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“People in town talk up these teas so much, I kept expecting her to tell me the secrets of the universe. Or at least to tell me an embarrassing story about Blake as a child. But I got nothing but polite banter. We covered the weather, traveling, a couple of her favorite singers . . . Nothing to write home about. Or call to tell you, which is why I didn’t.”
Pepper groaned in her ear. Apparently she’d waited all evening to hear from Ivy. Around eight thirty, she’d given up and called herself. “Sounds like a waste of a good hair day.”
“Eh,” Ivy said noncommittally. “It wasn’t a total waste. I could tell Blake liked it. Whenever I can look really hot and make him miserable, it’s a good day.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Pepper complained. “You didn’t mention Blake was there.”
“He wasn’t. At least not for long. He was there when I arrived and quickly made an exit.” Ivy opened the door to the refrigerated case and pulled out a carton of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. It went into the cart next to her twelve-pack of Diet Coke and a giant bag of jelly beans—fuel for writing more songs.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing, at first. He just looked at me.”
“So how do you know he liked your hair?”
“Because of the way he looked at me. I dated the man for over four years. Trust me, I know.”
His gaze had raked over her body, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine and tightening her belly. Her reaction had been instant and powerful, which pissed her off when she thought back on the moment. She never reacted to anyone the way she reacted to Blake. Singers, actors, models . . . not even the sexiest men on earth could evoke the same reaction with just a look.
Why did her body have to respond like that to Blake of all people?
“He looked at me like a five-year-old staring through the window of a candy store. He practically had his nose pressed against the glass. Then he told me I looked lovely and left.”
Someone at the grocery store came over the loudspeaker requesting a price check at register three.
“What was that?” Pepper asked. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the Piggly Wiggly,” Ivy answered, feeling quite pleased with herself. “I am wearing yoga pants, flip-flops, and no bra. My hair is in a ponytail and I washed off all my makeup.”
Pepper gasped, the soft noise barely audible over the hum of the freezer section. “Tell me you aren’t serious.”
“I am. I have to say, it’s the greatest thing I’ve done in a long time. Better than tea at the Chamberlains’.”
“Did someone slip you acid? Why on earth did you go to the store like that?”
“Because I can, Pepper. There are six people in the store and three of them work here. Mr. Thompson’s eyesight is getting so bad he greeted me as Becky, whoever that is. The other woman shopping is dressed kind of like me. It’s like a shopping sisterhood. No one has so much as batted an eye at me.”
“I really don’t get it.”
Pepper subscribed to the rule most southern women lived by: you should never go out in public without your hair done and your face “on.” It didn’t matter if it was for a PTA meeting, dinner at Ellen’s, or a run to the post office. The pick-up line at the elementary school could be a beauty pageant. The bigger the hair, the closer to God, after all.
Ivy had lived that way in California and New York, but mostly because she was a celebrity and she had to. Here, she couldn’t care less because it was safe.
“No one cares, Pepper. It’s the greatest thing ever. There’s no one here from the press to snap my picture and put me in one of those ‘Celebrities without Makeup’ specials. To you, it’s just me going to the grocery store dressed like a slob, but to me, it’s pure freedom.”
It was awful sometimes. Sure, being a world-famous singer had its perks. But it also came with its downsides. Having cameras shoved in her face almost constantly was one of the negatives. She could never have a bad hair day. She could never just throw something on and run up the street for doughnuts. She always had to be on. She always had to be the Ivy Hudson.
“Wow. I guess I didn’t really think about that.”
“You know, I wasn’t excited about coming back to Rosewood. But after a few days, I really am starting to see the perks of the small-town life again. I mean, aside from Lydia and Blake, most folks have been very welcoming. There’s no traffic. No pollution. No crowds. And most importantly, no paparazzi.”
Pepper laughed. “There’s also no sexy movie stars, no oceans, no Rodeo Drive, and no sushi restaurants.”
“That’s true.” It was definitely an adjustment. She couldn’t leap into her convertible and go to a club or make a run to the In-N-Out Burger. Out here, things pretty much shut down by nine. It was a different world, but she didn’t mind so much. It was a nice change of pace. “But, if things pan out, there might be a sexy movie star in Rosewood next week.”
A sharp squeal sounded in Ivy’s ear. “Ohmigod. Who? Would I know him? Is he single? Are you going to tell me who it is or what?”
“I will once you hush.” Ivy put a couple of liters of Smartwater in her cart with some protein bars while she drew out the suspense. “So . . . Malcolm Holt might be paying me a visit if he gets the break he’s expecting on his latest shooting schedule.”
