Chapter Ten

Ivy’s manager returned her call later that evening, skipping the pleasantries, as usual. “And I quote,” he began, “ ‘Blake Chamberlain has an excellent penis! It is quite large and he is very skilled in using it.’ ”

Ivy groaned into the phone. She had forgotten about saying that. Of course Nash would be there to record it. “He was filming longer than I thought.” She had deliberately avoided the Internet since that incident, not wanting to know what would show up about her this time. “How bad is it?”

“Well, TMZ and a couple of other entertainment news sites have picked up Nash’s video. Most of the audio is bad and the dialogue undecipherable, but for some reason, you seem to have shouted that part about Blake’s penis. They’re having a field day with it, of course. Care to fill me in?”

Ivy sighed. “I was apologizing to him about the song. It wasn’t about his penis, we all know that. When I said that last part, he asked me to repeat it louder, so I did. I hadn’t seen a single photographer since I got here. I thought it was safe.”

Kevin chuckled. He’d been working with Ivy too long to be fazed by the drama that seemed to follow her around. “How many times have I told you? You have to live your life as though someone is always taping you. It might have been safe before, but Rosewood is officially contaminated. If you haven’t noticed the reporters sniffing around already, you will. The video has sparked quite a bit of interest.”

Ivy frowned and sank into her kitchen chair. “You’re probably right. But what are they interested in? That thing in the alley was embarrassing, but there’s not much more to it.”

“Well,” Kevin explained, “there’s buzz going around that you and Blake have copious amounts of sexual tension. Apparently the hug you shared seemed to cross a boundary or two. Their tongues are wagging at the thought of you reconciling with the man who started your whole man-bashing career. They are, of course, more interested in the inevitable fallout and what song you’ll write about him this time.”

“Just great,” Ivy said. Although she was thankful to have her name in the press for something unrelated to Sterling Marshall, she really wished it wasn’t about Blake. She’d just apologized to him for the last time he’d been dragged into the spotlight. Now she’d have to do it again.

“So what is going on with you two?”

“I, uhh . . .” Ivy was at a loss. What was going on? She didn’t know. They’d apologized and hugged. She’d agreed to go to the fair with him tomorrow. That was all, really, but if the Internet saw more, maybe they were right. She’d felt . . . something between them. She wasn’t about to share that fact with her manager, however, until she knew what that something was.

“Nothing, really,” she explained. “There’s certainly not a reconciliation in the works, nor will there be another song about him. I owe him that much. Since I’ve arrived all we’ve done is fight. We were trying to be adults and talk out our issues before all the activities we have to do together begin.”

“What activities?” Kevin asked.

“So you didn’t know?” Ivy was a bit relieved that Kevin hadn’t kept those details from her.

“Know what?”

“That I’m attached at the hip to Blake for the next couple of weeks. It was all part of the big plan. We’re the town celebrities,” she said, mimicking Gloria’s tone. “Having a private discussion in an alley to clear the air was preferable to having a knock-down, drag-out argument while the papier-mâché float we’re forced to ride on together makes its way down Main Street.”

Ivy didn’t have to see Kevin to know his eyes were squeezed shut and he was rubbing his balding head. He always did that when he got news he didn’t like. “So you two are good now? No more fighting?”

Ivy certainly hoped so. It was exhausting. “I think so.”

“Well, even though the video is a minor glitch, it was a good plan. You were right to try to clear the air before everything got under way.”

“So what do we do now that the press is in town?”

“You focus on what you’re there to do. Try not to cause any more scenes in public and I’ll take care of the rest. I spoke to your publicist this afternoon. She’s going to put together a few press releases about the tornado and the upcoming fund-raisers in Rosewood. With the video of you two center stage, we can promote why you’re there and all the good you’re doing for your hometown.”

That was probably the best plan. Since everyone already knew she was here, there wasn’t any sense in trying to keep quiet about it when she could be drawing national attention to the cause. The peace was most certainly over, though. “The press will be all over me at the fair tomorrow night.”

