CHAPTER NINE
Three months later—
Waking with a start, Ivy’s eyes flew open. It was still pitch-black outside the windows. Rolling over, she whipped her cell phone off the nightstand in her bedroom above the bakery and checked the time—four thirty a.m. Instead of groaning at the ungodly hour, a nervous giggle slid off her tongue.
Anxiety pelted her like tiny hailstones.
Oh, god, this is it! Opening day!
In three and a half hours, she would open the doors of Sweet Flours for the very first time. Fear, excitement, and unadulterated joy hummed through her veins. A split second later, her mental to-do list spooled through her brain. Sunrise was still a few hours away, but Ivy needed every second to pull everything together in time. She needed to fill the display cases, prepare and bake the bread, and arrange the trays of samples she planned to give the customers…customers she prayed would come.
Ivy had painstakingly prepared an advertising campaign. She’d run ads for her grand opening the past two weeks in the local newspaper. The fellow business owners along Main Street had allowed her to tape flyers on their doors as well. Thankfully, her efforts had generated plenty of curiosity. If the people stopping to peer in through the plate-glass windows—waving and smiling as she fluttered back and forth from the kitchen, baking her brains out—was any indication of today’s turn out, Ivy was going to be a very busy woman.
But first, she needed coffee…lots and lots of coffee.
Tossing back the covers, she climbed out of bed. The minute her feet hit the floor, her stomach lurched and roiled. Racing to the bathroom, she dropped to her knees and retched in the toilet.
“Not today,” she groaned, spitting into the bowl.
Her nerves were getting the best of her. As the grand opening grew near, Ivy was praying to the porcelain gods two or three times a week. Slowly rising to her feet, she gripped the sink and sucked in a deep breath. She closed her eyes, mentally working to calm her anxiety and the acid boiling in her gut.
If it wasn’t for the IUD implanted inside her, she might worry that she was pregnant, especially since she couldn’t remember if Noble had gloved up before he plowed her lady garden to perfection over and over again. Not knowing if she’d had unprotected sex or not was grossly irresponsible, but in her defense, Ivy’s mind had been wholly focused on other things. Like every touch, lick, and thrust Noble bestowed on her. Still, any super-sperm that might have backstroked up to her unsuspecting eggs had been permanently taken out.
Closing her eyes, Ivy allowed the misty memory of Noble to rise to the surface.
Seconds later, she was lost in the guilty pleasure of reliving his calloused hands gliding over her flesh, of his warm, firm lips devouring her like she was the sweetest morsel on the planet. She’d let him lead her down a path of mindless pleasure where he effortlessly dragged earth-shattering orgasms from her over and over again.
Heat coiled and climbed her restless body.
She could still feel the tingles of lightning from his gifted fingers. Remembered her body melting beneath each flick and thrust of his talented tongue. Savored the sweet burn when he finally slid that—shiver—fat, hard, exquisite cock deep inside her.
Lifting her heavy lids, Ivy peered at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin glowed in an aroused pink hue. Her pupils were dilated. And between her folds, her clit throbbed with a mournful ache that her battery-operated boyfriends—tucked away in the nightstand—couldn’t sate.
Exhaling in frustration, Ivy shoved the memories back down and locked them away. She had too much work to do to allow Noble—whatever his last name was—to occupy her thought process with hours and hours of unmitigated pleasure.
Ivy couldn’t afford to let memories of Noble wander free.
It was too risky.
She needed to focus on her business…a business that would either make or break her. After pushing off the sink, Ivy turned on the shower. Thirty minutes later, she was dressed in a pink T-shirt emblazoned with Sweet Flours across her chest and a pair of classic black pants. She twisted her hair up in a tight ponytail, the turned and hurried down the stairs to the bakery.
Ivy pushed through the swinging metal doors, flipped on the lights, and stepped into the kitchen…her woman-cave, her solace, her refuge. The scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, various fruits, and buttery rich goodness assaulted her as much as the blinding glare from the stainless steel counters, cooling racks, oversized refrigerator, industrial ovens, and massive double sink.
Focusing on getting all the finishing touches in place, Ivy began pulling trays of goodies she’d prepared late last night off the cooling racks. After carefully peeling back the plastic wrap that had kept them fresh, she trekked to the front of the store and began filling the display cases.
