Chapter Fifteen
“I vy, dear, would you be able to attend our next meeting for the Hazard Historical Society?”
“Wait. Why?”
Ivy’s aunt Lydia was seated in the tea shop with the rest of her cronies, as usual. Her hands neatly folded on the table, hinted at an effort to appear innocent. Ivy knew all four of the pillars disapproved of her idea of baking more cookies and using the charmed cookie press, but her aunt especially had been on a mission to keep her distracted from her plan by finding inane tasks for her to complete.
First, it was cleaning the new batch of flowers that arrived late one night at the shop—after the employees had gone home. No doubt it was all orchestrated, just so she would have to help. It certainly could have waited until morning. Ivy figured it might even have cost her aunt extra to have the flowers delivered in the evening.
Next it was helping her aunt find a new dress for the Hazard Historical Society fundraiser, scheduled for Memorial Day weekend. Her aunt already owned about twenty suitable frocks. But, no, they needed to drive to Newport on Ivy’s day off. And last had been putting up flyers to find Hazel’s missing cat, which at the end of the day turned out to have never been missing at all. All this to keep her distracted from baking cookies she actually had ready and waiting for the perfect moment to gift to Jaxon.
Ivy narrowed her eyes and waited for her aunt’s reply. It was Hazel who answered. “We need you to take notes this month.” She toyed with the bow on today’s kettle brim hat and wouldn’t quite meet Ivy’s eyes. When Ivy waited her out, Hazel opened her own eyes wide in practiced guilelessness. “You don’t mind, do you? It would be such a help.”
“Notes.” Ivy glanced at Marjorie, the historical society’s secretary, and raised an eyebrow.
With a soft sigh, Marjorie raised her right hand, thickly bandaged. “I had an incident at the tree farm and crushed my hand under a log.” At Ivy’s gasp, she added quickly, “Oh, not too badly, but I won’t be able to take the minutes this month. It’ll be fine in a couple of weeks. Really. Don’t fret.”
“You don’t mind, do you, dear?” Aunt Lydia spoke a bit too sweetly, which told Ivy they were all in cahoots. Certainly any of the others could take the notes. They didn’t need a fifth wheel. They’d managed perfectly on their own for years. Although, as Ivy paused to study each one in turn, she saw that they were getting up in years. In the last three months they had started hinting about bringing some young blood into the historical society to make sure it continued on. It was a little dramatic. None of them were all so old that they couldn’t do the work. All of them, except Hazel, still ran their own businesses, but Ivy supposed it was a legacy to pass onto their heirs. Ivy and Holly were included in that.
Whether or not the injury was real remained in question. Still, it probably was, as Marjorie was likely the most honest person Ivy knew.
She gave a nod. She could certainly help. “Will it be fun?”
Lydia gave her a bright smile. “So much fun. That’s my girl.”
“What time do you need me?”
“Six o’clock tonight. It only takes us an hour to go through the agenda.”
“At the town hall on the corner?”
“Oh, no dear, we’ve started meeting at the mansions. Tonight, we’ll be at Oleander House.”
Oleander House was a stately Georgian Colonial in the south of town. “All the way out there?”
“We’re working on the tours, and it’s so much more inspiring to meet in the proper setting. You don’t mind, do you, dear?”
“No, of course not.” Oleander House had belonged to her family for more than two hundred and fifty years. Her first ancestor to arrive in Rhode Island had built it for his long-lost love in the hope that she would one day join him, but she perished in the French Revolution. So, the house was named after a poisonous bush that only sounded pretty. The house itself was magnificent, or had been in its heyday. Her ancestor eventually married a local girl. Her aunt, generations later, had grown up in the house.
Ivy had never lived in it. By the time her parents moved here with their two daughters, the mansion had been under renovation. It had remained under repair as long as Ivy had lived here, until three years ago when it was added as one of the mansions in the Hazard Historical Society’s nonprofit, along with her aunt as a member. It was only recently that the historical society was able to afford the remaining renovations to restore the Georgian Colonial to its former glory.
It might be good, Ivy decided, to see its progress. She knew the new docent had begun giving tours, and she had yet to go on one, though, it sounded as though her aunt wanted to improve the script for the tours. It might be interesting to learn what she wanted to change.
At least she didn’t have any dates tonight, thank goodness. She was primed to accept defeat and lose the bet. After her last dating disaster, really, cleaning up the bakery for a month sounded routine. It wasn’t as if the one person she wanted to go out with would ask her.
