Chapter 22
Ivy
“This is your house,” I say stupidly as I stand by Alex’s car. Instead of parking in the garage, he’s parked by the front door, so I stand there looking at his house instead of the fancy restaurant I’d expected.
“Are you disappointed? I’d intended to take you out when I asked, but the more I thought about it, the more I was excited to have you here where we wouldn’t have to deal with people.”
“So I didn’t need this dress after all.”
“No. You needed the dress.” He gives me an appreciative glance, and I feel warmth flood my cheeks. “And I tried to make dinner nice for an at-home meal. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
My gaze lingers on Alex. “I’m betting there’s not much that’s associated with you that could be labeled ‘disappointing.’”
He grins, then leads me inside where we’re met by Mr. Brown. “Good evening, sir. Miss. Your table is this way.”
He turns and walks toward the dining room, and we follow behind him. “Mrs. Brown must have put him up to this,” he leans in and whispers to me. I turn and come face to face with his heavy five-o'clock shadow. I lose my mind and consider reaching up to touch Alex when Mr. Brown startles me.
“Can I get your chair for you, Miss?”
“No.” Alex’s answer was a bit too forceful, making both Mr. Brown and me stare at him comically. “Thank you, Mr. Brown. I’ll take care of it.” He corrects.
“As you wish, sir.”
As you wish. What does he think this is, Downton Abbey? I laugh at myself internally.
Alex pulls out my chair and gestures with a flourish. “My lady.”
Once again, I’m laughing on the inside. I suppose he also has been getting Downton Abbey vibes.
“It’s really beautiful in here,” I say, looking around. “Strangely, I feel like I’m in a fancy restaurant.” I grin, reaching out to touch the petals of the blue hydrangea blossom. “This is a beautiful arrangement.”
“Thank you. They’re from my mum’s garden.”
“You made this?” I’m shocked and delighted.
“I cut the flowers and put them in the vase, but I think Mrs. Brown messed with them after I left. They look better.”
“Looks like you chose the prettiest blooms. Could I see the garden after dinner?”
“I would love to show you her garden. And you should take these with you when you go,” he offers.
“I’d love to.” I surprise myself with my agreement to take them.
I’m honestly not very good at accepting things.
Alex had to work pretty hard for me to let him buy me not one, but two beautiful, and I’m certain very expensive, dresses.
I suppose, after that, the flowers are nothing. Though they’re equally beautiful.
Mrs. Brown comes in with our salads. “Hello, Ivy. Lovely to see you again.” She sets our bowls in front of us, along with what appears to be a flight of dressing options.
“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Brown. This looks amazing. You’ve made a beautiful salad.”
“Thank you, dear. It would be an awful shame to have to eat an ugly salad,” Mrs. Brown says before stepping back toward the kitchen.
“It would be an awful shame to have to eat an ugly salad. I can see that being on one of those decorative quote signs on a kitchen wall.”
“What’s a decorative quote sign? I mean … I guess it’s exactly what it says it is. I’ve never seen one.”
“You’ve never been in a house with a decorative quote sign?”
“No.”
I look around the room. “Well, you did grow up here, and I imagine you have a fancy man-house in California.”
That makes him laugh. “Yes, you could probably characterize my house back there as a fancy man-house. So can you give me some examples of what one of those signs might say?”
“Hmm … well, Val has one in her kitchen that says, ‘In This Kitchen, We Dance.’”
“Do they dance?”
“It’s not something I’ve witnessed, but I get a feeling Val tones down her wild child when I’m around.” I take a bite of my salad and chew while smiling.
“Huh. Why would she do that?”
I blow out a little breath. “I practically raised her. I’m not that much older than her, but maturity-wise, there were always years between us. I think she wants to prove she’s a responsible adult now.”
“Do responsible adults not dance in the kitchen?” he asks between bites.
“I like to dance and sing in the kitchen.”
“You’re a singer?”
“I enjoy singing, but only to myself.”
“You’ll sing for me one day, won’t you?” The hope in his eyes simultaneously brings me joy and reminds me of reality.
“I’m not sure we’ll get to singing in our numbered days, pretend boyfriend.” I say this to remind myself, but also to remind Alex, because the looks he’s been giving me since he saw me at the hotel tell me this isn’t as pretend for him as it is for me. Or at least as pretend as I need it to be.