As she passed the coffeemaker, Ivy flipped the switch. While the scent of roasted beans filled the air, she continued loading trays of lemon, blueberry, kiwi, and gooey-butter squares, apple turnovers, cream puffs, shortbread, and several flavors of Danish rolls into the display cases. She stocked the next one with assorted cookies, cupcakes, tarts, cheesecakes, and eight different-flavored multi-tiered cakes covered in buttercream frosting and artfully decorated.
After snagging a large cup of coffee, Ivy returned to the kitchen. She cranked up the tunes on her cell phone and lost herself in the music and the feel of the sticky dough between her fingers. Yeah, it was a cheap marketing ploy, but when the customers entered the store, Ivy wanted the homey scent of warm, buttery bread to permeate the air.
Setting the dough aside to rise, she dipped a flat of plump, ripe strawberries in white, milk, and dark chocolate and drizzled contrasting colors of chocolate over them after they’d cooled. The sun was slowly creeping up over the horizon when she carried the berries up front and slid them into the display case. Her stomach pitched and she pressed a palm against the rioting butterflies dipping and swooping inside.
I have got to chill out. I don’t have time to run to the john and heave my heels every five minutes today.
She closed her eyes, swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth, and inhaled several deep breaths. Forcing a calm she didn’t feel, Ivy turned and raced back to the kitchen once more.
After quickly kneading the bread dough, she filled several loaf pans and placed them in the oven. As they baked, she arranged the sampler platters and glanced up at the clock.
Only thirty more minutes!
“Gahhh,” she cried out, unable to ignore the angst-ridden tremble of her hands or the abject fear pinging inside her.
Racing upstairs to her apartment, Ivy hurried to the bathroom. After wiping the smudge of flour from her cheek, she dabbed on a bit more concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She only wished there was a makeup that could hide her surging trepidation or camouflage the fact that her entire future was riding on this one day.
What if someone recognizes me from that shit show back in Dallas?
A frightened whimper warbled in the back of her throat.
Ivy scowled at herself. Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders.
“The past is gone. Today is here. Tomorrow is a gift. No one has control over you but you. Live your life the way you want. Be strong. Be happy. And for fuck’s sake, be brave!”
Mentally repeating the familiar mantra, she raced back downstairs and skidded to a halt. The scent of baking bread mollified her as she stood, taking in the beauty of the shop with pride and satisfaction.
“Some dreams really do come true,” she whispered to herself.
A loud tap on the back door nearly made her heart leap from her chest. Ivy scurried through the kitchen and pulled the heavy metal door open to find her mom, dad, and Celina smiling like a trio of loons.
“What are you all doing here?”
“You think we’d miss your grand opening?” Her dad chuckled. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Oh, darling. I’m so happy,” her mother gushed.
“Congrats, sis,” Celina beamed.
Tears filled her eyes, but she quickly blinked them back. They’d come to support her, to help her succeed. But the even more overwhelming delight was seeing Celina smile again. Ivy hugged her tightly and bit back the urge to sob like a baby.
“Welcome back from the dark side, baby sis,” she croaked past the emotion clogging her throat.
“Thank you…for everything,” Celina whispered.
“All right. Tell us what you need help with,” Janice demanded as she peeled off her jacket and rolled up the sleeves of her Neiman Marcus blouse—the woman didn’t shop anywhere else. “Something sure smells scrumptious.”
“Oh, shit! The bread!” Ivy screeched. She raced to the oven and flung the doors open. After grabbing the hot pads, she pulled out the pans of golden-brown crusted bread.
“We’re here to help, pumpkin,” Jeff reminded, sending a surge of comfort and warmth to fill her. “Put us to work.”
Ivy’s brain could barely keep up with the litany of instructions pouring out her mouth.
When all was said and done, Jeff remained in the kitchen, slicing bread. Janice was enlisted to mingle with the customers, offering samples and refilling the platters as needed. Ivy gave Celina a crash course on the pricing structure and how to operate the cash register in the scant fifteen minutes before opening the door.
“I got it. I got it. Don’t worry,” Celina assured.
Drawing in a calming breath, Ivy lifted her head and glanced at the front door.
Alma Anderson stood front and center, grinning like a lottery winner. Beside her, an older man with a handlebar moustache steadied a hunched-over tiny old lady clutching a cane. Behind the trio was a huge group of others wearing expectant smiles and craning their necks as they stared into the shop.
Ivy’s heart rate sputtered. A jagged blast of adrenaline sliced through her system, and the butterflies in her stomach had gone to full-blown riot mode.
“So much for calm,” she mumbled under her breath before painting on a faux smile as she hurried to unlock the door.
