Snowed In with Her Ex (4 page)

“Thanks,” she said before tentatively sipping a spoonful of the hot soup. “I’m not much of a cook. It’ll probably be all downhill from here. Amelia won’t even let me help in the kitchen when she’s slammed.”

“Who is Amelia?”

“One of my business partners at From This Moment. She’s the caterer. You’d much rather be snowed in with her, I assure you. First-class cuisine all the way.”

Ian sincerely doubted that. He’d take Bree’s company and grilled cheese any day. “Does the wedding business take up all your time, or do you still have the opportunity to do the artistic photography you did back in school?”

A soft smile curled Bree’s lips. “I do. This year, I’ve done a black-and-white series called ‘The Other Side of Nashville.’ I wanted to show the parts that most people don’t think of. There’s no country music, no cowboy boots. Just a collection of places I love and people who look less like Grand Ole Opry stars and more like middle America.”

That was the Bree he remembered. The one who hated posed pictures. “Are you doing a show? I thought I heard you talking on the phone to someone at the Whitman Gallery earlier today.”

“Yes.” She brushed a stray stand of blond hair behind her ear. “It’s the Sunday after next. I was supposed to have my last meeting with the curator tomorrow, but I obviously had to cancel. I’m going to meet with her as soon as I can get back to Nashville.”

“Is this your first show at the Whitman Gallery?”

“It’s my first show anywhere since college. And those hardly counted. I couldn’t really focus on my art the first few years after we started From This Moment. Even though we all had our specialties, we had to roll up our sleeves and do everything from setting up chairs to sweeping floors. We couldn’t afford to hire anyone to help us for a while. If I wasn’t taking pictures, there were a million other things to be done. The last year or so, that changed. That’s when I started my new collection.”

Ian appreciated her work ethic. As fresh meat at the record studio, he’d sorted mail, emptied trash, fetched sparkling water for the singers...anything and everything they asked of him. That was just what you had to do.

“So tell me about the business you guys have going. Judging by what you’ve said and the estimate I received, you all are doing quite well now.”

Bree chuckled. “Not all our weddings are on the same scale as yours. We have everything from week-long million-dollar extravaganzas to couples that elope in the garden with only their parents. Whatever a bride wants, we can make it happen.”

“How did you start all this?”

“I met the others when I transferred to UT. During our senior year, while we were trying to think of what we wanted to do with our lives, one of us came up with the idea of a wedding facility. A friend had gotten engaged and complained that it was hard to find the right kind of venue that wasn’t at a church or wasn’t a tacky, in-and-out kind of chapel. We spent months putting together our grand plan and trying to round up investors.”

“I can imagine it wasn’t cheap to get off the ground.”

“Oh, no. Even with some startup investments and money from my dad, we’re mortgaged to our eyeballs. The initial costs were astronomical, but that’s because you have to buy all the things you’ll use repeatedly over the years like chairs and tables and stemware. Once you’ve got it, though, you’ve got it, and our expenses have gone down over time. Like I said, it took several years of hard work, but we’ve managed to make a profit every year. The facility itself will take a long time to pay off, but that’s the nature of the business.”

“Did you buy a place and renovate it?”

“No. We bought land and built everything exactly the way we wanted it. Natalie had a vision of how it should be laid out, and there was nothing even close on the market. Having a dad in the construction business certainly helped there. I probably saw him more that year than I did all the years before it.”

Ian noticed the faint bitterness in her voice when she spoke. He knew her words earlier hadn’t been solely intended to antagonize him. She’d meant them. She knew what it was like to be the child of a busy, driven man. He never wanted to do that to a child, which is why he’d deliberately not married or started a family. Missy getting pregnant was a mistake. Until he held his child in his arms, it would be hard to think otherwise.

“So...care to tell me what’s going on with you and your pop star? It doesn’t exactly sound like you two are living the fairy tale the magazines are reporting.”

Ian sighed. “Can’t we talk more about your photography? It’s far less depressing.”

Bree set down her spoon and crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, Ian. From what you told me earlier, seems like you need someone to talk to.”

He popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth and stood up. “Wine first,” he said, carrying his plate back into the kitchen. He opened the small wine chiller and perused the collection. A nice 1993 chardonnay ought to do the trick. “You want some?”

“Sure,” she said, following him in and putting her dishes into the dishwasher. By the time she turned around, he’d poured two generous glasses and had one held out to her.

“So, Missy and I...” he began as he took a sip and walked into the living room. Ian settled into the large leather chair by the fireplace. “Were never really Missy and I. I signed her to my label three years ago. She was one of my first. She was on the brink of hitting it big and I signed her just in time. I’ve made a fortune on her, don’t get me wrong, but she’s been a handful from the start.”

