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Chapter 6
Ivy had come home from her meeting with a jumble of emotions inside. Primarily panic. Her hopes of avoiding Blake over the upcoming days had been dashed. He was the central focus of her time here, and for her to demand otherwise would make her seem selfish and shallow. She wasn’t going to walk away. That was what everyone, including Blake, probably expected her to do.
Despite what people might think, she genuinely wanted to help her hometown. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to come out of the tornado shelter and find half the high school destroyed. She was going to do whatever it took to raise every penny she could. If that meant dealing with that smug, cheating bastard, so be it.
Ivy was first and foremost a professional. She had the ability to turn off pain and focus on music when she was performing. That was what she intended to do in Rosewood. She would smile for the cameras, stand by Blake’s side, raise a fortune for the new gym, restore her career, and get the hell out of here.
She was wrestling with those thoughts when she approached the front steps of her cabin and found an ivory envelope lying on the bristly welcome mat. The beautiful, heavy stationery with the gold embossing and elegant scripted handwriting left no question it was what she thought it was.
But why on earth would Ivy receive such a thing?
Adelia Chamberlain had invited her to tea this afternoon. The same Adelia Chamberlain who had called Kevin personally to request that Ivy perform at the charity concert. Blake’s grandmother was the epitome of an upper-class southern lady. Refined and elegant, she ruled over the Chamberlain family with an iron fist that felt deceptively like a silk glove.
Receiving an invitation to tea with Adelia was something women in town waited for their whole lives. That kind of thing didn’t happen to just anyone, and when it did, you sure as hell didn’t turn her down. Even on short notice.
Ivy eyed the time on her phone. S
he had three hours before she needed to be at the Chamberlain mansion.
Crap. Had she even packed anything appropriate for a formal tea? Ivy burst into the cabin and went straight for her closet. She flipped through hangers, frowning at every piece. Jeans and leather pants were the uniform for a rock star, most days. Occasionally she’d change it up with a skirt or a bustier. If she wore a dress, it was a loaned gown for a red carpet event.
Ivy eyed the invitation again. She needed to RSVP first. And then she would tackle her outfit.
Ten minutes later, she was back on the road to town. She managed to keep all four wheels on the pavement as she squealed around the turn from Second Avenue onto Magnolia Way and came to a sudden stop in the parking spot outside her mother’s salon.
Ivy leaped from the car and blew through the front door. The bells announced her arrival, but it wasn’t necessary. Ivy’s desperate shout of “Mama!” the minute her feet hit the tile floor did that for her.
Sarah looked at her with wide eyes. She had a woman’s hair in one hand, scissors in the other. “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Ivy caught her breath and nodded. Instead of explaining, she held up the ivory invitation. That said it all. “Help.”
“You got invited to Miss Adelia’s for tea?” Pepper said, coming out of the back room with a bottle of perming solution. The stationery was distinctive and infamous enough for the citizens of Rosewood to recognize it and its significance by sight.
Ivy swallowed and nodded. “Yes. For today. What do I do?”
Even the woman in Sarah’s chair was wide-eyed with surprise. She’d obviously never been invited, either. “You need to go next door and get a dress from Beverly. She’ll know what to do.”
“She’s right,” Sarah chimed in. “Go ask Miss Beverly for help. She’ll find something just right. When you get done, come back here and we’ll do your hair and makeup. That ponytail won’t do.”
“Okay.” Ivy spun on her heel and headed back out of the salon to Dressin’ Up, a ladies’ clothing boutique owned by Miss Beverly Perkins.
Ivy dashed inside with slightly more decorum than her previous arrival. She took a deep breath and moved through the racks of clothing to the counter at the back.
“Miss Beverly?” Ivy asked.
Miss Beverly’s head shot up, her platinum-blond curls bouncing around her face. “Well, hey there, Miss Ivy.” She put down a sweater she was folding and came around the counter to give her a big hug. She was a petite, plump southern woman in her late fifties with a smile nearly as big as her hair.
“I need your help.” Ivy held up the invitation.
Miss Beverly gasped. “I have just the thing,” she said, turning and disappearing into the back room. She came out a few minutes later with clothing draped over her arms. Her gaze drifted over Ivy’s body for a moment, and then she nodded to herself. “This is a size six. It should be just right. Take it back to the dressing room and try it on.”
It was a two-piece outfit. The long skirt was dark chocolate brown, but the fabric was light enough to move easily and not weigh her down. The top was an ivory lace tunic with long bell sleeves. It had a brown suede belt to go over it.
It was elegant and seasonally appropriate without going too far. This was refined, luxurious in style and feel, and if a fall chill crept into the air, she would still be comfortable.
She came out of the dressing room and found Miss Beverly waiting for her. Ivy did a little turn so the skirt would swirl around her legs.
“Oh honey,” Miss Beverly gushed. “That looks wonderful on you. I knew it would. Do you like it?”
