Chapter 15
IVY
My gaze kept drifting to the life-sized cutout of the man who’d claimed my heart right along with my body.
Lorna wagged a finger at it as she walked past, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “That’s hilarious, but the baby is disappointed he didn’t send a whole tray of football cookies instead.”
“Or lunch,” Missy chimed from the front desk. “Between the cupcake, the cookie, and that helmet-shaped brownie, we might need to rename this place the Sweet Spot Salon.”
My cheeks heated as I remembered exactly how well Saxon found my sweet spot last night.
Lorna laughed. “That’s pretty funny since sweet spot is a football term.”
I rolled my eyes, but the smile stretching my cheeks refused to fade. “You guys are just jealous you don’t have a pastry fairy.”
“Pastry fairy?” Gloria repeated, laughing. “Girl, that man’s a six-foot-two mountain of muscle who could crush us all with one hand. He’s more like a dessert-delivering menace.”
They were all laughing now, and I couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed. Every time Saxon found a new way to tease me, it reminded me how surreal this whole thing was.
Just last night, I’d fallen asleep wrapped in his arms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my cheek. I still hadn’t decided which was more dangerous—his body or the way he made me feel safe in his arms.
“Whatever,” I mumbled.
Lorna sent me a knowing look. “Let her enjoy being worshipped like she deserves.”
“I’m not being worshipped,” I quickly denied.
Three pairs of eyebrows lifted in perfect synchronization.
“Sure you’re not,” Gloria drawled. “That’s why he practically carried you out of here yesterday, kissed you like he was claiming territory, and then started sending tribute offerings.”
“It’s adorable, Ivy.” Lorna grinned. “Cole said the guys can’t believe the effect you’ve had on their grumpy teammate.”
“Really?” I asked, unable to hide the hope from my voice.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
While Missy and Gloria argued about which treat Saxon sent looked the best, I busied myself arranging product bottles on the shelf, mostly to hide the grin threatening to break loose again.
I hadn’t stopped smiling since I’d woken up tangled in Saxon’s sheets, his voice still rough with sleep when he’d kissed my shoulder and told me to stay in bed while he made breakfast.
My happy little bubble burst when my last client of the day started scrolling through her phone while I blow-dried her hair.
We’d just been talking about her nephew’s engagement when she suddenly gasped, “Oh my goodness.”
The tone made me glance up. “Everything okay?”
Her eyes were glued to the screen. “You’re dating that football player, right? The one from the cutout?”
My stomach dipped. “Saxon?”
“That’s him.” She turned her phone so I could see.
“Nighthawks Star Saxon Powell Spotted Getting Cozy with Mystery Woman.” The picture showed him leaning in close to a woman with sleek dark hair and a stunning face.
It looked like an intimate moment caught on camera.
One between the man I’d fallen for and another woman.
For a heartbeat, the salon noise vanished. All I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears.
My client clucked her tongue. “Didn’t take long for him to find greener pastures, huh?”
I barely resisted bashing her in the head with my dryer. Forcing a tight smile, I mumbled, “You shouldn’t believe everything you read online.”
“Maybe,” she replied breezily, “but pictures don’t lie.”
While I struggled with how to reply, Lorna appeared out of nowhere, her tone sugary-sweet but her expression pure steel. “Thanks so much for coming in, Mrs. Greer. Missy will check you out up front.”
“But my hair is still damp.”
“No buts,” Lorna interrupted, her hand gentle yet firm on the woman’s shoulder as she tugged her out of my chair and steered her toward the reception desk. “Traffic’s awful this time of day, remember? Wouldn’t want you getting stuck in it.”
The door chimed a minute later, signaling the client’s exit. Lorna turned back, her normally bright eyes darkened with protectiveness. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied, setting my blow-dryer on the counter. “You don’t have to chase off clients on my account.”
“She had it coming,” Lorna argued, crossing her arms. “That kind of gossip spreads like wildfire, and I’m not letting it start here.”
My throat tightened as I looked down at my hands. “But the picture—”
“Photos are a snapshot in time,” she cut in firmly. “You can’t tell what really happened before or after.”
“It looked…intimate.” The word scraped my throat raw.
“That’s the angle they wanted you to see.” She stepped closer, her voice gentler now. “You’ve never been the target of it before, but you know how the media works, Ivy. They love tearing down happy couples. Especially when one of them’s famous.”
I hated that she was right. But the image was burned into my brain. The way Saxon’s head was tilted toward that woman, how close they stood.
“Still,” I whispered, “why would he even be with her? Who is she? Why didn’t he warn me that someone took a photo of them together?”
“It was probably something professional. A personal shopper, chef, or publicist. There are so many people the guys depend on every day.” Lorna shrugged. “Whoever she is, it’s not what you’re imagining.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting the sting in my eyes. “You think I’m overreacting.”
“I think you’re scared.” She reached out to squeeze my hand. “You finally found a guy you can picture yourself with, and the idea of losing that feels unbearable. But if you let this fester instead of talking to Saxon, it’ll eat you alive.”
I laughed shakily. “Since when did you become the relationship whisperer?”
She smirked. “Since I married my stubborn football coach and learned a thing or two about men who fall hard when they find the right woman.”
That earned a small, reluctant smile from me. “You really think I should call him?”
“Or go find him.” She brushed a strand of hair behind my ear like a big sister. “But trust what you already know about him. From everything I’ve seen, Saxon Powell would rather chew glass than hurt you.”
Her confidence should’ve calmed me, but the doubt had already dug deep. I nodded anyway, not trusting my voice.
“Don’t worry about payroll, I’ll take care of it.” She gave my arm a quick squeeze and waddled toward her office. “And if you can’t get a hold of him right away, try to take a nap. You need rest, not doom-scrolling.”
As soon as she disappeared, I sank into my chair and exhaled shakily. The photo might’ve been misleading, but it didn’t stop the ache from clawing at my chest.
By the time I cleaned my station and headed out, I’d managed to convince everyone I was fine. Or at least not totally devastated.
The ache didn’t ease during my commute home. I hadn’t taken the train since the first time Saxon showed up at The Color Loft, but he wasn’t expecting me to be done with work for a couple more hours. It felt weird not to be in his SUV, but I wasn’t ready to face him yet.
Instead, I went to my apartment and curled up on my couch with the TV playing some reality show I wasn’t really watching. My phone started lighting up with texts and calls from Saxon around the time he was supposed to pick me up, but I ignored them all.
I kept my phone face down on the coffee table in front of me. It was the only way I could stop myself from checking to see what he had to say.
If this was over—if he’d grown tired of me already—I wasn’t ready for the confirmation. Not yet.
So I sat there in the dark, letting the ache spread until it filled my chest. Missing him, even when I had every reason not to.