A Broken Kind of Beautiful (38 page)

“You ready, Marilyn?”

Ivy turned all the way around. Was he really going to ignore her?

Marilyn hung the bridesmaid dress on the rack, looking at Ivy. “Did we find out what happened with Crestledown? Can we really not have the fashion show at the theater?”

“I found us a new venue,” Davis said.

“What?” Marilyn and Ivy asked the question at the same time.

“Pastor Voss offered the church. It’ll work just as well for the show, and he’s not charging us anything. On the way to pick up my mom and Mike from the airport, I made some phone calls to get the word out about the change in location.”

Ivy almost melted with relief. “Davis, that’s great.”

The shadow across his face grew darker.

Marilyn looked between them, a frown tugging at her lips. “Why don’t you escort Ivy to the party, Davis? I’ve got my bike. Hoppin’ John’s is only a few blocks away.” She grabbed her purse and a set of keys. “Ivy, would you mind locking up for me?”

Ivy looked at Davis, who had yet to acknowledge her. “No, of course not.”

Marilyn handed over the keys, kissed Davis on the cheek, and left the boutique.

The silence crackled with tension until Ivy couldn’t stand it anymore. “Davis, I’m sorry.”

“You really had me fooled.”

His cold tone made her take a step back. “What do you mean?”

“For a while there, I actually believed you cared.”

“About what?”

“About Sara. This show. Me.”

“Of course I care.” She cared too much, in fact. So much it scared her. She’d grown to care about him and Sara and this show more than she’d ever cared about anything, and all of it was feeling like pretty rocky terrain.

“Give it up, Ivy. Bruce stopped by the house today.”

Warmth drained from her face. “Bruce?”

“All the work you did for the fashion show. Raising money for the art program. Pressuring me to photograph Twila? You never cared about me or Sara—or worse, Twila. All of it was so I’d say yes to a Vera Wang shoot.”

No, Davis had it all wrong. “I admit that’s what I wanted at first, but it hasn’t been about that for a long time.” Not since Sara wheedled her way into her heart. Not since Twila had too. And Davis. Especially Davis.

“Then what was this afternoon about? You came on to me and begged me to come to New York.” His chest rose and fell. Heated breaths for heated words.

Could she pull the “I don’t know” card?

“You tried to play me.”

She stepped toward him. “No, that’s not what it was about. I promise.”

He held up his hand as if to stop her from coming any closer, then paced to the counter, the back of his neck red with anger. Ivy couldn’t stand it. She hated his anger. She hated even more that his anger mattered so much. Hadn’t she promised herself a long time ago that she would never let it matter? Hadn’t she promised to never ever become like her mother?

“I should have listened to my grandfather.”

And just like that, his words undid her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather you not come to Sara’s party,” Davis said.

“I helped plan the party. Of course I’m going.”

“Well, consider yourself officially uninvited. Unlike you, Sara’s love is actually genuine.” He dug out his wallet from the back of his jeans, snagged some bills, and tossed them toward her feet. They swept the air and rested at her toes. “Payment for your time and energy.”

And with that, he turned and stalked out of the boutique.

Ivy stood like a statue, mouth slightly open, processing what had happened until her insides drooped like day-old party balloons. She felt sick to her stomach. Davis had found out about Vera Wang and New York City and disinvited her to Sara’s birthday party. She kicked at the money and dug inside her purse for her cell phone.

Bruce answered halfway through the first ring. “What were you thinking?” she asked.

“Well, hello to you too.”

“Are you still in Greenbrier?”

“No. I just landed in Miami. Modeling convention. I have a layover in South Carolina tomorrow on my way home. Listen, we need to talk.”

“How could you spring Vera Wang and New York City on Davis like that?”

“Spring it on him? Ivy, the shoot’s a week and a half away. You promised you’d be able to get Davis, and I promised Juliette you’d follow through. But I have to tell ya, he looked a little shell shocked when I mentioned it this afternoon.”

“He’s not going to do it, Bruce. He wants nothing to do with New York City.” Or me.

Bruce laughed. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking. Listen, you’ve got to find another photographer. You know a million of them. Surely you can get somebody.”

“Juliette wants Davis.”

“Well, Davis is out. Find somebody else.”

“You’re giving me a headache, Ivy. And an ulcer. I can’t believe you couldn’t convince one guy to come to New York City.”

His words were like a prick to an open wound. “Not helping, Bruce.”

“Listen, I have to go. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

And that was it. No
Good-bye
. No
Take care
. Nothing but an irritated reprimand. What was she going to tell him tomorrow that she hadn’t told him already?

Low-hanging lights drooped from the ceiling, casting a dim glow along the dingy bar top as a country tune about cheating wives droned from crackly speakers and a football game flickered over half-filled bottles of liquor. On her aimless stroll down the strip, she’d spotted the flashing sign for Piper’s Bar and Grill, cold beer, and fried pickles. Only the bulbs didn’t work for the
C
, so apparently they served old beer and fried pickles. Beer was beer was beer. She’d take it cold or old or halfway warm. She didn’t care, so long as it had alcohol.

Ivy needed to think. Or stop thinking. Which was it? Think about her future. Stop thinking about Davis. There it was. If only she could do those two things, life might start making sense again. But Davis refused to leave her brain, and her future refused to enter. What was wrong with her? She looked over her shoulder out the smudged windowpanes. Greenbrier, that’s what. It was this town’s fault. How could she think clearly here? She needed overcrowded streets and honking horns, not ocean waves and country music.

