Chapter 24
Ivy stood proudly beside Harper. The grand opening of the event center had been more than a party.
It was serving as Harper and Braden’s wedding and reception.
Harper had shared with Ivy her and Braden’s plans to turn the opening of the center into the first wedding in the space. Practical as ever, Harper said all their family and friends would already be in attendance. She didn’t mind her wedding serving as the dry run for an actual paying customer’s wedding. Braden had taken it all in stride, saying he would marry Harper on a beach, in a snowstorm, or right here in the heart of Lost Creek.
As her sister and one of her closest friends spoke their vows, she couldn’t help but think of doing the same with Dax someday. She knew they had a future together, but she was in no rush to push him to the altar. Right now, she liked how their relationship progressed, learning more about one another and falling more deeply in love every day.
Judge Grady, retired from the bench but on tap to perform ceremonies for couples who used Weddings with Hart, pronounced Braden and Harper man and wife, leading to a round of cheers. Ivy watched them walk up the aisle and then joined her father, who had served as Braden’s best man.
As they walked together, Dad said, “You’ll be next, Ivy. You know how much we like Dax.”
Dax had become a fixture in her life, which meant he was growing close to those she loved. Dax had already been friends with Braden, and Ivy had begun inviting Dax to come to dinner so Harper could also get to know him. The two couples had gone dancing at the roadhouse together, with Ivy being the one to teach Braden how to two-step. Dax also began coming to the weekly dinners with Emerson and Finley, and she knew the two teachers enjoyed his company. Dax had invited her parents to Java Junction to hear him perform. When he had played Forever’s Embrace, it had brought her mom to tears.
The new tasting room and gift shop had also opened, with Ivy thrilled by the amount of space available. She’d hired workers for the gift shop and ordered the merchandise to fill it. The patio areas were open, and people were starting to come to the winery with friends, sitting indoors, on the patio, or taking advantage of the picnic tables scattered about. Harper still wanted to have musical acts play on the weekends and had asked Dax to evaluate the local talent and pass along his recommendations. Most likely, they wouldn’t start the musical events until spring, but a curated list of musicians was now available, including Dax’s band, which had settled on Lone Star Rebels as their name.
Dad led her to Mom, who hugged Ivy. “Oh, you and Harper both look so beautiful up there.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “I can’t believe Harper surprised us and married Braden tonight.” Mom paused. “But you knew, didn’t you?”
Ivy admitted she had, and her mother laughed. “I think it was a marvelous idea. And just think—now that the event center is open, you and Dax can be married here.”
“Don’t push, Cecily,” her dad warned. “They’ll decide when they’re ready in their own time.”
Harper had the party guests move to the other side of the event center, where Shy and Shelly Blackwood would be in charge of catering the dinner. Harper had thought teaming with Blackwood BBQ would be the perfect choice for most brides to make. After all, the Hill Country oozed barbeque and wine, not to mention craft beers.
She took a seat and watched to make certain Dax, who was DJ-ing tonight, received his own plate. Harper had gotten with Dax about the selections she wanted used at the wedding, along with the soft music playing in the background now while guests dined. She’d also given Dax a list of songs to be played for the dancing once dinner concluded. Ivy only wished she could steal a dance with him, but she knew he was working tonight.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t talk to him, though. When it came time for the cakes to be cut, Ivy made her way to Dax so they could watch those festivities together. Emerson, who had agreed to be Harper’s cake vendor, had made both the wedding and groom’s cakes.
“You’ll have to go steal a slice of both,” Dax said, gazing at her with such love in his eyes, Ivy almost fainted from happiness.
“I’ll be right back,” she told him, weaving through the crowd and taking a slice of each cake.
She returned to Dax, and they shared, having a hard time deciding which one they liked best.
“Emerson is really talented,” he said. “She’s made some great desserts for our dinners, but these cakes—well, they take the cake,” he quipped.