Her eyes wandered to the glass jar where her latest batch of cookies waited. She needed the right moment to present them to Jaxon, when he was alone and might actually taste one. She glanced at the cookie press on the wall. The pillars must have noted her do it, because they immediately sought to draw her attention back to them.
“So, we’ll see you tonight at six. Excellent.” Lydia clapped her hands, and Ivy nodded. She left them to their plotting and returned to welcoming and serving the continual stream of customers pouring into her shop. At this rate, she might need to hire an employee.
As she was ready to clear out for the day, Holly popped in and startled her.
“Hey,” she said from right beside her ear. Ivy jumped a foot in the air.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?” Holly was all innocence. But she knew what she did. She did it on purpose. Holly loved stomping, but since losing twenty pounds in the last year, she delighted in stepping lightly. She switched to soft shoes that made no sound whenever she wanted to be sneaky. Ivy, used to her clomping, would have to adapt.
“What’s this?” Holly stared at the special glass jar of cookies Ivy was saving for Jaxon before reaching for it and drawing it in close to her body.
“Mine.” Ivy reached for them, but Holly swiveled away with the jar before Ivy could grab it.
“Let’s see.” She tried prying the lid up, but it held tight.
“They’re cookies.” Ivy was about to add, and not for you , but that sounded churlish, like an argument they might have had as children. “I’m saving them,” she said instead. Holly shrugged and frowned as she handed the glass jar back, her fingers brushing over the raised etching. She briefly gripped it tight again, before relinquishing her grasp.
Ivy took the jar carefully and refrained from blowing out a relieved breath. She didn’t want to reveal how important they were. She didn’t trust her sister that much. She loved her, yes, but Holly, as Jaxon had pointed out in their conversation on the green, was a taker. This was one thing Ivy didn’t want to give. Not this time.
She set the glass jar back in its place of honor above her tea sets. The track lighting around the edge of the ceiling illuminated the etched floral design. Light reflected off the glass with a unique glow. The floral pattern swirled, almost moving on its own. Mesmerized, Ivy almost couldn’t bring herself to look away. When she turned back, she saw it having a similar effect on her sister.
“I’m helping the historical society tonight.” She spoke a bit too brightly to get Holly’s focus off the jar.
Her sister blinked owlishly. “Don’t tell me they’ve succeeded with you. They tried to rope me into their machinations last month. You’re too easy. What do they have you doing?”
“Just taking the minutes. Marjorie hurt her hand,” Ivy added quickly, “I’m not on the board.”
“You’re not on the board, yet . Be careful. They’ve got elections coming up. You’ll find yourself with another commitment.”
Ivy paused to consider. Would that be so bad? Jaxon had lots of commitments in the community. She could put herself out there a little more. It might be good for business to be more involved in Hazard. “It’s at Oleander House.”
“Oh.” Holly’s tone held an odd note.
“What?”
Holly shook her head. “They’re roping you in. You haven’t seen the house since the renovations. It’s spectacular. You’ll love it. You will never want to leave.”
Ivy scoffed.
“No, truly. No detail was spared. The wallpaper, the carpets, the furniture, the art—all authentic. The”—Holly paused dramatically, her voice just a whisper as she spoke the next word—“dishes.”
“Dishes?” Ivy met her eyes.
“Dishes. Everyone knows how you delight in china patterns.” Holly gave a head tilt and a shrug. “You’re a goner.”
“Nonsense, I have dishes. Lots of them.” Ivy waved a hand at her pretty little tea sets all lined up and waiting for tomorrow’s customers. “What could they have that’s better than these? I’ve got Russian, French, Dutch, American Colonial, along with modern Lenox, Noritake, and Mikasa. I have all the dishes I could possibly need.”
At Holly’s knowing expression, she added, “Really? The dishes are that great?”
“You’ll see.”
*
Ivy arrived at Oleander House a good twenty minutes early. She was hoping for a chance to poke around a little before she was sucked into the Hazard Historical Society’s agenda for the evening. Holly’s words had sparked her curiosity. Could the dishes be as magnificent as Holly made them sound? Ivy paused to take in the stately Georgian Colonial mansion before her. Oleander House was a modest name for a structure so grand. She knew it had been built in the late 1700s after the fourth son traveled to Rhode Island from France, just a decade prior to the French Revolution. Traditionally the first son was the heir, the second conscripted for the military, and the third destined for the church. A fourth son was required to make his own way in the world. Her ancestor’s timing had allowed him to keep what wealth he’d been permitted to take with him, with all the rest being lost as his family, along with his sweetheart, had been wiped out.