He paused to look at Bree. She was curled up in the chair on the other side of the hearth, listening intently. It was easy talking to her. It always had been. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed that until this moment. He hadn’t had any long, meaningful conversations that weren’t about the business in quite a while.

“Her contract ended with this last album. It didn’t do well. Her single barely cracked the Top 40. I wasn’t happy with her, but she wasn’t interested in anyone’s opinion. It wasn’t until I told her manager I wasn’t going to renew her contract that she came around. Suddenly, she was all rainbows and sunshine.”

That should’ve been his first clue. “One night she came in after hours. No one was there but me by then. It was nearly nine. She brought a sack of hand-rolled sushi and a bottle of premium sake. Missy said it was a peace offering. While we ate, she apologized for the way she’d acted. She was attentive, she was sweet and, before I knew it, the bottle of sake was empty and she was in my arms.”

“She’s smarter than she looks,” Bree said.

“She definitely has a head for business, and I’m pretty sure our relationship is just business to her. She’s certainly sold every moment to the press. To me, it was just a mistake I couldn’t quite untangle myself from. I asked her over for dinner one night, fully intending to break it off. It had only been a few weeks, but it just wasn’t working for me. She’d gone back to her old diva ways and nothing made up for that. The words were on the tip of my tongue when she told me she wanted to give me a present. Wrapped in a box with a shiny bow was the positive pregnancy test.”

“Wow” was Bree’s only response.

“I don’t know how it happened. I’d taken every precaution. You remember how militant I was about using protection. But as Missy says, it must be meant to be. So we’re getting married.”

Bree studied him, the flickering flames of the fireplace dancing light and shadow across her face. “You know you don’t have to marry her. You can still be a part of your child’s life without marrying his or her mother.”

At that, Ian vehemently shook his head. “You know that’s not an option, Bree. Even if I financially supported our child and spent every moment I could with him or her, it wouldn’t be the same. I want to do what’s right for my child. I’m not going to be like my father and walk away from my responsibilities.”

“How happy of a family will you be if you don’t love his mother?”

Ian slammed back the rest of his wine. “Missy is having my child. We’re getting married. End of story.”

Four

“T
he internet isn’t working.”

Bree was admiring the wooden beams of the vaulted ceiling when Ian made his announcement. When the sun went down, she decided she was done worrying about work and their awkward circumstances. She was going to make the best of this situation. She’d gotten her camera out of her bag and started taking pictures of the beautiful details in the cabin. The craftsmanship that had gone into building this place was unbelievable. Ian had come a long, long way from the small, run-down apartment he’d grown up in.

She turned to find Ian checking the router and growling at it. From across the room she could see the lights weren’t flashing like they should be. “It isn’t? It was working a little while ago.”

She watched him get up and walk over to the phone. He picked it up, listened for a moment and then put it down with a curse. “That’s why. The phones are out. I have DSL out here.”

“At least we still have our cell phones,” Bree said brightly. “And power.” With this storm and the low temperatures, power was critical. She was going to recommend they bring in some wood for the fireplace just in case the electricity went out in the night.

Ian eyed her, significantly less optimistic about their circumstances than she was. He walked back to his computer, grumbling the whole way. Bree returned to taking pictures of the hand-carved mantel around the fireplace and the painting she thought might be an actual Rembrandt mounted over it.

“You have got to be kidding me!” she heard him shout after a few seconds.

“What’s the matter?”

He took a deep breath and tossed his phone onto the granite countertop. “I’ve got no bars, no data. Nothing. It hasn’t rung for over an hour, but I thought maybe things were just quiet at the office tonight. I hope the storm didn’t take out the cell tower. Is your phone working?”

Bree went to her purse and pulled out her phone. “No bars,” she confirmed, looking at the grainy black and gray screen.

“What about data?”

She shook her head. “I have a dumb phone. Top of the line circa 2003. No games, no apps, no internet. I’m lucky it has a camera, although I wouldn’t dare take a picture with it. The quality is terrible.”

Ian looked at her as though she had sprouted a second head. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. I only have this one, really, because Natalie insisted she be able to get in touch with me for work. It’s her old Motorola RAZR. I like it. It’s pink.”

“You have a flip phone with no internet. Hell, that thing doesn’t even have a keypad, does it?”

“No. But that’s okay because I don’t text.”

Ian ran his fingers through his hair. “What planet are you from? Seriously, I think you’re the only person I know under the age of
seventy
that doesn’t at least have a phone with the
ability
to get on the internet.”

Bree frowned at him, defensively slipping her maligned phone back into her purse. “It might be able to get on, but I really don’t care. I like the peace and quiet of unplugging. I like that people can’t get ahold of me every second of every day. Sometimes, I actually turn my phone off and forget to turn it back on for days!”