Ivy walked to the bar and sidled onto one of the wooden stools.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Ivy Clark.” The voice crawled up her skin. It belonged to Doyle Flanning. He sat several seats down, the only other patron at the bar, same red baseball cap and same smarmy grin. “The gal nobody will shut up about.”

The gray-haired, heavyset man behind the bar finished drying off a beer glass. “You start causing trouble, Doyle, and I’m kicking you out of here.”

Doyle let go of his tall mug of foam-topped amber and held up his hands. “I’m saying hello is all, Cal.”

Cal gave Doyle a beady stare down before turning to Ivy. “What can I get you?”

Forget the beer. She needed something stronger. “You have Jose Cuervo Gold?”

“Sure do.”

The wooden legs of Doyle’s stool scraped against the floor as he scooted back and moved to the seat beside Ivy. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Davis is not my boyfriend.”

“You sure? Because he looked pretty goo-goo eyed last time I saw you two together.”

Ivy scooted her stool away. “Could you make it a double, Cal?”

“You think you’re too good to talk to me, Ivy Clark? Because I can tell you right now, you’re not.” Doyle held up his fist, showcasing what she could only presume to be one of his state championship football rings.

She couldn’t help herself—the eye roll came on its own volition.

His eyes narrowed. “I know women like you. I was married to a woman like you. Two of them, in fact. Women who think they’re all that and a bag of chips, all because of a pretty face.”

Cal set a shot glass in front of Ivy. “All right, Doyle, you’re done. Get out.”

“What’d I say?”

“You’re disrespecting one of my customers. Which means if you want any more beer tonight, you’re going to have to get it elsewhere.”

“Aw, c’mon, Cal. The game’s not even at halftime.”

“You’re cut off.”

Doyle let out a string of curse words and stood. He threw a wad of bills on the bar and leaned next to Ivy’s ear. “Until we meet again, Ms. Clark.”

His breath was hot and stale on her neck.

“Out, Doyle!”

Laughing, Doyle stumbled outside. Ivy didn’t relax until the door closed.

“You want to be careful around him. Doyle’s a bit of a hothead.” Cal opened the tequila bottle and poured it into her shot glass. It glugged until the golden liquid reached the top.

“Don’t worry. I can handle men like Doyle.” Ivy knocked the drink back, her throat catching fire.

Cal grinned. “So I take it you’re the gal Sara Knight’s been parading around town. The one organizing that fashion show my daughter Rachel’s walking in.”

Ivy tapped her empty shot glass on the bar. “That would be me.”

“My wife Trudy told me you were engaged to Davis. Then my sister Barbara Jean says you’re his cousin. You don’t seem the type to marry your cousin.”

Ivy twirled her hand. “You going to pour me that drink or talk all night?”

His grin widened. “A little spitfire, aren’t you?” He poured her another round. “Isn’t Sara’s party tonight?”

“Sure is.” Ivy emptied her glass and pursed her lips. Man, that burned.

“What are you doing here, then?”

“That’s a great question.” She folded her arms over the bar, the alcohol starting a fire in her stomach. Davis had disinvited her—but so what? He wasn’t the party police. It wasn’t even his party. She looked around the bar. She could sit here and sulk all night, worrying about Bruce’s visit tomorrow, or she could go to Sara’s party and celebrate with her friend.

Friend.

The word hummed in her throat. That’s what Sara was—a friend. Ivy loved her. And despite what Davis might think, it had nothing to do with New York City. She fished a twenty from her purse, threw it on the bar, and left. She had a party to attend.

34

He had to give his sister credit. She feigned surprise well. Expressed appreciation and gratitude too. Only those weren’t fake. Mom, Mike, Marilyn, and a whole host of party guests swept Sara into hugs, shook her hand, kissed her cheek, wished her happy birthday. His sister—twenty-three. Where had time gone?

He took a sip of his Coke and wrapped his hand around the strap of the Nikon hanging around his neck. Ever since he arrived at Hoppin’ John’s, he’d hidden in the back, away from Grandfather and Grandma Eleanor and Marilyn and Mom and anybody else who might ask about Ivy. What would he tell them? That he’d disinvited her? Marilyn would have his head and Grandfather would shake his hand. Davis didn’t like the thought of either.

Blowing out a deep breath, he ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes. The heated emotions of anger and betrayal had cooled into a sludge of regret and embarrassment. He’d overreacted. So Ivy wanted him to go to New York City. There was no reason for it to come as such a huge shock.

But it had.

It really had. All this time, he’d thought she cared for him as much as he cared for her. Bruce’s news wounded his pride, and just as he’d lashed out at Sara in New York City two years ago, he’d done the exact same thing to Ivy in that boutique. To make matters worse, he’d thrown money at her.

Once Sara emerged from all the guests, he stood from his back-corner seat and wrapped her in a hug. “Happy birthday.”

She hugged him back. “Where’s Ivy?”

He stepped back and scratched the back of his neck, Sara’s eager expression exacerbating his jerk-like feelings. “I’m not sure.”

“Weren’t you supposed to come together?”

“Um …” What could he say? He couldn’t lie. But telling the truth would only make her angry, especially after their heated conversation at the house earlier today. Sara was already annoyed with him. Did he need to make it worse?

Thankfully, Mom saved him from answering. She glided over and gripped Sara’s shoulders. “Were you surprised or what?” She winked and nodded at Davis’s Nikon. “Picture time!”

Mom and Sara flashed identical smiles.