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But something between me and Ivy feels different, charged, like there’s an electric current humming just below the surface.
And I can’t wait to dive in and explore that.
Untying the slipknots tethering the boat to the dock, I hop aboard and push off. I crank the motor and idle through the shallow turquoise water. Small fish scatter, swimming away from the boat as I pick up speed and head away from shore. The wind whips my face, and I inhale a deep breath of the salty marine air.
Bliss.
I turn the boat left and head south toward one of the more secluded beaches on Candy Cane Key. Even from this distance, I can make out distinct clumps of people—the area isn’t vacant today.
Throttling down, I slowly approach the beach, careful not to run aground. About ten feet from the shore, I toss the anchor. I’m as shallow as I dare to go, the sandy bottom visible from the boat.
I shoot my hand up, waving at Scott. He waves back and then my cell rings.
“Hey man,” Scott says. “We’re almost ready to block the boat scenes. We need to get Ivy onto the boat, though. The first scene is her out on the water, coming into Candy Cane Key.”
“Got it. Well, it’s too shallow to come any closer and this beach doesn’t have a dock. It’s not really a boating area.”
“Damn. Axl’s gonna be pissed.” Scott blows out a heavy breath as we consider the implications of this beach selection.
“Can she wade out? It’s pretty shallow.” I peer down at the rainbow of fish swimming close to the boat.
“She can today, but when we’re in costume, that’s not gonna work.”
“She can meet me at the dock by the bait shop next time.”
“Right.” Scott snaps his fingers in the air, happy I solved his problem. Then he waves Ivy over, holding the cell against his chest as he explains the predicament.
The conversation’s muffled by the shirt against the phone speaker, but I can read her body language. Stiff, arms crossed over her chest. She doesn’t seem thrilled about this solution.
After a few minutes, she hikes up her long skirt, bunching the fabric in her hand, and wades into the water. The waves lap at her calves, then her thighs as she moves deeper into the water. Her head’s held high, determination etched on her face as she nears the boat.
Suddenly, she jumps, dropping her skirt into the water. “Oh my god! What is that?”
I follow her point and watch as a stingray skates by, it’s brownish-gray wings flapping right above the sandy bottom. Ivy’s skirt billows in the water, floating out around her.
“That’s a stingray. Word to the wise—always shuffle your feet. They burrow down into the sand to hide from predators. If you shuffle, you can scare them and avoid their barbs.”
Ivy’s face pales; I sufficiently freaked her out.
“No stingrays in L.A., huh?” I ask, extending my hand behind the boat and motioning to the ladder. “Come on.”
She grips my hand tightly and I help pull her into the boat, water dripping from her skirt onto the deck.
“Here.” I toss her a towel and she dries her hands and arms, then lifts the bottom of her skirt over the side and wrings it out into the ocean.
“Guess I should have worn my swim suit. Didn’t think I’d be wading onto the set. But it figures…” She shades her eyes with her hand, gazing back at the crowd on the beach. Some stare in our direction, others seem to have totally forgotten we’re here.
“What do you mean?” I tip my head, my eyes wandering over her body.
Damn.She’s gorgeous, her hair falling in loose waves around her bare shoulders. A wet, black tank top clings to her breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Ivy shrugs. “I’m not exactly the most beloved person on set. Not now, at least.”
“Really? Why?”
She frowns, pressing her lips together. “The Christmas Network’s small, and Hollywood people gossip. I have some personal stuff going on—” She drops her gaze to the white boat deck, her bare foot drawing circles on the smooth surface.
“I’m sure Scott told you I’m getting divorced. And it’s messy and ugly and hurt my career.” Ivy folds her arms over her chest protectively.