“Good morning, everyone. It’s an honor to have you here to celebrate Sweet Flours’ grand opening. Please, come inside.”
Alma crossed the threshold first, wearing a beaming smile as Ivy quickly scampered behind the counter. With mouth gaping open, her landlady turned in a slow circle, taking in the renovations with obvious awe. “Oh, my goodness. It’s…it’s simply gorgeous. If your treats are as remarkable as your eye for design, you’re going to make a killing.”
“I certainly hope so.” Ivy chuckled softly while anxiety began slowly bleeding from her system.
In her usual gracious and polite southern belle style, Janice greeted each customer filing through the door, offering up samples to them.
While boxing up the triple-layer chocolate cake Alma had selected, Ivy craned her neck and glanced out the window and nearly swallowed her tongue. Customers were lined up and down the street, two and three deep in some places. Oh, my god!
After Alma paid for her cake, she came back and stood at the end of the display case. “I’ll hang out here, out of the way for a bit and introduce you to your new neighbors if you’d like.”
Ivy sent up a silent apology for every disparaging thought that had crossed her mind regarding her landlady. “Yes, please and thank you so much. You’re a godsend.”
True to her word, Alma introduced every person who stepped up to the counter. It didn’t take long before names and faces were swirling through Ivy’s brain like cake batter. Fortunately, she didn’t have time to fixate on her frazzled nerves and the acid churning in her gut.
While more people poured in through the door, Celina effortlessly chatted up the customers while she rang up their purchases. Ivy was doubly glad for the retail experience her sister had gained running her now defunct crystal and herb shop.
At the end of the counter, Alma was lost in conversation with the man she’d earlier introduced as Reverend Thompson when a frail old man stepped up to the counter.
“You got anything in there without nuts?” he barked with an angry scowl. “Doc Knight says I can’t have nuts no more ’cause of my diverticulitis. Personally, I think he’s nuts, or else in cahoots with those stinkin’ money-grubbing drug companies. Costs me an arm and a leg to get my damn pills every month.”
Out of all the people Ivy had met so far, this grumpy old codger was hands-down the most colorful.
“I do, Mr.…”
“Emmett Hill’s the name. Bigfoot huntin’s my game,” he proudly proclaimed. “You see that big, hairy sum’bitch, you call me. I’ll come straight away. Ya’hear missy?”
Ivy couldn’t keep from grinning. “I will, Mr. Hill.”
“Mr. Hill was my daddy. You can call me Emmett.” He flashed what she suspected was a rare smile, then winked as his voice softened. “I like it when the pretty girls call me by my given name.”
“All right, Emmett,” she said, unable to stop grinning. “You just point to what looks good, and I’ll tell you if it has nuts in it.”
Without batting an eye, the old fart lifted a gnarly finger and pointed it at her.
A blush heated her cheeks. “Sorry, Emmett. I’m not on the menu.”
“That’s a darn shame, because you’re a pretty, tempting little thing. If I were fifty years younger, I’d be all over you like a huntin’ dog on a pheasant.” A mischievous grin stretched across his weathered face. “All right…how about that fancy, foo-foo-looking thing with a strawberry on top.”
“You picked a winner. There isn’t a single nut in that miniature strawberry cheesecake.”
“Good enough. I’ll take it then, and a large cup of black coffee. And don’t go putting any of that flavored crap in it. That stuff tastes like perfume.”
“Got it. Cheesecake and large coffee…hold the perfume,” she teased.
“Right as rain, missy.” Emmett grinned.
Ivy hoped the cantankerous old man would become a regular. Like the town itself, Emmett was strangely unique and oddly calming.
“Quit flirting with that pretty girl, Emmett. You’re holding up the line,” a tall, handsome man several customers back called out. His arm was slung around the waist of a beautiful and very pregnant woman.
“You could have been in front of me if you hadn’t lazed around in bed all morning, molesting your new bride, Colton,” Emmett volleyed without even glancing over his shoulder.
“What can I say?” Colton answered with a shrug. “With a wife as pretty as mine, it’s a miracle I ever get out of bed.”
“By the looks of that big ol’ bump on her belly, you’ve already been spending entirely too much time with her between the sheets.”
Colton, along with everyone else in line, laughed loud and hard. His wife, whose cheeks were glowing in a bright red blush, simply shook her head.
“Can you blame me?” Colton countered.