Ivy climbed the wide stone steps, with planters placed at intervals along the sides. Abundant blooms spilled from them all the way up to the entrance, big hydrangea blossoms in a multitude of white and pink and blue. Stunning.
She ran into Malory Stone at the door. Malory stood and waited. Hazel had it right. The thin woman’s expression was grim. She stood straight and rigid, motioning Ivy in as if she owned the house. In a way, as the docent, she was the hostess.
Ivy stepped inside, and her words fled. Holly was right. This was perfect. She paused to let the opulence seep into her. The colorful, hand-knotted carpet, true to the era, inspired thoughts of a sunrise. Framed art featured family portraits of her ancestors. She recognized the arrogant gaze of her sister and her aunt. Well, at least they came by their lofty view of the world honestly. The costuming of the figures ranged from the 1700s styles to the early 1900s.
“Come,” said Malory, “the meeting will be in here.” Ivy tread carefully behind the woman to the dining room, barely resisting the urge to tiptoe. Malory flipped a switch and a chandelier sprang to life, casting warm light sparkling into the corners, chasing away the shadows. A long, teakwood table gleamed, with a runner of tatted, ivory thread. A silver tray edged in gold and on it… “Oh! Oh, my.” A china teapot in Famille Rose with delicate flowers hand-painted in pink and carmine had Ivy catching her breath. “Where did they find it? I thought it was lost.”
Malory nodded. “From far and wide. I excel at acquisitions of this kind. The research required draws me in. We now have a complete set of twenty-four place settings,” she said, clearly comfortable with touting her accomplishments.
“Twenty-four—ooh.” Ivy would love to borrow a few, but Lydia would probably say no. But if she were part of the historical society, she might have a teeny, tiny bit of influence and could call in a favor.
She shook her head. Holly was right. The pillars were reeling her in, like a striped bass on a line.
“Have a seat. The board should arrive shortly.”
“How do you like your job?”
“Honestly?” For an instant, Malory’s expression transformed from grim to enraptured. Just like Ivy felt.
“It’s an ideal fit, but I’m not sure the society thinks so. I’m sorry, I spoke out of turn.”
“It’s all right. You were a docent before?”
“No, I—well—I can bring a lot to the society. I’m a historian and well-versed in the eras of the mansions. My education includes extensive study in interior design and décor. I enjoy finding the proper pieces to furnish the mansions. Much gets lost over time. Pieces are sold, damaged, discarded. Finding the proper items to furnish the rooms to look as they did back in the day is my favorite part. Oleander House is ready for tours. We just need to finalize the script. I’ve made suggestions, but Lydia is quite particular. And, of course, Hazel has her own ideas, even though this isn’t her mansion.” Malory grimaced. “Hazel and I clash. If I don’t stay on in this job, it will be due to Mrs. Bestwick.”
The front door opened, and Ivy heard her aunt you-who-ing. She wanted to ask Malory what she meant: if the discord between her and Hazel would lead to her deciding to move on, or if Hazel would attempt to oust her. Either was possible. For all that Hazel looked like a harmless old lady, she was a pistol and when pointed at you could be downright dangerous.
Lydia’s heels clacked her way across the wood floor of the foyer, and Malory winced. Ivy bit back a smile. Oleander House was part of the Hazard Historical Society now, but it had been Lydia’s inheritance. Ivy’s mother had a small interest which one day would be transferred to her and her sister, but Holly had no desire to be involved. Now that the nonprofit had been formed, it wasn’t profitable in a way to suit her sister.
“Ah, there you both are. What do you think, dear? Did you get a chance to view the whole house?”
“No, not yet.”
Lydia frowned disapproval at Malory, and Ivy jumped in to smooth it over. It wasn’t Malory’s fault that Ivy had arrived when she did. “I just got here. I’ll make time to tour the house later. I promise.” Ivy could see, even just from her aunt’s expression, that Malory was somehow in disfavor with her employers. She couldn’t imagine why. Really, who else would they find to come to the little town of Hazard to be so devoted to these mansions? The job couldn’t pay well. Not for a nonprofit. It was evident from the opulence of the room that most of the funds were going into renovation and refurbishment.
