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“It means whatever we want it to mean. There’s no reason we have to decide right this minute. Let’s just take it one day at a time and see what happens.”
She looked dubiously at him. “And no more fighting?”
“No more fighting,” he agreed. He had no more interest in going rounds with Ivy. It just made the situation worse and encouraged him to say things he regretted. “What do you say to making our truce official over blue cotton candy and some rides at the fair tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know,” she said, unconvinced. “I was just planning on leaving after the ribbon cutting.”
“Aw, come on. It’ll be like old times. We always had a great time at the fair. We can get on the Scrambler and scream like we’re going to die. It will be fun.”
“The press will be there,” Ivy argued.
“So? They’re going to take pictures of you no matter what you’re doing. You might as well let them take pictures of you having fun. You know who else will be there? Lydia. She’ll pounce on me the minute the ribbon-cutting ceremony ends if you’re not there with me.”
At that, Ivy chuckled. “Are you afraid of Lydia?”
“A little bit,” he admitted. “Look at it this way: if we go together, even as friends, it will make her absolutely green with jealousy and ruin her whole night. That’s got to be worth something, right?”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly, although a smile eventually spread across her face. “I will go and protect you from the evil clutches of Lydia Whittaker. But,” she said, “I can’t stay too late. I need to get home and work on some songs.”
“You’ll be home long before you turn back into a pumpkin,” Blake assured her.
“And,” she added, “I want the pink cotton candy.”
Blake had to laugh at her list of demands. “Whatever color you want, Ivy Grace.”
Chapter 10
Ivy’s manager returned her call later that evening, skipping the pleasantries, as usual. “And I quote,” he began, “‘Blake Chamberlain has an excellent penis! It is quite large and he is very skilled in using it.’ ”
Ivy groaned into the phone. She had forgotten about saying that. Of course Nash would be there to record it. “He was filming longer than I thought.” She had deliberately avoided the Internet since that incident, not wanting to know what would show up about her this time. “How bad is it?”
“Well, TMZ and a couple of other entertainment news sites have picked up Nash’s video. Most of the audio is bad and the dialogue undecipherable, but for some reason, you seem to have shouted that part about Blake’s penis. They’re having a field day with it, of course. Care to fill me in?”
Ivy sighed. “I was apologizing to him about the song. It wasn’t about his penis, we all know that. When I said that last part, he asked me to repeat it louder, so I did. I hadn’t seen a single photographer since I got here. I thought it was safe.”
Kevin chuckled. He’d been working with Ivy too long to be fazed by the drama that seemed to follow her around. “How many times have I told you? You have to live your life as though someone is always taping you. It might have been safe before, but Rosewood is officially contaminated. If you haven’t noticed the reporters sniffing around already, you will. The video has sparked quite a bit of interest.”
Ivy frowned and sank into her kitchen chair. “You’re probably right. But what are they interested in? That thing in the alley was embarrassing, but there’s not much more to it.”
“Well,” Kevin explained, “there’s buzz going around that you and Blake have copious amounts of sexual tension. Apparently the hug you shared seemed to cross a boundary or two. Their tongues are wagging at the thought of you reconciling with the man who started your whole man-bashing career. They are, of course, more interested in the inevitable fallout and what song you’ll write about him this time.”
“Just great,” Ivy said. Although she was thankful to have her name in the press for something unrelated to Sterling Marshall, she really wished it wasn’t about Blake. She’d just apologized to him for the last time he’d been dragged into the spotlight. Now she’d have to do it again.
“So what is going on with you two?”
“I, uhh . . .” Ivy was at a loss. What was going on? She didn’t know. They’d apologized and hugged. She’d agreed to go to the fair with him tomorrow. That was all, really, but if the Internet saw more, maybe they were right. She’d felt . . . something between them. She wasn’t about to share that fact with her manager, however, until she knew what that something was.
“Nothing, really,” she explained. “There’s certainly not a reconciliation in the works, nor will there be another song about him. I owe him that much. Since I’ve arrived all we’ve done is fight. We were trying to be adults and talk out our issues before all the activities we have to do together begin.”
“What activities?” Kevin asked.
“So you didn’t know?” Ivy was a bit relieved that Kevin hadn’t kept those details from her.
“Know what?”
“That I’m attached at the hip to Blake for the next couple of weeks. It was all part of the big plan. We’re the town celebrities,” she said, mimicking Gloria’s tone. “Having a private discussion in an alley to clear the air was preferable to having a knock-down, drag-out argument while the papier-ma^che´ float we’re forced to ride on together makes its way down Main Street.”
Ivy didn’t have to see Kevin to know his eyes were squeezed shut and he was rubbing his balding head. He always did that when he got news he didn’t like. “So you two are good now? No more fighting?”