“Maybe, but that’s the point, as you well know. The press uses us and we use the press. If they want to write about you and Blake, make them talk about the fund-raiser you’re doing together. It will draw the national attention the cause needs. We need to sell concert tickets and drum up online donations. Every time that video of you two is played, I want ‘Text ROSEWOOD to 55515 to donate ten dollars to the tornado fund’ coming up.”

“That sounds like a good plan. I’ll try to stay out of trouble,” Ivy said. “But I make no promises.”

Kevin’s low chuckle rumbled in her ear. “I know, Ivy. Trouble just seems to find you.”

The lights of the rides were starting to glow brighter against the darkening late-summer sunset. The music from different games and booths filled the air, along with the tantalizing scents of funnel cakes, roasted corn, and ribbon potatoes.

Blake loved the fair. Since he was a football player, his favorite time of year was the fall, and the fair was the official kickoff to the season. Going forward there would be cooler temperatures, shorter days, and crunching leaves. And football, of course. But it all started with candied apples and rides on the Tilt-a-Whirl.

The only thing between Blake and a night at the fair with Ivy was a big yellow ribbon.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mayor Gallagher said to the eager crowd. “Thank you for joining us on opening night of the forty-second annual county fair. We’ve got plenty of games and treats to delight the senses. Remember, twenty-five percent of the proceeds go to the Rosewood Gymnasium Fund, so don’t hold back! It’s for a good cause!”

Ivy was standing beside Blake, waiting to cut the ribbon. Why it took both of them, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t complain about being near her. She looked really lovely tonight.

Her dark hair was up in a sleek ponytail, highlighting her high cheekbones. Her makeup was flawless, with mysterious cat eyes and a dark plum color on her lips. She was wearing a silky dark purple top with a snug pair of skinny jeans that had a rhinestone design on the rear pockets. He’d only looked because they caught the light, of course.

Part of him hoped she’d dressed up for their night together, but it was more than likely for the cameras. Blake spotted at least six unfamiliar men with cameras in the crowd. It hadn’t taken long for those rental cars to start spawning photographers. Clark Newton with the Rosewood Times didn’t stand a chance against these guys.

Blake hadn’t been able to shake the constant sensation that he was being watched all day. They’d photographed him on the field. Walking to and from the school parking lot. He visited his sister Maddie at the bakery to pick up a cupcake, and the next thing he knew, Grant texted him that there were pictures online of him eating cupcakes.

Was that really interesting to people? They were shooting anything and everything they could while they waited to catch him and Ivy together. Tonight would be their first real chance at a photo worth taking, but Blake wasn’t certain what they would capture. He and Ivy were going to the fair together, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a date. He’d told her not to worry about labeling it, to take it as it came, but then he did the same thing.

He still didn’t know what was going on between them. Blake had gotten used to the fighting. He’d spent six years being angry with Ivy, and her arrival in town had allowed him to vent all his pent-up frustration.

Now the hatchet was buried. Whether or not she’d meant to, she’d announced to the whole world that his penis was not the Vienna sausage she’d led them to believe. He was happy about that, but honestly it hadn’t done him much good. The damage was done. All the video got him was a couple of texts from Lydia sniffing around for another date.

Not going to happen. As expected, Blake easily spotted her at the edge of the crowd. She kept flipping her blond hair over her shoulder and reapplying her lip gloss while she watched him on the stage. He hated the way Lydia looked at him. There was a predatory edge in her gaze that unnerved him. The kind that made him think she wanted him, but if she couldn’t have him, no one else would, either.

Thank goodness he’d convinced Ivy to hang out with him tonight.

The mayor turned around and handed him a large, golden pair of scissors. They were ridiculously big and quite heavy. It made Blake wonder if every town had one of these stashed away for ribbon-cutting events.

“And now, Grammy Award–winning music sensation Ivy Hudson and former Auburn and Houston Texans quarterback Blake Chamberlain will cut the ribbon and kick off the fair.”

Blake looked at Ivy and gestured for her to go ahead of him down the stairs. They walked over to the ribbon that crossed the archway leading to the fairgrounds. Once in place, he held out the scissors so she could take half.

She hadn’t really looked at him or spoken to him tonight. He figured it was because of all the cameras, but as she reached for the golden handle she gave him half a smile and a little wink. Together, they opened the scissors and slipped them into place.

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 trees.

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.”