Chapter 5 Ivy
IVY
Maeve set a whiskey sour in front of Ivy that glowed amber in the tavern's low light. The drink was perfectly balanced, tart and smooth without the bite she'd expected from Dorian's paint-stripping warning.
"This is excellent," Ivy said, taking another sip.
"Family recipe. My grandmother would roll over in her grave if I served anything less." Maeve's attention shifted to Dorian. "The usual?"
"Please."
A blonde woman appeared at Dorian's elbow before Maeve could pour his drink, her hand resting possessively on his arm. "Dorian, honey, where have you been hiding? I've missed our morning runs."
"Busy with festival prep," he said, his smile polite but distant. "You know how it is."
"I do indeed." The blonde's eyes flicked to Ivy with barely concealed assessment. "And who's your friend?"
"Ivy Lane. She's performing this weekend."
"How lovely." The words dripped with false sweetness. "Well, don't be a stranger. You know where to find me."
As soon as the blonde drifted away, a brunette took her place. "Dorian! I was just telling my sister about that wine you recommended. She's dying to try it."
Ivy watched the parade of women with growing amusement and something that looked like relief. Whatever attraction she felt toward Dorian, it was clearly not unique. Half the female population of the tavern seemed to have some claim on his attention.
Which made this easier, actually. She could enjoy his company for the evening without worrying about deeper complications. He was clearly the type who moved from conquest to conquest, which meant she was safe from anything serious.
"Popular man," she observed when the brunette finally moved on.
"Small town. Everyone knows everyone." Dorian accepted his whiskey from Maeve with a self-deprecating shrug. "What about you? Someone waiting for you back home?"
The question hit closer to home than he could know. Someone was definitely waiting, though not in the way he meant.
"No one in particular."
"Hard to believe. Women with your talent, you must have admirers lined up."
"I travel a lot. Makes relationships complicated." The lie came easily, polished smooth by months of practice.
"Where are you headed after the festival?"
"North, probably. I heard there's a folk festival in Virginia next month that might be worth checking out." Another lie, but this one necessary. The less people knew about her actual plans, the safer everyone would be. "Virginia's beautiful in November."
"You've been?"
"Here and there." Ivy took another sip of her drink, using the motion to scan the tavern. No one looked familiar, which was good. Sebastian's reach was long, but not infinite. "What about you? Any travel plans?"
"I tend to stay close to home. Hollow Oak suits me."
A redhead approached before Ivy could respond, sliding up to the bar with the confidence of familiarity. "Dorian, sweetheart, are we still on for dinner Thursday?"
"Of course. Looking forward to it."
Ivy bit back a smile. Three women in ten minutes, all clearly with different expectations about their relationships with him. Either Dorian was exceptionally good at juggling multiple commitments, or he was the type who made promises he had no intention of keeping.
Probably both.
Which was perfect for her purposes. A man like that wouldn't expect or want anything serious, which meant she could enjoy his company without the pressure of emotional investment.
"You're quiet," he said once the redhead had moved on.
"Just observing. You seem to know everyone in town."
"What can I say? I'm friendly."
"That's one word for it."
His laugh was genuine this time, not the practiced charm he'd been deploying all evening. "Fair enough. I suppose my reputation precedes me."
"Should I be concerned?"
"Depends what you're looking for." He met her gaze directly, and for a moment the playboy mask slipped enough to show something more serious underneath. "I'm not the settling down type, if that's what you're asking."
"Good thing I'm not the staying put type."
Something shifted in his expression, too quick to interpret. "Good to know where we stand."
They finished their drinks, the tavern's noise washing over them like a familiar blanket. Ivy found herself relaxing despite her better judgment. This was exactly what she needed: light conversation with someone who had no expectations beyond the moment.
Tonight, for the first time in months, she'd felt like herself on that stage. Not Sebastian's creation, not the carefully molded performer he'd shaped to fit his vision, but herself. Her voice, her magic, her choice of songs.
It was a feeling worth protecting.
"Ready to head back?" Dorian asked as Ivy finished the last of her whiskey sour.
"I suppose I should. Early tomorrow."
"Trying to figure out what songs to wow us with next?"
"Something like that."
They settled their tab with Maeve, who watched them leave with knowing eyes that made Ivy's cheeks warm. Outside, the night air carried the odor of woodsmoke and distant rain.
"Thank you for the drink," Ivy said as they walked back toward the square. "And for the tech support tonight."
"My pleasure. You made it easy."
"How so?"
"You actually know what you're doing. Half the performers during this festival and that I've worked with can't tune their own instruments, let alone weave magic into their music."
The casual acknowledgment of her magical abilities should have alarmed her, but somehow it felt natural here. Hollow Oak was clearly the type of place where such things were accepted, even expected.
"Magic makes everything more complicated."
"Sometimes. Sometimes it makes things simpler." He glanced at her as they passed under a street lamp. "Depends on how you use it."
"Spoken like someone who's never had his magic turned against him."
The words slipped out before she could stop them, too revealing and too bitter. Dorian's step faltered slightly, but he didn't push for details.
"No," he said quietly. "I suppose I haven't."
They reached the inn in silence, the porch light casting a warm glow across the front steps. Ivy fumbled for her key, suddenly aware of how close he was standing and how easy it would be to invite him in.
How dangerous it would be, too.
"Well," she said, key finally found. "Thanks again for tonight."
"Sleep well, Ivy Lane." He stepped back, hands sliding into his pockets. "See you tomorrow?"
"Probably. Small town and all."
"Small town," he agreed, but made no move to leave until she stepped inside.
Through the window, she watched him walk back toward the square, hands still in his pockets and that easy swagger intact. Just another night, another woman charmed and dismissed.
Which was exactly what she wanted.
So why did she find herself watching until he disappeared around the corner?