Chapter Sixteen
“Don’t you own a slutty skirt?”
Ivy looked down at her sensible jeans and sweater.
“What’s wrong with this?” she asked Brad, whose expression did nothing to soften his critique of her sartorial choices.
“You’re going on a date, not handing in your application to be a nun,” he said. “Didn’t you bring anything that would make him choke on his tongue? Oh! What about that red dress? Is it weird to wear the same outfit if the dates are with brothers?”
“It’s not a date,” Ivy reminded him, “and I didn’t wear the red dress when I went out with Austin.”
Brad paused in the middle of riffling through her bag. “But you bought the dress for that date specifically.”
Ivy avoided eye contact by leafing through her closet. “It didn’t feel right.” Her fingers skimmed the red velvet. “I can’t wear this dress to a children’s Christmas movie.”
“But you look so hot in it.”
“You want me to waste the hotness on someone who only sees me as a friend?”
Brad scoffed. “I say this with all the love in my cold, shriveled heart: that boy does not see you as a friend.”
“If this was a date, why did he invite you and Tony? Why didn’t he clarify?” She tossed a few alternate top options on the bed. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you were baiting him.”
“I underestimated the Midwest nice. I genuinely thought he would tell me to kick rocks. It was a calculated risk, but I forgot I’m bad at math.”
“Or,” Ivy emphasized the word, dragging it out longer than she needed to, “he wasn’t just being nice and genuinely invited me because I think Michael Caine should have won an Oscar for this movie.”
“Were you disappointed when he didn’t say it was a date?”
“Yes— No! It doesn’t matter.” Ivy held up a black V-neck sweater. “Maybe?”
Brad shrugged. “It’s an improvement on the turtleneck, Sister Ivy.”
She peeled off her original choice and put on the new selection.
“I have a history of deluding myself when it comes to the Underwood boys. Well, I did with Austin and if I’m not careful, I’ll do it with Grant.
I refuse to read between the lines anymore.
That’s what got me into trouble ten years ago.
Now, I am taking what he says at face value. ”
“It’s a great face,” Brad chimed in, rummaging through her pink ballerina jewelry box.
“Stop trying to convince me. I need to be better so I don’t break my own heart. He said it was an olive branch, so it’s an olive branch. End of story, roll credits.” She checked her appearance in the long mirror on the back of her door and tucked in her sweater. “I think I need a belt.”
“You do,” he agreed and held up a heart-shaped gold locket, dangling it from his index finger. “And this could be cute. You need a necklace with that top.”
“I do?”
“Yeah, it draws attention to your…” Brad indicated his own chest.
“We aren’t trying to draw attention to my cleavage.
” Ivy snatched the necklace from him, then took a second look at it in her palm.
“I haven’t seen this in so long.” She rubbed the engraved metal between her fingers.
“I think I got it for a birthday or maybe for Christmas…” She wedged her thumbnail between the two halves and popped it open.
Surprisingly, there wasn’t a photo of Austin in there.
Ivy pressed it shut, then put it on, the cool weight on her chest stirring up warm, fuzzy feelings. “Does it look okay?”
“I think you look precious, but I always think that.”
“Not even ten minutes ago you were telling me to change.”
“You still looked precious, just not ‘kiss me under the mistletoe’ precious.”
The uninspiring kiss with Austin flashed across her memory. “Who needs mistletoe? It’s overrated.”
After giving her such a hard time about not being ready, Brad fussed with his hair until they were almost late.
“This place is so cute,” Brad said as they walked to the theater from their parking spot three blocks away. Ivy wanted to be annoyed and unimpressed, but it was hard when she was seeing Coeur-de-Lac through the Christmas light–colored sparkles in his eyes.
The reproduction gas lamps lining the street were wrapped with garland, and a wreath with a comically large bow hung from the crossbars.
Storefronts were decorated with all kinds of Christmas cheer, including a Santa’s workshop gingerbread house in the window of the bakery and a Christmas village with a working train in the window of the florist. With a soft dusting of snow coming down in delicate, wandering flakes, the town felt as magical as it had in her childhood.
“You know what else is cute,” Brad said, and nodded his head in the direction of the theater.
Grant and Tony stood under the marquee, bathed in golden light from the round bulbs. Did they know they stood the same way? Hands in their pockets, subtly shifting their weight from one foot to the other.
Grant looked down the sidewalk, and their eyes met.
