.” She softened her tone, squeezed Gracie’s arm. “But, to go along with your soul-mates-and-fate theory, we’ll just say if it’s meant to be, then it’ll be. I could ignore him for the rest of the night, and it wouldn’t change anything. We’d still end up together.”
As long as they ended up together on her terms. Not his.
“I just find it sad,” Gracie said with all the melodrama of a soap star, “incredibly, momentously sad, that you’re so...so...”
“So...pragmatic?” Ivy asked when the teenager struggled to find the right adjective. Which was unusual as Gracie typically had no trouble with words and loved using as many as possible. “Practical? Reasonable? Realistic?”
Gracie’s sigh was a work of art. Long-suffering and heartfelt. Ah, to be seventeen and a master of sarcasm. And a slave to emotions. “Cynical.”
“Well, that cuts deep, doesn’t it?” Giving her coworker a thoughtful frown, Ivy kept her tone somber. “But I’ve now seen the error of my sensible ways, thanks to your amazing grasp of syntax and the perfect amount of pathos in your tone.” She lifted the champagne flute in a mock toast. “Pink lacy hearts, huge diamonds and chocolates for everyone.”
Tucking one leg under the other, Gracie turned and studied Ivy with her too-intense gaze. “Molly says sarcasm is a defense mechanism used when someone hits too close to the truth.”
“Molly has six sons under the age of eight, one of them a newborn. It’s obvious your stepmother is a few kale leaves short of a pound, so we’re not going to take anything she says to heart.”
Another sigh from Gracie, this one just a few notches below resignation. At least all those heavy exhalations were warming up the car a bit. “Don’t worry. Someday, you’ll get over it.”
“If the it you’re referring to is my common sense, then sorry, but you’re going to be majorly disappointed. If a woman doesn’t have her wits about her, she has nothing.” Ivy dug out a pen and crumpled napkin from the console. Handed them to Gracie. “Write that bit of wisdom down so you remember it.”
Gracie didn’t even glance at the offerings in Ivy’s hands. “It being your broken heart. Someday, when you’re ready, it will mend, and you will be able to live your life free of all that anger and pain you carry around.” She tipped her head, her ponytail bouncing, and studied Ivy some more. “I’m surprised you don’t know this. You should have better self-awareness.”
Ivy laughed. She got such a kick out of this kid. “Honey, there’s not a woman alive who is more self-aware than I am.”
Gracie meant well, but she was way off base. Ivy had gone twenty-six years without suffering from a broken heart, and she planned on keeping that streak alive for...oh...forever sounded good.
She already knew the damage heartbreak could cause. It wore you down and stripped you of your pride, leaving you angry, resentful and so hurt, you never got over it.
She may not have experienced it firsthand, but she’d heard about it plenty, had witnessed its effects up close, thank you very much. Her mother had spent her entire life jumping from relationship to relationship, happily swallowing the lies men fed her, believing their promises only to be let down again and again.
So, yeah, Ivy knew all about the frailty of emotions. How they tricked you into believing foolish myths about happy endings and forever after. No other person could complete you or make you happy.
Give away your truth and you gave away the upper hand. Share your secrets, your hopes and dreams and desires, and you lost all power. The idea of true love looked good on paper, but in reality, it was complicated, often messy and, in many cases, downright ugly.
Loving