She watched Ian’s eyes widen in horror. “Listen,” she explained, “when I go out into the woods to take pictures, I want to hear birds chirping and water rushing over the rocks, not some cheesy symphonic ringtone of an old eighties tune.”

“If you had a cell phone from this decade, you could have ringtones made of real songs.”

She shook her head. This wasn’t the first time she’d fought this battle. As it was, Natalie made everyone in the office use laptops that detached from the keyboard as a tablet. Natalie was very plugged in, as were Gretchen and Amelia. Like most people were anymore. Bree was just resistant to the constant barrage of technology and information.

“No way. I’ve seen people and their phones these days. It’s like an addiction. They’ve constantly got to check it, even if they’re on a date or have all their friends with them. Who ignores their real friends to post stupid messages to people who are only their friends in cyberspace?
Everyone
, that’s who. I work on computers because I have to, but I prefer to unplug and get away from all that when I can.”

Ian crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in bewilderment. “Well, congratulations. You’ve stumbled into the perfect storm. I, however, feel like my right arm has been amputated. How am I supposed to get anything done without phone or internet service?”

Bree set her camera down on the coffee table and walked over to him. He was tense and twitchy; the type A personality he’d evolved into over the years paced inside of him like a caged tiger. She put her hands on his shoulders to hold him still, ignoring the heat of his body radiating through his shirt. “Relax. Turn off your laptop. It’s after nine on a weeknight. You don’t need to be working, anyway.”

She felt his muscles loosen under her fingertips. He looked around the house, seemingly at a loss. “What will I do, then?”

Bree shrugged. “Do whatever you like. Watch your big-screen television. Listen to music. Read a book. Talk to me. Play billiards downstairs. Enjoy this incredible home that you’ve obviously paid a fortune to own.” He didn’t seem convinced.

“Personally,” she said, “I was thinking about taking a luxurious bubble bath in my garden tub and reading a paperback I picked up last week.”

Ian chuckled. “Don’t tell me, you don’t have an e-reader, either!”

“No!” she said with a laugh, pulling her hands away from him. Touching him for too long was more comfortable than it should have been. When he smiled down at her, it would’ve been easy to lean in and rest her head on his chest. Not an option. Why did she have to keep reminding herself that
she
had broken up with
him
? And for a good reason. A reason that was still very applicable, given how sore he was over losing internet access.

“Maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but I like the smell of the pages and the ink. I like the weight of a book in my hands and the texture of the paper between my fingertips.”

“You’re a Luddite.”

“I have a digital camera!” she countered. She’d only had it three months and she still preferred her old-school SLR camera, but she was getting used to it. She liked being able to take as many shots as she wanted and not worry about wasting the expensive, and getting hard to find, film. “Trust me, that’s progress for me.”

The banter between them seemed pointless, but it had served a purpose. Ian had finally relaxed a little. Making fun of her was apparently a soothing activity for him. Well, whatever helped them pass the time the next few days. If he was mocking her, maybe she wouldn’t notice the full lips doing it or the way his emerald-green eyes watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“You’re just going to read your paperback book and leave me here twiddling my thumbs?”

He looked pretty pathetic, like a lonely child. She supposed the book could wait. “Do you have games or something? Cards, maybe?”

Ian shrugged. “I have no idea. My family might have brought some games up here. I’m usually here alone, so I don’t play games aside from the ones on my iPad.”

Bree walked over to the closet by the stairs. “Let’s see what we can find. A rowdy game of Scrabble or Sorry! could help pass the time.” She opened the door and flipped on the light, which illuminated a stash of cleaning supplies and a bookshelf filled with assorted games, puzzles and crafts. “Yep, here we go. You’ve got Monopoly, Life, Clue, Sorry!, Scrabble and a couple decks of cards.”

“Pick whatever you want. I really don’t care.”

Bree reached out for one of the games and noticed a familiar shape sticking out from behind the shelf. A dusty, old acoustic guitar was propped in the corner. Bypassing the games she’d come in search of, she reached down and picked it up.

After pulling the strap over her shoulder, she made a poor attempt at strumming it. “What have we here?”

“Did you—?” He stopped speaking when he saw her come out of the closet with the guitar. “That’s not Scrabble,” he noted.

“Nope, but I found something better,” she said in a singsong voice, continuing to fumble at the strings. She had zero musical ability. She had an eye for beauty, not an ear for it. That didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate it in others. Few things had ever been as soothing to her as the sound of Ian strumming his guitar and singing to her.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could get him to play for her again? It would be amazing to hear him after all these years. Then, maybe, for a short time, she could be reminded of the man he’d been
before
. She missed that Ian.

Ian took a few steps back from her as she came closer with it. Apparently, the idea was not as intriguing to him. “I thought I threw that out,” he noted with a look of distaste.

