“Yeah,” Ivy agreed, following her to the front door. “Hopefully everyone in there hasn’t heard about my incident today.”
Pepper frowned, pushing open the door. “What incident?”
Ivy stopped in her tracks as her eyes adjusted to the dark bar and she realized everyone was looking at her. The jukebox in the corner started a new song and the first verse of “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” blared throughout the bar. Ivy groaned, dropping her head in her hands.
Pepper grasped her wrist and tugged her farther inside. “Come on,” she said. She led Ivy through the tables and the people milling around to get two seats at the bar.
Ivy tried to focus on the dark, polished wood of the bar, ignoring the people around her. She’d never actually been into Woody’s before. When she’d lived in Rosewood she’d been underage. She’d celebrated her twenty-first birthday at Drai’s in Hollywood.
She lifted her eyes in time to see the hunk of a bartender coming toward her. He was well over six feet tall with wide shoulders, shaggy blond hair, and a wide, friendly smile. He had the laid-back carriage of a surfer with the strong, callused hands of a man who made more than just drinks. All the pretty boys she’d run across in LA had nothing on this guy.
“Hey, Emmett,” Pepper said.
Emmett planted his large hands on the top of the bar and flashed them both a ridiculously charming smile. “Evening, ladies. Who have you brought with you, Pepper?”
Ivy chuckled. She didn’t run across that much; of course, Emmett didn’t look like a Top 40 guy. He wasn’t from around here, either. She would’ve remembered him.
“Oh, come on, Emmett! Really?” Pepper sighed. “This is Ivy. Ivy Hudson. Ring a bell?”
Ivy nudged Pepper and shook her head. Her public persona carried with it a lot of baggage and presumptions. She actually liked that he didn’t know who she was. It wouldn’t last long, and she wanted to enjoy it while she could.
Emmett shrugged off their exchange and offered his hand. “Emmett Sawyer,” he said in introduction and gave her a firm but gentle shake. “Nice to meet you, Ivy. What can I get you two to drink?”
Pepper ordered a vodka cranberry and Ivy got a rum and Diet Coke. Emmett disappeared to make their drinks.
“Where did Rosewood find a guy like that?” Ivy asked.
Pepper smiled and reached over for a couple of pretzels from a nearby bowl. “Emmett bought the bar about two years ago. Moved here from Florida, I think, although God knows why. He’s done an amazing job with this place. Honestly. It was never this nice before. He refinished all the wood and recovered all the leather booths and stools. He does some carpentry work on the side, and there isn’t a better advertisement for him than this place. I was thinking of hiring him to do some work at my new house.”
That explained the hands. “You bought a place?”
“Yeah,” Pepper said. “I finally saved up enough to buy one of the little historic houses off the square. Unfortunately, all I could afford was one that was more old than historic. It needs a ton of work. But it’s all mine and I can walk to the salon when the weather is nice.”
“I’d love to see it,” Ivy said.
“No way,” Pepper said. “No one is setting a foot into that house until it’s been totally redone. Especially not someone who’s graced the cover of Rolling Stone magazine and sung on the soundtrack of my favorite movie of all time. No way.”
In LA, it seemed like everybody was somebody, so Ivy didn’t feel that special. Aside from fans and reporters, she wasn’t used to people seeing her that way. Emmett brought their drinks and she took a healthy sip to chase away her anxiety. “I’m just Ivy,” she said. “Forget the whole rock star bit and just think of me as the girl I was before all that.”
A familiar voice chimed in, “The mousy daughter of the band teacher with hand-me-down clothes who dated her way into superstardom?”
Ivy didn’t need to turn to know who it was. That voice had haunted her dreams since she was twelve. She slowly spun on her stool to face her school nemesis. “Lydia Whittaker,” Ivy said with a saccharine smile. “I thought I smelled the stench of desperation and peroxide when I came in here. I didn’t realize you were a part of our conversation.”
“That’s because she wasn’t,” Pepper pointed out.
Lydia flicked her long blond hair over her shoulder and focused her gaze on Ivy. “Well, I saw you come in and I simply had to come over and welcome you home.”
Welcome her? Yeah right. More like lob the first new volley of their thirteen-year-old war. She was about to answer when Lydia shifted her attention to Pepper.
“Oh, bless your heart,” she said with a smug twist of her lips. “I see Pepper glommed on to you the minute you came back to town. Appropriate pairing, I suppose, although with those fancy designer clothes and her new house, I can’t call y’all Thrift Shop and Trailer Park anymore.”
Ivy cringed at hearing the cruel monikers Lydia had labeled them with in school. Lydia came from a wealthy family that owned two of the local restaurants, Ellen’s Diner and Whittaker’s, as well as a huge horse farm on the edge of town. Her air of superiority stank of old money and privilege, but it hadn’t always been that way. In elementary school, Ivy and Lydia had been best friends. Their parents were friends to this day.
And then, in middle school, a toxic combination of hormones, boys, and fierce competitiveness changed their dynamic. Lydia started hanging out with Madelyn Chamberlain, who had always been a bit of a brat and thought she was better than everyone else. Overnight, Lydia became the most popular girl in school and Ivy lost her best friend.
She supposed Lydia needed to feel superior to Ivy and the only thing she had over her back then was money. Things were strained for a few years, but when Lydia’s crush—Blake—asked Ivy out, the g
loves came off and the claws came out. Apparently not much had changed while she was in California.