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“That Eva Scott,” Julia confirms.
“She wants to talk to me?” Hanna asks.
“Is she a celebrity?” I demand.
“Oh, she’s definitely a celebrity,” Julia says. “But don’t make a big deal about it. She’s been hiding out in Rush Creek since she left TV, and rumor has it she’s very private.”
“Does she need to get married?” I ask, ignoring the warning in Julia’s voice.
“Not that I know of,” she says. “She wants to ask about using the new small barn for a couple of months. Something about a theater group.”
“Ask if she needs to get married,” I hiss at Hanna.
“Out,” my sister says to me, pointing at the door. “Get out. I am not going to start asking random people if they need to get married.”
“It’s your business I’m trying to save here!” I remind her.
“Go!”
I do, but not far. I linger in the hallway, tucking myself into the alcove of a nearby locked door.
It wouldn’t help anyway if Eva Scott were planning to get married—not if she were marrying a civilian. She would need to marry a celebrity. And what are the chances that a “very private” actress wants to marry a celebrity?
Pretty close to nil.
Julia leaves and comes back with?—
Tall. Slender and curvy. Golden-haired, like the color of sunshine. Her mouth set in a perpetual, wry almost-smile. A glow like she’s lit up from within—but also a magnetic girl-next-door freshness.
Holy shit.
It’s her. My golden girl.
It’s the woman I crossed paths with months ago when Quinn was working at Hott Spot. Sonya told me her name was Ivy Scofield—but Eva Scott must be her stage name.
Now I understand why Ivy—or Eva—struck me as too beautiful to be a mere mortal. She’s not. She’s an actress.
The girl-next-door thing is probably a well-honed act.
An act that is definitely working on me because I’m rarely, if ever, attracted to actresses. But this one?—
I groan internally.
The first time I saw Ivy/Eva, I wanted her.
But I didn’t know how much till I saw her talking to Quinn and felt an overwhelming urge to muscle my brother out of the way—and, preferably, out of Earth’s orbit.
I find myself suddenly hoping that Ivy/Eva is not contemplating getting married. I don’t know if my inner caveman can hack it.
I strain my ears to hear the conversation coming from Hanna’s office.
Ivy’s slightly husky voice: “I’d just need it for a few months. Until we can find another venue. Even a few weeks would help us. Just—there’s nothing, and someone mentioned you’d had construction delays and hadn’t been able to start scheduling weddings for this spring, and I was hoping?—”
Hanna’s no-nonsense reply: “I wish I could help, but we just finished construction and have to start booking weddings ASAP.”
“I can pay you whatever you’d be able to get for putting weddings in there.”
There’s a murmur, Hanna’s voice dropping out of audibility, and I know she’s said the price out loud.