Seymour arrived next, his hair in crazy disarray as if he’d braved a tornado to get in the door. Next, Hazel tottered in. For someone who could be such a force she seemed frail, so much more than usual. Malory disappeared the moment Hazel entered and reappeared with a tea tray just as Marjorie arrived, her bright red hair in pin curls that looked windblown as well.
Ivy paused to wonder what she had stirred up with her cookie press. It’s like she had set loose the winds of change on her small community.
“Oh, my dear, I’m so glad you could make it.” Marjorie waved her tightly bandaged hand for effect.
Ivy bit back a smile. “My pleasure.”
Marjorie slid a binder over to her just as Ivy pulled out a laptop from her satchel. The older woman shook her head, curls bobbing. “No, no, use the binder to take the minutes.”
“But wouldn’t it be more efficient…” Ivy’s words trailed off as they all scowled at her. Ivy threw a glance at Malory, who shrugged, as if to say, See what I’m up against?
The society were all seated around the table, and Malory began to pour. She apparently knew how each took their tea, which Ivy also knew of course, but she found it remarkable that Malory did as well. This must be the usual pattern of the meetings. The board sitting regally, and Malory serving. It took Ivy back in time, she supposed, to a day when the original owners would have had servants to attend them.
Malory was using the Famille Rose dishes, and it thrilled Ivy no end. Malory raised an eyebrow at Ivy as if to ask how she took her tea. Ivy blinked. “Oh, one sugar, thank you.” It was so rare to be served tea by anyone other than herself. It made her feel awkward and honored at the same time. Once everyone was situated, Hazel placed her hands on the table and pushed herself up to stand. She banged her gavel smartly on the wood three times.
Malory winced visibly, her shoulders jerking with each bang of the gavel on wood.
Hazel glared at her, rolled her eyes at the rest of them, and teetered sideways before she caught herself. Ivy glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed, but no one but her seemed aware of Hazel’s sudden show of weakness.
“This meeting of the Hazard Historical Society is now called to order…” Hazel’s glance wandered around the room until it landed on the Georgian Mahogany Bracket Clock. She squinted. “…at 6:08 p.m.”
Ivy snatched a pen from her satchel, flipped to a new page in the binder, and began to take notes.
“Old business. The nonprofit paperwork has been filed for this year. Yes?”
“Oh, yes,” said Marjorie, the society’s secretary. The others let out a relieved sigh. “It was quite the usual ordeal to get it all put together and submitted.”
Hazel nodded. “Now, we can really move forward.” She sounded pleased. “Has the search for a grant writer been successful?” She turned to Seymour, vice president.
“No,” he intoned.
“Has a roofer been found for Sundial Sands?”
“No,” said Lydia, treasurer.
“Has the search for an additional docent been successful?”
“No,” said Marjorie.
Ivy cast a glance at Malory in time to see her shoulders twitch. Surely they didn’t plan to replace her. She was doing an amazing job, and they were going to need more than a single docent for four mansions.
When the topic of the scripts came up, Malory spoke up to offer suggestions. Hazel teetered again and put a hand to her head.
Ivy jumped up and ran around the table. “Here, let me help you.” She eased Hazel into the captain’s chair at the head of the table. “Standing seems an unnecessary effort, and we don’t mind if you sit.”
“It isn’t how it’s done,” murmured Hazel.
“You can make a change. All in favor of Hazel sitting while she conducts business say aye.”
“You’re not a member of the board,” added Hazel.
“Aye,” said everyone at the table.
“Oh, bother,” said Hazel, and pounded her gavel on the table four or five times.
Malory winced again in rhythm to the pounding.
The table was hardwood. The woman could really lighten up.
“Motion passed,” said Hazel, small in the upholstered captain’s chair, the curved arms swallowing her up.
Lydia clapped her hands. “Yay,” she said, and then stopped when no one joined in the cheering.
Seymour rose to a stand, towering over the rest of them. Ivy took her seat at the opposite side of the table while he took over the meeting.
Oh, well, thought Ivy, apparently business is done while standing. No doubt that was how it had always been done.
“On to new business,” he intoned. “Let’s talk about the fundraiser.”
“Oh, oh, I move we hold it inside instead of in the courtyard.” Lydia’s eyes shone with the possibility. She clapped her hands.
“I second the motion,” chirped Hazel.