“Not one damn bit, son. If I had a filly as pretty as Jade in my bed, I sure as heck wouldn’t be standing here.”
“No, you’d be trying to remember what the hell to do to her, you old fart,” a man wearing grease stained overalls taunted.
“Stick a sock in it, Cletus. Your bed’s as empty as mine,” Emmett jabbed, again without even turning around. “Stop busting my nuggets and go fix a transmission, boy.”
Bagging up Emmett’s cheesecake, Ivy couldn’t stop grinning as more verbal taunts sailed back and forth through the air. “You come back and see me, ya hear?”
“If this cheesecake thing is as sweet as you are beautiful, you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll be back in the morning, missy.” He sent her another wink before ambling to a vacant table near the front door.
As he nibbled on his cheesecake, Emmett continued bantering with the people of Haven and filling the shop with raucous laughter.
A smiling woman, with strawberry-blonde hair and pale green eyes stepped up to the counter. “Hi. I’m Gina Scott. I own the bar across the street. I need to warn you now, my boyfriend has a wicked sweet tooth, so you’re probably going to get real sick of seeing me.”
“No I won’t, and that’s a promise.” Ivy chuckled. “What do you think your boyfriend might like?”
“Uh, two of everything you’ve got in that damn case.” Gina grinned. “But let’s start off with a couple of those big, gooey cinnamon rolls and I’ll take that butter crumb coffee cake. I don’t want him going into a sugar coma until I’ve had my wicked way with his fine ass.”
“Well, they always say, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
“What I’m after is below his stomach, sweetheart,” Gina quipped with a sassy smile, then lowered her voice. “He’s…immensely gifted.”
Gina’s lack of filter instantly charmed Ivy. “Oh, my. Then you’ll definitely want to keep him…happy.”
“Amen, sister.” Gina grinned. “Hey, when you close up shop, come over to the Hangover and I’ll buy you a happy grand opening drink.”
“Thank you! God knows I need one. I’ve been a nervous wreck about this grand opening.”
The fact that she was openly sharing her insecurities with the feisty bar owner surprised Ivy. But there was a palpable, genuine congeniality humming off Gina that instantly put Ivy at ease.
It would be nice to have a friend and confidante in Haven.
“You really turned this old piece of coal into a shimmering diamond, girl,” Gina complimented. “You’re going to make a killing with this place.”
“Thank you. I certainly hope so. And I’ll come by for that drink as soon as I can.”
“I look forward to it.”
Gina clutched her package of sweets and sidled to the cash register as Alma leaned over the display case.
“Honey, you think you’ll be okay here?” Concern was stamped over her landlord’s face.
“Oh, yes, Alma. I’m fine. Is everything all right?”
“I’m not sure. One of the ladies from my Bible study group isn’t feeling well. I want to run by and check on her. Bessie’s a hardheaded old mule and refuses to go see Doc Knight.”
“By all means, please, go check on your friend and don’t give me a second thought. I appreciate you helping break the ice and introducing me to the people of Haven.”
“The pleasure was all mine. If you need anything, just give me a call,” Alma instructed before hurrying out the door.
After Celina finished ringing up Gina’s order, she turned to leave but was quickly wrapped in the arms of an older woman wearing a bright yellow flowing sweater.
“Oh! Good morning, Mrs. G. I didn’t see you in line, or I’d have given you cuts,” the bar owner exclaimed.
Ivy quickly turned her attention on the young teenaged girl with big hazel eyes and a peaches-and-cream complexion stepping up to the counter.
“Hi. Wow, you sure are busy.”
“Yes.” Ivy nodded. “It warms my heart that you all came out today to help celebrate the grand opening.”
“Are you kidding? Who doesn’t like cake?” The young girl grinned. “I’m Megan Butler, by the way.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Megan. What can I get for you this morning?”
“I’m still trying to decide. Everything looks so…yummy.” Her eyes skimmed the goodies behind the glass. “My thighs are going to hate me, but I’ll take two of those cheese Danishes.”
Ivy eyed the thin wisp and shook her head. “I’d kill to have a body like yours.”
A shadow of sadness fluttered over Megan’s eyes. “I used to have more curves, but I’ve lost weight because…well, you’ll hear all the juicy details, I’m sure. Gossip grows faster around here than crops in the fields.”
“Good thing I don’t put stock in gossip.” Ivy sent the girl a reassuring smile.
