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Ivy nodded enthusiastically. “It’s perfect. Thanks so much.”
The store owner came up to her and quickly snatched the store tags off both pieces. “You go change and I’ll get this rung up for you.”
Ivy returned to the dressing room, changed, and emerged a few minutes later to pay for her purchase. Miss Beverly handed over her large shopping bag and Ivy waved good-bye as she headed back to Curls.
She was halfway between the boutique and the salon when she spied Lydia coming out of the bakery. Lydia turned in her direction, giving her no opportunity to avoid another confrontation.
Lydia was digging in her purse for something, a bag from the bakery on her wrist. Pulling out her car keys, she looked up and finally noticed Ivy. Her lips instantly tightened into a frown. She slid her sunglasses onto the top of her head, pushing back her blond hair, and narrowed her gaze at Ivy.
When she laid her eyes on the invitation in Ivy’s hand, she came to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk. “Is this some kind of practical joke?” she asked.
Ivy’s brows went up, following her line of sight to the cream stationery she was clutching. “I assure you I wouldn’t waste my time trying to trick you. It’s absolutely authentic.”
Lydia’s face scrunched up in irritation, forming deep creases between her eyebrows. “Her standards have certainly dropped over the years. Apparently anyone can be invited to tea now.”
“Have you been invited, Lydia?”
She opened her mouth to answer, and then paused. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Who cares about having tea with some little old lady? I honestly have better things to do with my time.”
Ivy nodded as she responded. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“Well, while you’re eating dry old cookies in the heat, I’ll be spending my evening with Blake.” She held up the bag from the bakery. “I just picked up his favorite treat. Who knows, maybe I’ll let him lick the cream cheese frosting off me later.”
Flexing her jaw, Ivy fought to keep her mouth closed. The flames of jealousy were licking at her face but she could not, would not get upset about the idea of Lydia being with Blake. Even if it was true—and Ivy wasn’t certain it was, considering how he’d spoken to Lydia that night at Woody’s—it wasn’t any of her business. Blake was a grown man, able to date whomever he liked.
“That’s probably for the best,” Ivy finally replied. “You really don’t need the calories.”
Lydia’s mouth dropped open, and then she looked down self-consciously at her figure. Ivy took the opportunity to reach for the door to the salon and slip inside. There wasn’t a spare pound on Lydia—she was the definition of petite—but she was vain. Suggesting she’d gained weight would send her into a tizzy.
And if she was going to be naked under Blake tonight, Ivy was happy to make Lydia feel a little more self-conscious than usual. The sign on the door said the shop was closed for lunch, so she flipped the lock to keep Lydia or anyone else outside. “Mama?” Ivy called out when no one could be seen around the place.
“We’re in back, dear.”
Ivy followed the voices into the storeroom. Back there, along with all the salon supplies, were a table and chairs and a television where her mother and Pepper would eat their lunch and relax between clients. They were chatting over sandwiches and glasses of sweet tea.
“That was quick,” Pepper noted, then looked at her with a frown. “What happened? You’re all flushed.”
Ivy waved her hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. I just ran into Lydia outside the shop. That’s not nearly as important as my new outfit.” She pulled the clothes from the bag and received grand approval.
“I think your hair needs to be up,” her mother said, the hair always her first thought.
“A loose, romantic bun,” Pepper added. “You’re young and you should still look that way.”
Sarah put down her sandwich and came over to examine the outfit, then Ivy’s face. “We don’t keep a lot of makeup here, but we should have just what you need. Go sit in my chair and we’ll be out in a minute. I think we can get you done up before my two o’clock root job.”
Ivy hung up the outfit and dropped herself into the same salon chair she’d sat in as a child, when she’d begged her mother to curl her hair and paint her nails with pink sparkles. The memory from her childhood brightened her mood, and thoughts of Lydia slathered in cream cheese frosting were quickly forgotten.
“Work your magic!”
“Grandma Dee!”
Blake blew through the front door of the Chamberlain mansion without bothering to knock. There was no sense making their houseman, Winston, run to answer the door when it was just him. He’d lived here for eighteen years. He was hardly a guest.
Besides, he needed to have a private chat with his granny.
“Grandma Dee!” he yelled again, going through the marble-tiled foyer to the library, where his grandmother spent a lot of her time. There, he found the twelve-foot floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with leather volumes, velvet curtains, and a large desk with his grandmother’s infamous custom stationery. But no granny.
In the bay window, curled up with a book, was his baby sister, Hazel. She was the youngest of the Chamberlain kids and the only one still living at home. She was currently a senior at Rosewood High and—thank the Lord—had taken health class before he was hired there.
