Chapter Six
“Bradley, pick up your goddamn phone! This is a code red, blue, green, I don’t even know anymore, but SOS, SOS, SOS.” Ivy eased her foot down gently on the brake of her mom’s sensible Volvo as the light turned yellow, hoping the red would last forever.
“I am going to a bar, by myself, because a girl I know from high school works there. Or owns it. Starr talks very fast. My parents think I have friends here and I don’t know how to tell them I don’t without breaking their hearts.
” She let her head drop back against the headrest. “I hate this. I miss you. Call me back or just show up on my front porch. I need my Rupert to talk me off this ledge.”
Ivy pressed the phone button on the steering wheel to end the call just as the light turned green.
The movie theater marquee loomed large over Main Street. She could blow off the bar and see a movie. She’d be gone for about two hours and could lie her ass off when she got home.
Eventually, that lie would not only catch her, but lap her. It was inevitable that one or both of her parents would run into Starr, and Starr’s motormouth would let fly that Ivy had never come to the bar, and Ivy would somehow end up worse off than she was already.
It was amazing how the internal map of her hometown had never left her. Or maybe Coeur-de-Lac was small enough that “just drive around until you find it” could only ever take about twenty minutes. How could a place this small make her feel more lost than she ever had while traveling the world?
Ivy idled in the car once she parked, watching people greet one another like long-lost friends as they walked up to Curly’s door, even though they’d probably been together at church that morning.
Oh god, she was going to have to go to church.
Her religious upbringing had been un-traumatic and largely unproblematic, but she didn’t attend on her own anymore.
Yes, she was an adult who made her own choices and could stay home on Sunday, but she didn’t want her parents to suffer through a well-meaning but constant stream of questions about her whereabouts.
There was not a single doubt in her mind that her visit was all her parents had talked about since she’d told them she was really, truly coming this time.
“The sooner you go in,” she told herself, “the sooner you can go home.”
Curly’s was everything she’d expected and nothing she could have imagined.
For starters, it wasn’t Three Stooges themed.
As her eyes adjusted to a combination of TV screens, neon signs, and dim lights over the dartboard and pool table, she discovered that the interior was decorated with Green Bay Packers memorabilia.
Like a man cave had been given a liquor license.
Ivy found an empty seat against the wall at the end of the bar. She was halfway out of her coat, her arms trapped in the sleeves, when Starr appeared before her.
“You made it!” she shouted over the mixture of music and voices. She leaned across the bar to try and give Ivy a hug. With her arms trapped, the only way Ivy could return the embrace was to tap her head against Starr’s shoulder.
“Uh, yeah. Seemed like…fun.”
Either Starr didn’t notice the gap in her sentence or had chosen to ignore it.
“What are you drinking? It’s on the house.”
Ivy never drank alone at bars because she never knew what she wanted to drink. She copied the order of whoever she was with and drank whatever was put in front of her.
“What’s your favorite?” she asked, hedging.
“Tequila soda with extra lime.”
“Sounds perfect,” Ivy said, finally freeing her arms from her coat.
Starr grinned. “Wild woman.”
Starr walked a few feet away to make Ivy’s drink.
Ivy had always been hypnotized by the certain way practiced bartenders moved.
Their ease and the rhythm was like a dance.
Starr’s choreography would have driven Ivy to distraction, if not for the irresponsible amount of tequila the woman had just poured into a tall glass. Surely not…Ivy’s glass?
Oh god.
Perhaps this invite was actually a ploy to kill Ivy for some unknown high school grudge.
“Voilà!” Starr set down the glass in front of Ivy and waited for her to take a drink.
Ivy squeezed as much lime as she could into the clear liquid, said a prayer for her soul, and took a sip.
Brad would have been proud she didn’t cough or sputter, but it took everything to smile through the pain. “Is it good?”
“Great,” Ivy wheezed, still forcing herself to smile. “Thank you.”
Starr beamed and clapped her hands. “Yay!”
The door opened, and a group that looked barely old enough to imbibe walked in.
“I’m going to figure out whose ID is real and whose is fake. Enjoy your drink. I’ll be back.” Her poor imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger made Ivy smile as she walked to the other end of the bar.
“Starr—! Dammit.”
Ivy tilted her head a little to see the man who had arrived at her side and nearly choked on her tequila.
Austin Underwood, in living, breathing, 4D Technicolor dreamboat.
Without the distraction of Grant’s looming presence, Ivy could appreciate Austin up close. Strong jaw, defined cheekbones, enviable eyelashes, and blue eyes…that were staring right at her.
Austin leaned on the bar so they could make better eye contact. “Come here often?”
Ivy stirred her drink with her straw in a pathetic attempt to seem casual and unbothered, even while her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest.
“First time, actually.”
“How long have you been here?”
“About three minutes.”
His smile grew. “I’m so glad I found you first.”
This was a dream. It had to be. Except even in her wildest dreams, she was not drinking a tequila soda while Austin smiled at her with wolfish debonairness.
“I’m Austin.”
Ivy stared at the hand he offered, then took it like he was palming a buzzer.
“I know,” she said slowly.
“Do you watch my show? That’s usually where people know me from. Or from the story arc I did on Cooped Up.”
Ivy stared at him. Did…did he not know who she was? Or was this his idea of a joke?
“How long does it take to get a couple of beers?”
