Facing the Music (Rosewood 1)

“It was a blessing because it brought Ivy home.” A middle-aged woman pushed through the crowd and Ivy immediately recognized her favorite history teacher, Mrs. Everett.

She came up to Ivy with her arms spread wide. Oh Lord, she was going to hug her. Ivy braced herself, trying not to be too stiff. She’d been gone for so long that she’d forgotten how touchy-feely people were in the South. They loved a good hug. New York? Not so much. LA? How about a fist-bump followed by some hand sanitizer.

As a celebrity, she was even further removed. Fans would ask for hugs or pictures, but at most events, security didn’t allow it. There would be no buffer here. She needed to prepare herself for the onslaught, because she had no doubt every person in this town would hug her before she boarded a plane home.

“Mrs. Everett,” Ivy said, taking a step back to reclaim her personal space. “How are you?”

“You’re not in school anymore, Ivy. You can call me Gloria. I’m the principal at Rosewood High these days. No more history lectures for me.”

Mrs. Everett—er, Gloria—was always good to all her students, and Ivy was certain she’d make an excellent principal. “That’s a loss for history,” Ivy said. “I learned more from you about the Middle Ages and the Black Plague than anyone else.”

Gloria’s light brown eyes lit up. “That was my favorite lesson. Everyone gets so fired up about the Civil War around here, they forget the human race existed for millennia before the War of Northern Aggression. But enough of that. We need to get you acquainted with the plans. That’s why you’re here, right?”

“Absolutely.” Ivy let Gloria escort her over to the large conference table where they had big stacks of papers and drawings for activities.

“We’ve got a lot of great things scheduled. I’m certain we’ll earn enough money to rebuild the athletic facilities and then some. I’ve always fancied a pool so we could start a swim team. Dream big, right? Well, anyway, before we get into the details . . .” Gloria paused, looking around the room with a frown. “Where’s Coach?”

“He should be here any minute,” someone offered. “He had to wait for his health class to end.”

“Oh, all right,” Gloria said, continuing on. “I’ll just repeat all this to him later. Ivy, you’ll be working closely with Coach for nearly all these events. You’re the spokespeople of sorts.”

That wasn’t too bad. Ivy had always liked Coach Ford. Working with him wouldn’t be bad at all. “That all sounds fine.”

“Did I hear someone say Coach? Sorry I’m late, it’s sex ed week. You know how that goes.”

Ivy turned her head toward the voice in the doorway and knew, just knew, she was being punished. Or she was the butt of some hidden-camera practical joke show. The Fates weren’t that cruel . . .

Blake was looking right at her with the same knowing blue eyes from her dream. He smiled as if he somehow knew what she was thinking and knew she’d dreamed about him. The mere thought made her face heat with embarrassment and unwanted desire.

She was wrong. The Fates were vindictive bitches.

Blake didn’t even need to see Ivy to know she was in the room. The moment he stepped inside, he could smell the warm, enticing fragrance of her favorite perfume. His chest immediately tightened as memories flooded into his mind. Ivy had millions of dollars at her disposal and yet she still wore the same thirty-dollar perfume he’d bought her at a Birmingham department store. It was called Love Song, and he’d given it to her for their first Valentine’s Day together.

The moment he tested it in the store, he knew it was perfect for her. She must agree, considering she still wore it. He doubted that had anything to do with its sentimental value. Or maybe it did. When his eyes found her in the group of people, there was something unexpected reflecting at him—desire. It was short-lived, though, replaced by something just short of horror and disgust.

“Blake is the head football coach?” Ivy nearly choked on her words. Her face flushed an ugly red, which seemed to be its normal state whenever he was around. That was only fair, since tight and uncomfortable pants were the norm for him when she was around.

“I am,” Blake said with his widest, most confident smile spread across his face. He’d been told that it was an all-American smile, as wholesome and endearing as apple pie. His whole life, this smile and the dimples that came with it could charm anyone. Well, judging by Ivy’s pinched expression, almost anyone. “I’ve been the head coach of the Rosewood Panthers since the start of the school year, when Coach Ford retired and moved to Orange Beach.”

“Coach Chamberlain!” Gloria said, oblivious to the emotional fireworks exploding around her. “I’m so glad you could make it. I was just going over some of the plans with Ivy. I was telling her how closely you two will be working together over the next couple of weeks.”

“Say what?” Blake jerked his smug gaze away from Ivy and forced it onto his boss. He hadn’t heard her right.

“The fund-raiser,” she said, her brows drawing together with concern. “You’ve been told about the plans, haven’t you? Your grandmother assured me you were fine with everything.”

His grandmother. Of course. The grand dame was scheming; he could feel it. She wanted to pull off this event her way and that meant keeping him—and apparently Ivy—out in the cold when it came to the details. “I apologize, but there must have been a family miscommunication.” As i

n, the stubborn old woman hadn’t told him a damned thing.

“Oh,” Principal Everett said. “I . . . I mean . . . I thought both of you were aware of the situation and had agreed to it. This is unfortunate. We never would’ve . . .”

“Gloria?” Ivy spoke up. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell us what you have planned? I realize this might be awkward, but I’m certain both Blake and I are willing to do whatever is necessary to help the town rebuild.” Her dark green eyes were fixed on him as she spoke, laying down her challenge.

Well played. Now, if he balked, he’d look like a selfish ass.

We’ll see how agreeable she is when she realizes the extent of what she just signed up for. “Absolutely. Please continue. I hope I didn’t miss much.”

Looking visibly relieved, Gloria sighed and brushed her hand back over her neatly coiffed light brown hair. “Thank goodness. I was telling Ivy how critical you two are to the upcoming events. To be perfectly frank, we’re milking your success for all it’s worth. Not every little town has a famous singer and an NFL quarterback to call their own. It kicks off with the county fair on Thursday night. The fair itself will run through Sunday, but your main role will be that first night. You’ll be at the ribbon-cutting ceremony to open the fairgrounds and welcome everyone to the celebration. Friday,” she continued, “we’d like Ivy to judge the Miss Rosewood pageant and Coach to judge the pie bake-off. Both will end, of course, well before the football game Friday night.”