Ivy was definitely trying to get his attention. But another thought had taken root, whispering in the back of his mind, making Wes start to wonder if this was something more. If she had really found someone else.
When he walked into Pearl, they were already seated. Ivy and Patrick smiling, laughing, drinking a glass of wine. Wes didn’t hesitate. He blew right past the hostess to their table, where he stood over them. And he lied.
“Well, if it isn’t Ivy,” he said. “How funny to see you here, since you told me you were going out of town.”
Patrick looked at him, then at Ivy, and then back to Wes. He blinked.
Ivy did not. She kept her face still, not appearing surprised at all. She turned to Patrick and patted him on the hand. Wes almost felt bad for the guy. He was the only one who had no idea what was happening.
“I told you,” she said to Wes, “that I never wanted to see you again. It doesn’t matter if I’m in town or not.”
Wes laughed. Sounded more like a bark. He was attracting attention, and it didn’t bother him a bit. “Oh, okay. If that’s how you want to play this, fine with me.” Then he turned to Patrick. “Good luck with her. But let me give you some advice from someone who’s been there,” he said. “Run.”
Wes walked out of the restaurant, betting that he would never see Patrick online again.
And he didn’t. Instead, he saw Ivy when she came into his office the next day. Did Wes deserve it? Maybe. But only because she pushed him. Provoked him.
Like she is doing right now, wearing that dress.
Sky blue.
* * *
—
Wes can hardly stand the smell of Ivy’s steak. He doesn’t eat red meat, hasn’t in years, yet she ordered it anyway. Another poke. She is full of them tonight.
“That detective came by my office,” she says, slicing off a bite of her steak. Medium rare, pink inside, and the juice oozing out.
“Karen Colglazier?” he says.
“That’s her.”
“You told her it wasn’t me?”
She nods. Vaguely.
“Ivy?” he says.
“She knows we spoke, yes.”
Not an answer. Not one he likes, anyway.
“She’s been looking into both of us,” Ivy says.
Wes glances up from his plate, for the first time not seeing her dress. “Looking into us?”
“Apparently, there isn’t enough crime around here to keep her busy. She dug back far enough to find that 911 call about your car.”
The old Subaru. Ivy had really messed it up that night. He’d had no choice but to call the police. Once he calmed down, he decided a police record was a little extreme just for a damaged car. They had fixed it, though. Vandalized a few other cars to make it look like it wasn’t personal. It’s not like the police care about property damage.
“But the charges were dropped,” he said.
“She knows that.”
He goes back to his meal. The salmon. “So then what’s the problem?”
“I’m just telling you,” she says, “because that’s what couples do. They tell each other about their day. You told me about Tanner, and I’m telling you about the detective.”
He feels like he’s being scolded. She’s good at that, too.
The frustrating part is that somehow she makes it sexy.
18
Every time. Every damn time.
Wes is sweet, he’s funny, he’s attentive. Wes is the greatest boyfriend in the world . . . until his mood changes. Like the time they had gone down to Monterey for the weekend. On the way back, his switch flipped. He ended up leaving her at a rest stop.
She hadn’t done anything. Not. A. Single. Thing. The only—only—thing she could come up with is that she had teased him for flirting with a waitress when they stopped for lunch. Some girl who looked nineteen, barely old enough for college, and Wes couldn’t take his eyes off her. Didn’t try to hide it, either. He wanted Ivy to see it.
Ivy showed a lot of restraint, given how she could’ve reacted. A bit of light teasing, not the seriously jealous kind, just to let him know she had seen it. Couldn’t have missed it if she tried, actually. The next thing she knew, Ivy was alone on the side of the road. Wes can be so dramatic.
At least tonight she has her own car. This time, he was perfect for almost a week.
A week.
She can’t think of that word in Chinese.
Maybe this is all because of what his boss said. Tanner hates her; she knows that. Or maybe Wes has that dissociative disorder. Multiple personalities. Ivy has never figured it out—not in ten years—and it doesn’t help when that vein on his temple throbs. It kind of turns her on.
But one thing she does know, after all these years, is what to do when he turns into a dick.
Hurt him back.
She cuts another bite of her steak, knowing how much it bothers him. He doesn’t say anything, not directly, but he wrinkles his nose at the smell. Good. If she has to sit across the table from him, she is going to enjoy her meal. And she does love a good steak.
“That was all she asked about?” Wes asks. “The 911 call?”
Ivy takes her time chewing her steak, drawing out an extra minute. Not yet. She isn’t ready to tell him Karen looked into the car. The old one.
She can imagine what kind of reaction he would have, the range of emotions that would pass through him in just a few seconds. Shock at first, followed by confusion, and then fear. Well, fear mixed with anger. But those emotions are so intertwined it’s hard to tell them apart.
Ivy and Wes don’t talk about that night. Not ever. Their relationship has a lot of black holes, a lot of places they won’t venture down, but the night she started working at the Fine Line is by far the deepest.
It’s too painful to think about, much less discuss.
* * *
—
“Yes,” Ivy finally says. “That’s all Karen asked about.”
Wes shakes his head, picking up his wineglass and inhaling deeply. Trying to get the smell of red meat out of his nose. “But you definitely told her I wasn’t stalking you? That she has no reason to look into us?”
“I told her we spoke and everything had stopped, and that I wasn’t receiving any more weird gifts or notes.”
Not exactly the same thing.
Wes pushes back from the table, away from the smell and away from her. No scenes. Not tonight.
“I have to use the restroom,” he says. It’s a lie, and despite all the promises about honesty, he doesn’t feel bad about it. Maybe he will later, or maybe he’ll forget all about it.
Once he’s alone, in the men’s bathroom, a flood of stronger emotions hit.
Every time. Every damn time.
He curses himself out far worse than he does her, because he should know better. Never should’ve agreed to get back together so quickly. Never, never, never. He had promised himself he wouldn’t do this, vowed that no matter what she said or did, or how she looked, he would never put himself in this position again.
Yet when they were lying in bed and she said they should be together again, he didn’t hesitate. Maybe it had sounded like he did at first, but in his mind the decision was already made. Another chance, another shot to get it right. The lure of the dream stronger than the fear.