Just doing her job, one life at a time. Staying impartial.
She heard water running as she shut the door.
No! Ivy ran into the bathroom, nearly went down on the slick tile. The water ran over the top, had already flooded the room, and was now cascading into the hall.
“No, no, no!” She waded in, reached over, and shut off the faucet. Plunged her hand into the depths and pulled the plug.
The water began to gurgle out.
Grabbing clean towels, she threw them on the floor to mop up the water.
From the kitchen table, her cell phone rang.
She ran toward it, nearly slipped again, stepped on one of the papers, and with it stuck to her foot, picked up the phone to look at the caller ID.
Darek.
It rang again and she stood there, her thumb hovering over the button to answer.
So much for staying impartial.
IVY DESERVED BETTER and Darek knew it. He forced a smile as she stopped by an artist’s booth displaying suncatchers and other jewels on a fishing line.
Ivy caught one in her hand. “Pretty.” She held it up to capture the rose gold of the setting sun.
Darek tried to act interested in a piece of jewelry but mostly just intercepted Tiger’s grab at the pieces. “Hands off, pal.”
Tiger made a face. “I’m hungry.”
“I know, bud. We’re going to get some supper in a bit here.”
“I want ice cream!”
“Not before dinner. You’ll ruin your appetite.”
Ivy let go of the suncatcher. Glanced at the vendor with a smile and then turned away. “We can get it now, if you want.”
“No. We can finish walking through this row of merchants. This is fun.”
She raised an eyebrow but moved on to the next booth. At least this artist he knew and could make some small talk. Liza Beaumont, the potter, wore her black hair up in a ponytail, a long wrinkled skirt, a tank top that revealed her strong arms.
“Hello there, Darek.” She leaned down. “Tiger.”
“Hello, Miz B.”
Liza met Darek’s eye as she straightened. “Tiger’s preschool class came to my studio last year and they all made bowls.”
“I painted it too!”
Ivy was holding a bowl, looking at the bottom. “I have a few of these in my apartment.”
“Let me know if you need any replacements.” She winked. “So, Tiger, they are painting rocks down at the beach. You and your daddy should head down to the booth.”
Just what Tiger needed. Paint. Rocks. A lethal combination. But Darek managed a smile.
“Don’t look so ill, Darek. It’s just watercolors,” Liza said. “Maybe you should paint something. Could be good for you. Loosen you up.”
“I don’t—”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Ivy said as if she’d been waiting all her life to paint rocks. Or maybe she was simply as miserable as he was.
Maybe she, too, longed to be somewhere else.
Ivy took Tiger’s hand. “C’mon, let’s go show your daddy the amazing artists we are.”
The sight of Tiger looking up at her, adoration in his eyes—yes, that could pull Darek out of his self-pity and into a happier place.
And he could admit to losing himself in a happy place for a long moment tonight as Ivy met him outside her apartment, wearing a pretty orange sundress with a pair of flip-flops.
She’d smiled at him, her green eyes in his, as if searching for something. If he didn’t know better, he might have called her expression fear or even sadness. As if he’d nearly blown it by not calling her for four days and now stood at the precipice of losing this chance completely.
But then Tiger asked her if she wanted a cookie, she laughed, and the fist in his chest eased.
Especially when Ivy accepted his outstretched hand.
Her soft grip in his should have been enough to distract him from the orange haze along the far horizon, the scent of smoke in the air. From the knowledge that Jed and the rest of the Jude County Hotshots were holed up at the forest service office reading maps and weather reports, constructing fire behavior scenarios and a plan of attack.
But the last day had sucked him right back to the past. It felt somehow like he hadn’t lost a day of his life as Jed and the crew unpacked their gear at Evergreen, sat around the lodge swapping stories. Darek fell into the hive and had them all laughing at the rookie escapades of their superintendent.
Most of all, it made him feel normal. Or at least like the man he’d wanted to be. It bolstered his courage to finish that phone call, to talk to Ivy and ask her out to the opening night of the art show.
Art. What had he been thinking? The chamber of commerce had blocked off the street, allowed locals to put up booths, and now he’d sentenced himself to an evening of examining pottery, trying to be impressed by woven baskets. Deep Haven and its penchant for festivals.