Chapter 13 Ivy
IVY
The morning air carried the smell of cinnamon and fresh coffee as Ivy pushed through the door of Griddle & Grind. The café buzzed with activity, festival volunteers huddled over steaming mugs while planning the day's events, their voices creating a comfortable hum of conversation.
"There's our star performer," Twyla called from behind the counter, her wheat-colored hair pinned back with what looked like a pencil. "How does it feel to be the talk of the town?"
"Overwhelming," Ivy admitted, settling onto a stool at the counter. "I'm not used to people remembering my name after performances."
"Well, you'd better get used to it. Tom from the Gazette wants to do a feature article, and I've had three people ask if you're available for private events."
Before Ivy could process that information, Twyla set a plate in front of her loaded with what appeared to be the most perfect blueberry muffin she'd ever seen.
"On the house," Twyla said. "Consider it payment for last night's entertainment."
"Thank you." Ivy broke off a piece of muffin, savoring the burst of sweet berries and buttery crumb. "This is incredible."
"Family recipe. My grandmother would haunt me if I served anything less." Twyla poured coffee into a ceramic mug painted with tiny musical notes. "So, I have a proposition for you given how taken the town is with you."
"Another one?"
"The business kind. We're scheduling tonight's performances, and I think a duet set would be perfect for the evening crowd, especially watching them during last night’s performance."
Ivy paused with her coffee halfway to her lips. "A duet with who?"
"I think you can guess." Twyla's smile was entirely too innocent. "Dorian mentioned he'd be happy to collaborate again if you're interested."
"Did he."
"Oh yes. Very enthusiastic about the idea. Said something about your voices complementing each other perfectly."
Heat crept up Ivy's neck. "And you think this is a good idea because?"
"Because the crowd loved you together. Because it gives you both a chance to showcase different skills. Because..." Twyla leaned across the counter conspiratorially. "Because that man hasn't looked at anyone the way he looks at you since I've known him."
"How does he look at me?"
"Like he's trying to solve a puzzle he actually wants to figure out."
Before Ivy could unpack that observation, the café door chimed and a group of volunteers bustled in, their arms full of decorative supplies and their voices raised in friendly argument about banner placement.
"Think about it," Twyla said, moving to serve the newcomers. "I'll need an answer by noon if you want the prime slot."
Ivy nursed her coffee and watched the controlled chaos of festival preparation swirl around her. Volunteers came and went, discussing everything from weather contingencies to food vendor schedules, and she found herself drawn into their easy camaraderie.
"You're the singer from last night," said a woman with graying hair and paint-stained fingers. "I'm Martha. I run the art booth."
"Ivy. Nice to meet you."
"Will you be performing again tonight? My husband missed yesterday's show and I promised him I'd find out."
"I'm considering it."
"Well, I hope you do. Music like yours doesn't come through Hollow Oak very often."
Similar conversations repeated throughout the morning as more volunteers filtered through the café. Word of her performance had definitely spread, and the enthusiasm was both flattering and slightly terrifying.
"Popular woman," Twyla observed when the lunch rush finally calmed down. "So, what's the verdict on tonight?"
"I have conditions."
"I'm listening."
"Payment in baked goods instead of cash, and I want to put up a sign offering music lessons."
Twyla's eyebrows rose. "Music lessons? Planning to stick around for a while?"
Was she planning to stay? Two days ago, even yesterday, the answer would have been an automatic no. She was passing through, nothing more.
But something about Hollow Oak made the idea of staying feel less like giving up and more like choosing something better. Plus, it would be a good opportunity to make some cash for when she was ready to move on.
"Maybe. For a little while." Ivy traced the rim of her coffee mug with one finger. "I need to build up some travel funds anyway."
"Of course. Travel funds." Twyla smirked. "Well, I think lessons are a wonderful idea. This town could use more music education."
"Then we have a deal?"
"We have a deal. Duet set tonight at eight, payment in pastries and promotional opportunities." Twyla extended her hand for a shake. "I'll let Dorian know you're interested."
"I can tell him myself."
"Can you now?" Twyla's smile was pure mischief. "How convenient. He should be here any minute to discuss sound setup."
As if summoned by her words, the door chimed again and Dorian walked in, his dark hair slightly damp from what looked like a recent shower and his green eyes scanning the café until they found Ivy.
"Perfect timing," Twyla announced before either of them could speak. "Ivy's agreed to the duet set tonight."
"Has she." Dorian approached the counter with that easy stride that made Ivy think of prowling cats. "And here I thought I'd have to convince her."
"I'm full of surprises."
"So I'm learning." He settled onto the stool beside her, close enough that she could catch his scent of spiced rum and something darker. "Any song preferences for tonight?"
"Something with room for harmonies. Nothing too complicated."
"I know just the thing." Dorian accepted coffee from Twyla with a nod of thanks. "There's an old ballad about star-crossed lovers that would suit our voices perfectly."
"Star-crossed lovers?"
"Purely for the musical value, of course. The harmonies are spectacular."
Twyla made a sound that might have been a cough or a laugh. "I'll leave you two to work out the details. The lunch crowd will be arriving soon and I need to prep the kitchen."
As Twyla bustled away, Ivy found herself alone with Dorian. The memory of their voices blending together on stage made her pulse skip.
"So," he said, his voice pitched low enough for privacy. "What convinced you to say yes to another duet?"
"The baked goods."
"Of course. Nothing says romance like carbohydrates."
"Who said anything about romance?"
"The ballad. Star-crossed lovers, remember?" His grin was pure mischief. "Though I suppose we could do something about farming or fishing if you prefer."
Despite herself, Ivy laughed. "The ballad is fine. As long as you remember it's just a performance."
"Just a performance," he agreed, but something in his green eyes suggested he might have different ideas about that.
And despite all her carefully constructed defenses, Ivy found herself looking forward to finding out what those ideas might be.