Ivy glanced at Malory, who appeared queasy at the thought of so many people tromping through the newly restored mansion unsupervised.
“Discussion,” said Seymour.
Ivy raised her hand and waited to be recognized. “What if you held it in the courtyard and gave tours of the inside?”
Malory relaxed perceptibly. A lively discussion ensued on the merits and problems with Ivy’s suggestion. When it was determined that only the foyer, drawing room, and dining room would be open for visitors to roam free, and that the food would remain in the courtyard, Malory sent Ivy a grateful look.
Ivy raised her hand tentatively. “I have another suggestion, well—an offer. I was wondering if you would like me to provide refreshments for the fundraiser.”
They stared at her.
“Holly provides refreshments for local fundraisers, dear,” said her aunt.
Malory spoke up. “What would you suggest?”
“Well, scones, for one. They would be more historically accurate than, say, doughnuts.”
The pillars glanced at each other, communicating silently. Marjorie made a tentative suggestion. “Perhaps if Ivy provided scones and some little savory finger sandwiches?”
Lydia picked up the idea, adding, “…while Holly provided apple turnovers and ham and cheese croissants?”
Ivy jumped in, “I could bring my special tea blend.”
They all frowned. “Which one is that, dear?” asked Hazel. “Surely not My Darling Mint To Be.”
“Or I Pine For You,” added Marjorie, with an apologetic glance at Ivy.
Ivy didn’t yet know what it would be but jumped in anyway. “I’ll have teas that were locally available here in Hazard in the 1700s. I know there’s a Martha Washington blend sold in Williamsburg. It’ll be like that.” She knew this because her mother had given it to her on her birthday. “I haven’t perfected my blend yet, but I’ll have it ready for the fundraiser, I promise.”
Lydia clapped her hands, and the others nodded. “Excellent.”
“But we won’t be using the tableware inside that I’ve acquired,” said Malory, obviously ill at the thought.
“Of course not,” said Ivy to be supportive. “What will we use for serving?”
Another lively discussion ensued. It was decided a special reception area would be set up outside. Serving platters from late in the mansion’s history would display the refreshments. Guests would have clear disposable dinnerware to sample the food items. This would be classier than paper and would not put any of the items Malory had acquired at risk.
Ivy’s hand was cramping by the time the meeting adjourned, but she had a better idea of what the society needed to accomplish to be successful. Really, their work was just beginning. It might not be so bad to be involved. She was excited about providing refreshments but knew Holly might not appreciate it. But really the division was fair, except for her having the tea blend, too. She needed to put substantial thought into that. She wanted a house blend for the shop. That could be the one.
Hazel and Malory had gone head-to-head over the script for Sundial Sands. Ivy had sought to smooth the disagreement but to no effect. They needed a peacemaker, but was she the right person? Someone needed to try, or they would lose Malory. The woman was a wonder, if Oleander House was any indication. Ivy couldn’t wait to come back and take the tour.
She was about to leave when Malory stopped her. “I can give you a tour now. I know it’s important to your aunt. I don’t mind.”
It wasn’t that late, and Ivy didn’t have anywhere to be, but surely the last thing Malory wanted to do was to give a private tour on a day she already had to work late. “You don’t need to do that. I can come back at the regular time and do the tour. I don’t expect you to go out of your way.”
Malory deflated a little. Ivy hesitated. Where had she gone wrong? “Did you want the practice?”
The haughtiness was back. Malory gave a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t need practice. I don’t have any trouble memorizing the scripts.”
“Oh, okay.” Ivy didn’t relish a private tour, and had a sudden thought. “Let’s go grab a bite. I don’t have anywhere to be, and I’d love to hear more about your work.”
“You’re humoring me. You grew up here. You must have bunches of friends to hang out with. I’ve heard all about how you and your sister are loved by the community and how successful you both are.”
“From my aunt?”
“From all of them.”
“Oh, well, Holly’s the successful one. I’m just me.”
“Not from what I hear.”
Ivy supposed it was true, if the last couple of weeks counted. And they should, right? “I don’t really have many friends here.”
Haughtiness combined with skepticism reigned in Malory’s gaze.
“Really, most of my friends moved away. They went off to college. Even I went to business school for a few years. But, unlike me, my friends never came back. They just moved on to bigger, busier places with fabulous career opportunities. Besides, I was never the popular one. That was my sister.”
Malory still looked doubtful.
“You want to go out to Kaylee’s?”