Ivy didn’t need to turn around to recognize that voice.
Ripples of memory radiated through her body and she looked across the bar, willing Starr to come back so she could get Grant out of her space before he noticed her.
In her periphery, she saw Grant squeeze into the space on the other side of Austin to flag Starr down.
Then he looked at her.
“Hey, Ivy.”
Austin looked from Ivy to Grant, back to Ivy, then to Grant again. “Do you two know each other?”
“Yes, and so do you.”
“I do?”
“That’s Ivy,” Grant said, and when Austin continued to stare at him, he added, “Weaver. You were in the same class for thirteen years. We grew up next door. That Ivy.”
Austin’s eyebrows shot up. Ivy wanted to sink into the ground.
“Holy shit. You grew up.”
In the great pantheon of compliments, it was the lowest tier, truly pathetic, yet Ivy preened. Her inner sixteen-year-old could live off that scrap for a lifetime. But as she turned the phrase over in her head, the glittering diamond turned to glass.
“So did you,” she said. “Happens to all of us.”
“Do you want to come sit with us?” Austin asked.
Ivy tried to keep her attention on Austin, since his attention was, for once, on her, but her eyes kept straying to Grant, trying to decipher the micro-expressions on his face. Irritation was a macro-expression.
“I shouldn’t—”
“How long does it take to get— Ivy?” Piper had wedged herself between Austin and Grant, but once she saw Ivy, she slipped into the space between on the other side of Austin and threw her arms around Ivy’s neck. “I haven’t seen you in so long! You look amazing!”
Ivy fell back against the wall from the force of the embrace. “Oh, hi.” She patted Piper’s back until she was released. “Are you old enough to be here? The last time I saw you, you had braces.”
“No more braces.” Piper showed Ivy her teeth. “Are you waiting for someone? You should come sit with us.”
Grant’s face had shifted from irritated to embarrassed. “Piper, leave Ivy alone.”
A sharp spike of defiance shot through Ivy. Did she want to avoid the entire awkward situation? Yes. Was she going to somehow let it be Grant’s idea? Not even a little.
“Starr invited me, but she’s really busy, so I’d love to catch up.”
Starr finally made her way back to their end of the bar, a little too late to save Ivy from herself.
“Three more beers and a vodka soda?” she asked Grant.
Ivy looked around the room. “Is Lorelai here, too?”
“She’s in Madison,” Piper explained. “The third beer is for Tony. Do you remember Tony Egbert?”
“Sort of,” Ivy lied. Tony had come into the movie theater at closing every single day to take home leftover popcorn. “Is the vodka soda for you?”
“No, it’s for Austin. He’s watching his figure.” Piper patted her brother’s flat stomach.
The Underwoods plus Tony had procured a table near the dartboard.
It wasn’t any quieter on that side of Curly’s, but at least there were chairs with a back Ivy could rest against. Tony’s brow furrowed for a moment when he saw her, and Ivy didn’t blame him.
If she didn’t know who he was, it would have taken her a few minutes to place him.
She really needed to apologize to every fictional character she’d ever judged for not recognizing someone once they’d grown a mustache.
“Ivy, right? From the movie theater?”
“I’m shocked you remember.”
Tony grinned. “How could I forget Popcorn Girl? You always gave me extra butter.” This was said half adoringly to her, and half accusatorily to Grant. It had to be a well-hashed grievance, because Grant sighed heavily.
“Excuse me for being concerned about your health.”
Austin sat down, which was when Ivy noticed the problem. The table only had two unoccupied chairs, and there were three people still standing. Her eyes darted back to her stool at the bar, but she couldn’t take the easy out and run back to safety, because someone was already sitting there.
Something bumped against the backs of her calves and she jumped, a little tequila soda splashing onto her hand.
Behind her was a chair, freshly stolen from the next table, which Grant had pushed behind her legs.
She took a big step to the side and sat in the chair next to Austin.
Piper took the chair Grant had grabbed. Being tucked between Piper and Austin should have been ideal, but it put her directly across from Grant.
It was infuriating how effortlessly good-looking he was. Ivy had always been aware that Grant was handsome, but it was like the last ten years had conspired against her so his appearance would hit her all at once, like a cartoonishly large mallet.
His dark-brown hair was classically cut, like Cary Grant’s in all her favorite classic movies. His shoulders had broadened and he’d put on at least ten pounds of muscle. Any remnants of childhood softness had left his face. Now his features were chiseled and—
Was that stubble or a shadow on his jaw?
“So, what are you doing these days?”
Ivy snatched her attention back from Grant. “Hmm?”
“I said,” Austin repeated, “what are you doing these days? For work.”
“I’m a flight attendant. I point at exits and pass out pretzels for a living.”
Piper leaned forward. “That is so cool. Do you love it?”
The truth turned sour in Ivy’s mouth. Her eyes swept the table, where everyone seemed eager to listen to her gush about her job.
If they’d had this discussion six years ago, her tone would’ve been exactly what they wanted to hear.
But tonight, all she had was bone-deep exhaustion from time zone changes and different pillows.
That wasn’t something she could dump on people she hadn’t seen since before she discovered mousse.
So she lied.
“It’s great.” She forced a smile to drive home the words. Everyone smiled back. Except for Grant. His brows drew together ever so slightly, like he was fighting off a frown.
What could she possibly have done wrong this time?