—
When Ivy leaves his house, Wes walks her out to the Uber. Before she gets in, he wraps his arms around her. He hasn’t shaved yet, and she rubs her hand over the stubble.
“You should grow a beard,” she says.
“I should?”
“Beards are sexy.”
He tilts his head, looking confused. “You’ve never said you think beards are sexy.”
“I’m sure I have.”
“Not to me.”
She shrugs, kissing him lightly to avoid the burn. “Well, I’m saying it to you now.” She turns away and gets into the waiting car. He leans down, and she lowers the window.
“Have a good day,” he says.
“You too. See you later.”
On the way to pick up her own car, Ivy thinks about that beard comment. She didn’t intend to imply he wasn’t sexy, but it seemed like he took it that way. Maybe she should’ve said she didn’t mean it like that.
And she certainly wasn’t trying to test him. Like trying to see if he would grow a beard just because she told him to.
Not consciously, anyway.
Tonight, she’ll clarify that point. They’re supposed to get together around eight, after the disc golf and chicken wings with his friends. Maybe watch a movie. She’ll have to find a way to bring it up again without sounding like she’s obsessed with beards.
Unless he hasn’t shaved. If he does decide to grow a beard, she isn’t saying a word.
11
Saturday night, Wes didn’t expect to be hanging out with his college friends, but when he got a call about a surprise birthday party, Ivy wanted to go.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she had said.
He didn’t have a good answer, or a good reason to argue.
The party is one town over, in a house three times the size of Wes’s. Brand-new, shiny from floor to ceiling, the great room overflowing into the backyard. Beautiful, but no personality anywhere.
Ivy, standing beside him, wears a dress the color of red wine. Her lipstick matches. She leans in close and says, “Airbnb?”
“Definitely.”
They smile.
She walks away, toward a group of friends, and he congratulates Luke. The man of the hour. His fiancée is the one who organized the party. She didn’t go to college with them, but he’s been with her for a few years.
“Thirty-one,” Wes says.
“I know, right?”
They talk about work and sports, the two standard topics, until Luke’s fiancée pops in to whisper something in his ear. As she walks away, he watches her. Shakes his head.
“Can’t decide if I’m ready to get married or if she’s convinced me I am,” Luke says.
“Both, probably.”
“Maybe, yeah.” Luke shrugs. “So . . . Ivy. You’re back together?”
Wes knew this would happen. Not everyone at the party knows how often he and Ivy have broken up and gotten back together, but Luke does.
“We are,” Wes says. “I guess she can’t live without me.”
“I heard that,” someone behind him said.
Ivy.
She’s smiling, a drink in one hand and a small plate of finger food in the other.
Luke holds up his hand. “Whoa, hold on. Don’t start your drama at my party, please.”
Ivy laughs, handing the food to Wes. No sign of anger in her eyes. “You have to watch him,” she says to Luke. “He doesn’t always get it right.”
“Once in a great while, I might be wrong,” Wes says.
“Obviously, you meant that you can’t live without me.”
“That’s exactly what I meant.”
She plucks a shrimp roll off the plate and blows a kiss at Wes before walking away. Luke doesn’t get a chance to say anything else, because a few people walk over and wish him a happy birthday. Wes turns a little to the left so he has a view of the whole party. And Ivy.
She is talking to a group of women, most of whom he recognizes. He watches her smile and laugh, and at one point, she looks surprised.
Not a college girl anymore. She’s a woman, and a sophisticated one. Being in sales, Wes knows how to work a room. Ivy is right up there with the best of them. The way she talks, the gestures she makes. Or doesn’t make. The way she looks, too. Not as athletic as she used to be—her body has filled out a bit. More curves. Softer. His body is softer, as well, but it looks a lot better on her.
Ivy feels him watching, looks over at him. Winks.
They come together on the back patio, exchanging a bit of gossip and a kiss on the cheek before separating again. Each on opposite sides of the saltwater pool. She starts talking to one of her old roommates from Davis.
“Hi there,” someone says.
Her voice is silky, her dress is lacy, and it’s impossible to miss everything in between. Wes has no idea who she is, but she is talking to him.
“I’m Lisa Bates.”
“Bates? Are you related to . . .” He gestures to Luke’s fiancée.
“We’re sisters.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Wes Harmon. No relation to anyone here,” he says. “At least that I know of.”
She smiles, takes a sip of her drink. Takes a not-so-subtle look at his empty ring finger.
Wes isn’t the best-looking guy in the room. He knows that. He also knows he isn’t the worst. Women don’t flock to him, but they don’t avoid him, either. And he can be charming. Sometimes obscenely charming if he’s in the mood, and that’s an advantage. Getting a date isn’t a problem, like with the woman in front of him.
If he wanted to.
He glances over at Ivy. She sees it all from a distance and holds up her drink like she’s toasting him. He nods back.
They have passed go.
Lisa asks Wes how he knows the birthday boy, and their conversation continues. What they do for a living, where they went to school, who they know. He tries not to look at Ivy again, an attempt that lasts only a few minutes. Three, maybe. At best. When he does glance over, she is talking to a guy.
Of course she is.
Wes is quick to size him up. Clothes, hair, shoes—and, most importantly, the way he is looking at Ivy.
Back to Lisa. They’ve moved on to restaurants now: which ones they like, hate, haven’t been to and want to try. But his mind is on the other side of the patio.
Lisa is still talking, maneuvering around the restaurant conversation, now adding in bars, as well. Waiting for him to suggest they try one together. Wes shifts his position so he can see Ivy out of the corner of his eye.
He continues to dodge Lisa’s advances, evading any direct invitations so he isn’t forced to say no. It’s a dance, really. The whole party is filled with dances.
After not getting anywhere with the restaurant talk, Lisa pivots.
“What about sports?” she says. “Are you a Niners fan?”
It’s a nice move. She landed on a topic he can really talk about. And he does, starting with the Warriors. A few minutes go by before he looks over at Ivy again.
That guy is touching her.
Nothing overt, nothing sexual, but he has put his hand on Ivy’s arm. Holding it, almost. He barreled right through the touch barrier as if it didn’t exist.
Wes doesn’t like the way Ivy is laughing. It looks too real.