Malory arched one brow. “I thought you said you didn’t have friends.”
“Kaylee’s Refresher. It’ll be fun.”
At Malory’s bland expression, Ivy said, “You’ve never been? You’ve been missing out. Come with me. You’ll see.”
They exited together and stepped onto the front steps right into buffeting winds and drifting fog. It gave a surreal feeling to the property. Making their way down into the garden of towering oleanders, they were dwarfed by wildly waving shrubbery, wind whipping back and forth in a decidedly sinister fashion. Bits of twig caught in Ivy’s hair as they dashed for her Mazda. She had never been partial to oleanders, so pretty and deadly all at once. “Ride with me. It’ll be easier.”
Ivy started the car, the force of the wind almost rocking it.
“This weather; I don’t think I’ve ever lived anywhere this windy.”
“So you’ve noticed it? Hazard was never this breezy until recently.”
“Well, climate change,” said Malory.
It felt like more than that to Ivy. Like she was somehow to blame, but that was hardly a thought she could share with a woman she’d just met. Once away from Oleander House the wind quit gusting, and Ivy had no trouble controlling the car.
At Kaylee’s there was only a light breeze. They settled themselves at a Kelly-green picnic table on the outskirts. Malory was clearly aghast to discover the picnic seating, but Ivy didn’t hold that against her. Malory was dressed in an ankle-length full-skirted dress and kitten heels. Probably not the best attire for an outdoor burger stand. But Malory made it work, and Kaylee’s was an experience not to be missed. Ivy grabbed a paper menu, and Malory puzzled over it. With downturned lips, she said, “I’m not really a burger person.”
“Oh, they have lots of other choices. You don’t have to get a burger. But you do have to get a milkshake.”
That brow raised again, and Ivy resisted squirming. Really, Malory could have been a school principal or, no, wait, a librarian. Ivy could definitely picture Malory as an old-fashioned librarian, shushing wayward talkers in the stacks. After perusing the menu, she chose a simple green salad—no wonder she was so thin—while Ivy chose a burger with everything, fries, and her favorite raspberry cheesecake milkshake.
“I’m not at all sure I want a milkshake.”
“You do. You really, really do. You have to.”
At Malory’s clear disapproval that could rival even that of the looks the historical society gave her, Ivy added, “It’s required.”
“Fine, I’ll go with chocolate.”
That pleased Ivy. She wanted to like Malory, and you couldn’t not like someone who went with a chocolate milkshake.
“They do it the right way? With vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup?”
“Oh, yes, they do. Since you asked that, I know we’ll be friends for sure.”
Malory blinked in surprise.
Once situated with food, Ivy got Malory to share about her work. The woman adored her job, but the tours were the least of it. Malory was all about the acquisitions: following up leads on items suitable for the mansions, negotiating prices, arranging the shipping, paying to have items restored when they arrived in less than pristine condition. She thrived on overseeing the entire process. It was fascinating.
“Why are they searching for a new docent? Is it so you’ll have more time to work on what you love?”
Malory scowled. “I think it’s to replace me. Once the mansions are furnished, there’ll be less to do.”
“But won’t there be more visitors? A single person can’t do all the tours for all the mansions. That’s crazy. The historical society will need at least one docent per mansion and a staff to clean. They’ll need landscapers for the grounds. Someone will need to manage all that. The pillars have their own businesses, except for Hazel. They can’t manage it all by meeting once a week, let alone once a month.”
“Ha, tell them that. They think they can do it all. They have no idea of the amount of work required for their goals.” Malory shook her head.
“Well, I understand.”
“You’re not on the board. We need someone like you.”
“Like me?”
“Someone who listens. You would be great at managing a staff.”
“Oh, I don’t have a single employee. I’m not sure how to direct someone else’s work.”
“Listening is where it starts. You can’t be a good manager if you don’t listen.”
This was a different perspective than Holly’s, Ivy felt sure. “I suppose.”
“And, you could manage the board.”
“Do they need a manager?”
From Malory’s tight lips, it was clear she thought so. She took a long sip of chocolate shake through her straw, closed her eyes, and moaned. “This is amazing. I understand now why you brought me here. These are to die for.”
Ivy laughed. “My weakness.”
“And now mine.”
“It’s good to have a friend again.”
“Really?”
“Sure, don’t you want to be friends?”
Malory, stone-faced, dour Malory, appeared really vulnerable for an instant. She nodded.