By eleven forty-five, the crowd had dwindled to a steady trickle. The display cases had taken a major hit, while the cash register was overflowing. Ivy’s legs felt like rubber and her cheeks burned from smiling so much, but she didn’t care. Opening day had exceeded her wildest expectations and she was floating on cloud nine.
If tomorrow proved equally busy, she’d have to forgo the drink Gina had offered, along with sleep, and start baking her buns off again.
It was a little past four when the last customer left with a happy smile and an armload of baked goods.
Inwardly counting to ten, Ivy grinned and let out a triumphant yell.
Her dad rushed from the kitchen with a bottle of champagne and four glasses.
“Now that the work is done, well, everything but the cleanup, it’s time to celebrate,” he declared, easing the cork from the bottle with a loud pop.
She savored the happiness of her ubër-successful first day as they clinked their glasses together after each joyous toast offered up by her mom, dad, and Celina and quickly drained the bottle of bubbly.
Ivy was feeling no pain as they all worked, cleaning and mopping. As she stood tallying the day’s sales from the cash register, Celina—who was next to her and munching on a lemon bar—jolted as her cell phone chimed.
Pulling the device from her pocket, she looked at the screen before alarm bloomed over her face. Tears quickly filled her eyes.
Ivy didn’t even have to ask. When she was home for Thanksgiving, Celina had confided that Harvey was hounding her for another chance. When she’d returned for Christmas, she’d discovered the prick was still pestering her sister.
Dammit, Harvey, grow a modicum of pride and leave Celina the fuck alone.
Setting the money aside, Ivy turned and frowned. “What guilt trip is he trying to send you on this time?”
Anxiety lined Celina’s face. “He says life isn’t worth living without me.”
“You’re kidding, right? He’s actually threatening suicide?” Ivy scoffed angrily, wishing she could reach through the phone and knock the prick out all over again. “Tell him to call a damn hotline. You’re not his therapist, baby.”
“I know, but…” Celina sniffed.
“Girl…” Ivy warned, “do not buy into his bullshit manipulation. Even if he was serious—which he’s not…the man’s ego would never allow him to off himself—you are not responsible for him or his actions.”
“I know, but what if he really does something? I couldn’t live with myself.”
“If you think he’s serious, then call 911. Or better yet, call his parents. Tell his groping father that Harvey is suicidal and to admit him to a mental hospital. But don’t you dare even think of taking that sack of shit back. You hear me?”
“I hear you. I just feel…”
“Exactly the way he intended to make you feel…guilty!” Ivy exhaled heavily. “Has he ever taken responsibility or hinted at an apologized for the way he treated you in Las Vegas?”
By simply saying the name of the town, Ivy had inadvertently summoned Noble up from the depths from her memory bank. She mentally tried to shove him back down, but it was too late. The damage was done. Like a damn movie premiere, images of the man and all the sinfully wicked sensations he’d immersed her in swirled to life. Goose bumps peppered her flesh. Her nipples drew up tight and hard—throbbing in time with the ache between her legs—as the imagined feel of his hands and mouth blindsided her.
“No,” Celina replied, sounding as if she were millions of miles away.
Suddenly, the front door opened with a bang, jerking Ivy from her salacious daydream. She zipped her head toward the noise to see a striking blonde, with colossal boobs, teetering on impossibly tall platform shoes, enter. She’d poured herself into a formfitting, eye-searing, lime-green knit dress that barely covered her cooch.
“Hey, y’all. Welcome to the neighborhood,” she called out in a singsong voice, so high-pitched Ivy thought the display glass might crack. “Sorry I didn’t get the chance to drop by earlier, but my Calvin was keeping me busy…real busy this morning. I do declare, when he was finally finished, I could barely walk to the shower to get myself together.”
Wow! TMI much, honey?
“Well…I suppose that’s, um…understandable,” Ivy stammered.
“Y’all don’t know it, but this little bakery, which is just cute as a bug’s ear by the way, is going to provide infinite job security for my Calvin.”
“Oh?” Celina asked. “How’s that?”
“Well, he’s the town dentist, don’t cha know? I do believe there’s enough sugar in this place to rot out half the teeth in Haven. Well, those that haven’t already perished from these hayseeds’ mouths, that is.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“I’m sorry…I’m Ivy. And you are?”
“Oh, bless my heart. Where did my manners go?”
As if you had any to begin with? Ivy thought with the plastic smile still poised on her lips.
“I’m Trudy Clarkson…Mrs. Calvin Clarkson.”
Holy shit. Some man was actually desperate enough to marry this…thing?