Her heart thumped hard against her ribs, then he smiled at her and she lost her breath.
How the hell was she supposed to just be friends with this man after Brad had put all those unrealistic ideas in her head about Grant having distinctly non-friendly feelings for her?
This—the skittering pulse, the strange weightlessness of her stomach, the awareness of every part of her body—was why she’d never entertained the same kind of fantasies about Grant that she had about Austin.
Falling for Austin hurt, but Grant was at a height that would kill her.
“Sorry we’re late,” Ivy said when they finally reached them.
“It’s my fault,” Brad admitted. “My hair wouldn’t cooperate.”
Tony smiled, looking up at him with heart-shaped eyes. “I think you look great.”
Brad blushed but didn’t dispute the compliment.
Grant held the door open for all of them, but Brad kept her back after they were inside.
“Sorry to spring this on you, but that man looks good enough to eat, and I can’t do my best work when I have an audience.”
Ivy looked around the lobby. The only thing that had changed since she had worked there was that everything had faded. “We are literally in a movie theater. There’s going to be an audience.”
Brad rolled his eyes. “I’m saying that I am trying not to sit with you and your ‘not-date.’” He put actual air quotes around the word. “I figured if we showed up late, there was a greater chance we’d need to split up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I can be a good wingwoman.”
“You’re a great wingwoman…when you don’t have any skin in the game.”
“I don’t have any skin in this game!” Ivy protested too vigorously, which earned her a judgmental eyebrow raise from Brad. “Fine. Sit by yourself and miss my amazing commentary.”
“But I won’t be sitting by myself.” He grinned like a cat that had managed to steal a salmon dinner. “I’m sitting with that scrumptious Tom Selleck look-alike.”
Tony really did look like Tom Selleck. All he needed was a half-unbuttoned Hawaiian print shirt and some scandalously short shorts, and he would be Magnum P.I.
Grant looked like himself—strong, capable, calm. She wanted to devour him.
That thought caught her off guard. She needed to squash that down, bury it, burn it in a fire, because fantasizing about Grant was only going to leave her miserable.
When she’d spun glossy fairy tales about Austin, she hadn’t known what it was like to be touched by a man—she hadn’t even touched herself yet.
She’d been ignorant, but now she knew things.
Her girlish fantasies about Austin were being crowded out by very adult thoughts about Grant’s warm hands on her thighs.
Ivy was flushed when they caught up to Tony and Grant in line for popcorn.
Brad attached himself to Tony’s side like a magnet, while she couldn’t even look at Grant without burning up from the inside.
She unzipped her coat and unwound her scarf, trying to convince herself that her suddenly overheated skin had nothing at all to do with the man standing near her.
“You still have that?” The surprise in Grant’s voice was nothing compared to her shock when his fingers brushed her skin as he fingered her locket.
She couldn’t breathe as he turned it over, then flicked it open with his thumb.
Oxygen was overrated. Grant pressed it closed with a click and smoothed the pad of his thumb over the engraving. “We got it for you for your birthday.”
Ivy was a little dizzy. “Who did?”
“All of us, technically. Lorelai wanted to get you a Barbie, but on our way to check out, I saw this. It was the perfect Annie locket. I gave my mom my allowance money to pay for half of it.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because Annie was the only movie you wanted to watch at the time, and I knew you’d be excited about it. Your very own locket, just like Annie’s.”
The memory came back to her in a distant haze.
She’d probably been turning nine. When she’d opened the small box, she’d been so over the moon that she hugged…
Austin. It had been the early years of her crush and she’d assumed the necklace was some kind of secret message that he liked her.
But it was Grant who had picked it out, bargained with his mom, chipped in his own money—not because he wanted attention or affection but because he thought it would make her smile.
“Carol Burnett is the best Miss Hannigan,” Ivy said.
Whatever spell the locket had put him under ended. Grant withdrew his hand, stuffing it in his pocket. “There will never be a better version of ‘Easy Street’ than her, Bernadette Peters, and Tim Curry.”
“Wait. I didn’t realize Tim Curry played Rooster.”
“Easy miss when you’ve got Carol and Bernadette on-screen. That cast was absolutely stacked.”
“Ahem.” Tony loudly cleared his throat. Ivy was surprised to find he and Brad were several feet ahead of them. “You’re holding up the line.”
Ivy rushed to catch up, and not just to close the gap they’d created in the line. She needed to put some space between her and Grant.