“Okay. One, two, three!”
Both doors flew open and they rushed out to see each other in the dresses.
“I hate you,” Pepper said, planting her hands on her green-taffeta-covered hips.
Ivy frowned. “Why?”
“’Cause you look like a hot rock star even in an awful eighties prom dress.”
“You look hot, too,” Ivy said. “That’s a great color on you. Grant is going to love it.”
Pepper flushed bright red. “You shut up!” she said. “I am not going with Grant Chamberlain.”
“Well, who are you going with?”
“Brian,” Pepper said. “He’s the manager of the electronics store.”
“Skinny Brian Green from the chess club?”
Pepper got flustered at Ivy’s all-too-accurate guess. “That was a long time ago,” she sputtered. “He’s really filled out. These days, I appreciate a guy who can set up my router.”
“Sexy,” Ivy teased. “But what if Grant asks you to dance?” she said with a sneaky grin.
“I’ll tell him what I told him in school—I don’t dance with freshmen.”
Ivy laughed. “You say that now. When he’s in a powder-blue tuxedo, you might not be able to resist him.”
“He might not even be at the dance, you know. He is a fireman. They’re on call a lot.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Ivy hummed thoughtfully. She was glad to finally have the conversation focus on someone else’s love life for a change. “I’ll
see to it that you don’t sneak out and set a fire in the dumpster so he has to leave, okay?”
“Put your clothes back on,” Pepper snapped, disappearing into her dressing room.
“One scoop of butter pecan in a sugar cone, please.”
Nash placed his daily ice cream order and moved to the register to pay. He’d become persona non grata at the diner, the pizza place, and the nice restaurant, but word of who he was hadn’t made it to the ice cream parlor yet. The woman who worked there was about his age. She always had a cheerful smile for him and never pried into who he was or why he was in town. He took his ice cream to sit by the window and watch people moving around the square. In a rental car across the street, he could see Larry and Ted from Celebrity Weekly magazine. They were eating sandwiches from the deli inside the grocery store. Apparently they’d been booted out of all the restaurants, too.
Nash was all for healthy competition, but he much preferred Rosewood when there weren’t seven other reporters there nosing in on his story. It was his own fault—he’d posted the tape that tipped off her location, but it had been worth it. He’d made a mint selling that video. He’d make even more if he could get some shots of Ivy and Blake together romantically.
They’d kissed on that Ferris wheel, he just knew it, but he couldn’t get a shot. It was smart to go up there to do it. The angle was awkward, and even with a telephoto lens, he could only get half of Blake’s head in the photo. There was no way to prove they were kissing.
The prom was the perfect opportunity to catch them together, but damned if there wasn’t a strict press ban at the event. If he wanted to go, he’d have to get a date and buy a ticket. It was couples only.
Nash had to get in there somehow. He licked his ice cream and turned back to look around the parlor for inspiration. His gaze fell on the woman at the counter. He would guess she was about forty. She was short and on the chubby side. She wasn’t unattractive, but she was plain. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup or do much with her hair. Her name tag read CHERYL.
He watched Cheryl reach over the glass barrier to hand a cone to another patron. There was no ring on her left hand. That didn’t surprise him.
Nash finished his cone and waited until the shop was empty. Making his way back to the counter, he smoothed his hands over his blond hair, gave Cheryl his best smile, and leaned against the glass case.
“Sorry to bother you again, Cheryl.”
She smiled and shook her head. “It’s no trouble, that’s what I’m here for. What can I do for you?”
“Well, first, I’d like a bottle of water. I’m Nash, by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Nash.” Cheryl reached into the refrigerated unit and pulled out a bottle of water. “That will be a dollar fifty. What else can I get you?”