Harper signaled Dax, and he said, “Time to get back to work.” He gave Ivy a quick kiss and then as Harper and Braden took to the dance floor, Dax announced the song they would dance to, their first as husband and wife. As Ivy had expected, it was a golden oldie, Just the Way You Are. She remembered their grandparents dancing to that tune and how much her grandfather had admired Billy Joel.
She did dance a few times, once with Braden and again with her dad. She even took a spin with Shy Blackwood, who was thoroughly enjoying himself on the dance floor now that the catering portion of the wedding had been completed.
Ivy slipped away to the restroom and felt her cell buzz in her purse. She had turned off the ringer for tonight’s event and wondered who might be calling her on a Saturday night. Unknown Caller lit up the screen, and she almost let it go to voicemail before changing her mind.
“Hello?”
“Ivy Hart, please,” said a crisp voice with a British accent, causing her heart to speed up. “This is Clive Crutchfield.”
“This is Ivy,” she managed to say, immediately recognizing Crutchfield’s name.
Crutchfield owned a gallery in New York, one of the most exclusive in the country, as well as others in London, Rome, and Berlin. She had dealt with his assistant once several years ago when Crutchfield had purchased a painting from her Houston gallery for a client.
“Ah, Miss Hart. Thank you for taking my call on a Saturday evening. I’m in San Francisco, about to step on a plane to Hong Kong, but I had to speak to you before I did so. You see, a friend of yours showed me pictures of a few of your paintings. They are simply outstanding. If they look half as good as they photograph, I believe you will have quite the career.”
Arlo had texted Ivy and Paloma yesterday, telling them his gallery had a big name in the art world coming in. He had to have been the one who showed Crutchfield her art.
“Thank you, Mr. Crutchfield.”
“Clive, please. I’m only thirty-five. Anytime I hear Mr. Crutchfield, I look around, seeing if my father has entered the room.”
She laughed. “All right, Clive.”
“As I mentioned, I haven’t the time now to speak at length, but I would like to meet with you and see your paintings in person. Your friend Arlo tells me that you have captured the essence of the Hill Country of Texas in them. I can see your love for the land. Such variety! It’s quite remarkable.”
Trembling, Ivy stepped outside, allowing the cool of the mid-October night to calm her. “When would you be able to meet in person, Clive?”
“I’ll be in Hong Kong and Tokyo for at least the next week. Arlo suggested I fly into Houston or San Antonio. Then, I would need to rent a car to find you in your quaint little town.”
“San Antonio is a much smaller airport than Houston Intercontinental,” she shared. “I would say fly to Houston or Dallas, whichever fit more conveniently into your schedule, and then take a short domestic flight to San Antonio. Lost Creek, where I live, is about forty-five minutes from there.” Gathering her courage, she added, “I would be happy to pick you up in San Antonio and make arrangements for you to stay in Lost Creek if you provide me the details.”
“Ah, the name sounds charming, just as your paintings are. Very well, Ivy Hart. I shall be in touch with you regarding my travel plans. I have a feeling we are going to have a close working relationship. I plan to make certain your name is on the lips of every art dealer in the U.S.—and beyond.”
A thrill shot through her. “Thank you, Clive. I took a hiatus from painting, but I currently have eighteen completed canvases and will most likely have finished another by the time we meet.”
“I look forward to viewing your art, Ivy. Have a pleasant evening.”
Crutchfield ended the connection, and she had to refrain from shouting for joy. Ivy had put off finding representation after her experience with Jameson Polk. Even though Polk had passed along two names of fellow gallery directors, she had not followed up, choosing instead to continue painting and expand her collection before taking the plunge and looking for representation. Now, Clive Crutchfield had come to her, all thanks to Arlo.
She called him now, and he answered on the first ring.
“Did Clive call you? Isn’t he amazing?” Arlo said, not bothering to say hello.
“You really went out on a limb for me, Arlo,” Ivy told him. “It was a big risk to approach someone of his stature. He’s been the boy genius of the art world forever, and he’s still only in his mid-thirties.”
“I was happy to show him your paintings, mio caro amico. I think I took him aback, approaching him so boldly, but I quickly handed him my phone. He was mesmerized by what he saw, Ivy. He said he did not know places like that on earth existed.”