“There’s hope for me yet,” Celina murmured under her breath.
Ivy swallowed down the laughter bubbling up inside her and slapped a professional veneer in place. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Clarkson. But I’m sorry to say, we’re closed for the day. All I have left is some lemon bars back in the kitchen. I’ll be glad to—”
“Oh, lord no!” Trudy wrinkled her nose. “I can’t eat anything from here. Why, all those sugar- and fat-packed things you sell will make me blimp out like a sow ready to give birth. I’d never do that to this body! And sweet baby Jesus, I can’t even think about what havoc those chemicals would wreak on my flawless complexion. No, honey, I just came by to say hey.”
“Hey,” Janice forced from beneath a brittle smile.
The door of the kitchen swung open and Jeff stepped into the room. “Anymore dirty trays for me to wash?”
The sound of his masculine voice had Trudy snapping her head his direction so fast it was a wonder she didn’t give herself whiplash.
“Well. Hello to you, handsome,” the vixen purred as a calculated, catty smile stretched over her glossy red collagen-injected lips. “Good heavens. Don’t tell me this hunk of man-beef is your dishwasher.”
“No,” Ivy replied flatly. “He’s my father.”
“What? No way this young stud could possibly be your father, sugar. Why, he’s not a day over thirty-five.”
With an exaggerated roll of her hips, Trudy strutted toward Ivy’s shell-shocked-looking dad.
Janice hurried in beside the man and wrapped a possessive arm around his waist.
“Believe it or not, sugar…” her mom began in a saccharine-sweet southern belle drawl, “he’ll soon be fifty. I should know. We’ve been happily married for twenty-seven years.”
Though her mom hid it quite well, Ivy could clearly see the she-tiger rippling beneath the surface. Janice had her fangs exposed, claws extended, and was pacing internally, ready for the slightest provocation to tear the surgically enhanced, husband-stealing slut to shreds.
Ivy discreetly covered a hand over her mouth to keep from howling, while Celina, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, stood mutely watching their mom take on the viper.
“Mercy. Surely you two haven’t been faithful to each other all those years, have you?” Trudy asked, eyeing the couple suspiciously.
“Every. Single. Day,” Jeff assured, leveling the offensive woman with a glare of warning.
“Why, that’s just utterly boring.”
As if suddenly aware she’d vocalized her adulterous thoughts, Trudy manufactured an overly bright smile. “Well, bless your hearts. That’s…just wonderful. Now, I’d really love to stay and chat, but I’m sure Calvin’s last patient has left. It’s time for me to drop by his office and inspect his big ol’…um…drill. Toot-a-loo, y’all.”
And just as she’d swooped in, Trudy Clarkson, the sexually desperate queen of plastic surgery, sashayed out the door.
“Would someone please tell me what the hell that was?” Contempt dripped from each syllable of Celina’s words.
“That, my darling daughters, is a lonely, desperate harlot,” Janice tsked.
“No, sweetheart,” Jeff corrected. “That’s every man’s worst nightmare.”
“Married man, you mean?” Ivy asked with a crooked smile.
“Married, single, and bisexual ones, to be sure,” he corrected.
“What on earth is she doing in a town like this?” Celina mused. “I mean, aside from the one married dude, Colton, whose wife has a baby on the way, there wasn’t a hot guy to be seen.”
“The only reason his wife was with him today was to probably keep Trudy from sinking her claws into him,” her dad said with a chuckle.
“Well, I’m certainly not letting you out of my sight while we’re here,” Janice vowed.
“You going to be my bodyguard?”
“Darn straight I am.”
Ivy watched as her mom lifted to her toes and planted a long, loving kiss on her dad’s lips.
Envy sliced deep.
Growing up, Ivy had held the same fantasy most every girl dreamed of—to fall in love with a prince and live happily ever after. Unfortunately, as she’d grown older, it had only taken Ivy a few disappointing dips in the dating pool before discovering that her mother had scooped up the last honest and emotionally available man on the damn planet. Ivy had resigned herself to the fact that she’d never find the kind of unconditional love, respect, or compassion that her parents shared. There’d never be some mystery man to grow old with. She’d have to welcome wrinkles, false teeth, saggy boobs, and Social Security all by herself.
Nope, I will not flop my happy ass down on the pity pot. If Mr. Right waltzed through the door, I’d have to send him away. I don’t have time for a relationship, or the luxury of cultivating one. I have to dedicate every spare moment to making this bakery an actual attainable dream.