“I don’t know much about musical instruments,” Bree said, “but I can tell this is a high-quality guitar. Don’t you dare throw it out.”

“It’s old. The same one I had in college, actually.”

“That’s like saying a Stradivarius is an old violin so it should be thrown away. Is it really the same one you used to play at the Coffee Bean?”

“Yes. Flip it over, you’ll see.”

Bree lifted it off her shoulder to examine the back. There, carved ever so carefully was “IL & BH Forever.” It was the same guitar. She ran her fingers over it, the sight of the familiar carving forming a lump in her throat. She remembered the night he’d put that there with his pocketknife. The memory and the emotions hit her all at once. “That was the night...” she said, her voice drifting off.

“I told you I loved you for the first time.” A faint smile curved his lips as he remembered it, too. “We sat on the lawn outside the quad and looked up at the stars while I played the new song I wrote for you.”

Bree felt the prickle of tears in her eyes. The blanket under the stars, the sweet melody of a love song, the strong arms of a man who loved her... When he’d carved their initials into the guitar, it had felt as if they were sealing their future together. It was the most romantic night of her life. Nothing before or since had ever come close to that moment. How many women had had a man write a song for them? It was a sentimental, romantic tune that had made her eighteen-year-old heart thump like a jackhammer in her chest when she’d heard it.

“‘I’ll Love You Forever, And Then Some,’” she said. Ian had been such a talented artist. He was gifted with an ear for melody and a perfect lyric. His stuff was better than most of what she heard on the radio these days. “I might be partial to it, but I always thought that was your best song.”

Ian nodded. “I thought it was, too.” He reached out and took the guitar from her. Her breath stilled in her lungs for a moment, thinking he might play a song or two for old time’s sake. She longed to see him play again, to sing the way he used to. To feel that flutter of excitement and desire curling in her belly. Ian was a handsome man, but she was never as attracted to him as she was when he played.

Instead, he held it by the neck at a distance, as though it might contaminate him if it got too close. “It’s a shame my advisor disagreed.”

He brushed past her to the closet and unceremoniously flung the guitar back inside. With a slam of the door, he turned back to her with a pained expression lining his brow. “But he was right,” he said. “After years in the music industry, I know better now. He wasn’t being cruel—he was being kind. Someone had to tell me I wasn’t good enough.”

At that, Ian turned and disappeared into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

With a disappointed sigh, Bree made her way to the staircase. Maybe it was just as well. She couldn’t afford to lose control and act on her building need for Ian. With that guitar in the closet, her desire could also stay firmly locked away.

* * *

Damn that stupid guitar.

What the hell was it doing here, anyway? Ian paced around his bedroom, irritation surging through his veins. He’d paid movers to bring furniture and some personal items to the house after it had been built. They must have grabbed it by mistake. He certainly hadn’t brought it, and his mother knew better than to bring a musical instrument into the house.

How many times had he been up here and never known it was hidden away? And of all the people to find it—it had to be Bree!

With a sigh, he flopped down onto his bed and dropped his head into his hands. That stupid guitar had flooded his brain with memories he didn’t need right now. Good ones of loving Bree and bad ones about losing his musical career. Either way, he had no use for the thoughts and images that haunted him. He was going after that guitar with an ax first thing in the morning. It would make good kindling for the fire.

Not long after he went into his room, he heard the water running upstairs. He assumed that it was Bree taking the bath she’d mentioned. That didn’t help matters. The sound brought to mind unwelcome images of her creamy, naked skin, slick with soap and glistening in the steaming, hot water.

Maybe he could break the guitar by repeatedly bashing it against his skull until every thought about Bree was driven from his mind.

He loathed himself in that moment. Ian wasn’t his own biggest fan to begin with, but he’d really taken the crappy cake this time. He was not allowed to be attracted to Bree. He was engaged to Missy. He was determined to be a good father, better than his own. That meant marrying the mother of his child and being a part of his life, whether it made him happy or not. He knew what it was like to not feel important enough to matter. Ian might not be happy about the turn his life had taken, but he would never, ever let his child feel that way. His son or daughter would feel loved, special, important... He would see to that.

Being attracted to someone else while the future mother of his child was miles away was an epically bad start.

Ian needed a distraction. He picked up a random book from his bookshelf and forced himself to read it for nearly an hour. By then, he thought perhaps the phone gods had smiled on his pathetic situation and brought back his connection to the world. As he slipped from his room, the house was quiet. Bree was probably asleep by now. He ventured back out into the living room and found that all the lights were off on the ground floor. Only the small light over the kitchen sink was burning. His phone was on the counter where he’d left it. There was still no connection, making it just as useless as before, except now it also needed charging. He dug the cord out of his bag and plugged it in by the coffeepot.