“He wants to come here. To Lost Creek, so he can see my work in person,” she marveled, the realization of Crutchfield’s upcoming visit finally hitting her.
“He will adore you and your art,” Arlo assured her. “When is he visiting? I just dropped him at the airport not half an hour ago.”
“At least a week,” she said. “He’s going to Hong Kong and Tokyo and will let me know when he’s coming to Texas. I suggested he fly into Dallas or Houston and then take another flight to San Antonio. I told him I’ll pick him up.”
They chatted a few more minutes, and then Ivy returned to the reception. Things were beginning to wind down, so she went to make sure guests formed two lines outside as she and Dax passed out the bags of biodegradable confetti, one of several options Harper had for wedding exit ideas. The confetti went to one side of the line. To the other, they handed out bells on a stick, which had ribbons tied to it, telling everyone to shake their sticks the minute they sighted Harper and Braden.
The happy couple appeared, their hands linked, raising them in triumph as they walked down the sidewalk to rousing cheers. As Harper reached Ivy, she stopped and kissed Ivy’s cheek.
“I love you, Sis,” Harper said, embracing Ivy. “And be sure to supervise the cleanup crew. The first time, they might need bossing around a bit. I promised Braden you’d handle that.”
“Will do,” she said, laughing. “Go enjoy your wedding night with your husband.”
After Harper and Braden passed, Dax slipped an arm about Ivy’s waist. “Does she ever stop thinking about work?”
“Only when Braden’s kissing her,” Ivy said smartly. “All Hart women put work on hold when they’re being kissed.”
“Then I better get one in before you go manage shutting down the place for the night.”
Dax gave her a long, slow kiss, which made Ivy’s head spin. Every time this man touched her, it felt like heaven.
An hour later, the celebration had long ended. Guests had departed. Harper’s cleanup crew was almost done. The Blackwoods’ catering trucks had left hours ago. Dax had placed his DJ equipment in his truck. Ivy watched as the last of the floor was cleaned.
“I think it’s a wrap, everybody,” she said. “Thank you for making this first event so special.”
“Follow me back to my place,” Dax whispered in her ear.
Less than half an hour later, Ivy was naked in Dax’s bed, enjoying hot sex and dirty talk.
Much later, she lay nestled in his arms, telling him about Clive Crutchfield’s call out of the blue, thanks to Arlo putting her work in front of the art expert.
“This is fantastic, Ivy,” Dax enthused. “My gut tells me your big break is right around the corner.”
“That would be nice, but if it doesn’t happen, I’m still happy with what I’ve been painting. I know Deke can always sell as many paintings as I can give him.”
“Wait to hear what this Brit has to say before you do anything.”
“I know. I’m still painting away, assembling what I feel is the best of my work to date.”
“Speaking of dates,” Dax said. He reached for his phone, calling up his calendar. “I think it’s about time we picked a date of our own, Ivy Hart.” He paused, love shining in those chocolate brown eyes. “I love you. I want to marry you. I want to have a family with you.”
He opened the nightstand’s drawer, pulling out a black velvet box. The blood rushed to her ears.
“Will you marry me, Ivy?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” she said, taking his face in her hands and kissing him again and again. Then she said, “Let me see my ring.”
Dax gave her the box, and she opened it—only to find it empty. Frowning, she looked at him, puzzled.
“I didn’t really know what you’d want,” he admitted. “Especially with all the painting you do. This box is from a jeweler in San Antonio. He said to bring you in whenever we’re ready to pick out rings.”
Ivy climbed into Dax’s lap, wrapping her arms and legs around him, kissing him with everything she had. She had found her life’s purpose, both in her art and working for her family’s winery.
And Ivy had found the only man she ever wanted to love.
“Let’s go tomorrow, Dax, and pick out a ring for both of us.” She paused. “Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. How about the Saturday after Thanksgiving for a wedding?’
His smile melted her heart. “You’re on, Professor. We have a lot to be thankful for. Because we’ll always have each other.”