“Like...gum?”

“She chewed them up, then spit them out. She was always looking for something better. Someone better-looking, more exciting, richer.” Ivy pretended great interest in folding a paper napkin, matching up the corners, getting the crease just right. Part of her was afraid to let Clinton hear about her past, about her mother. She cared what he thought, she realized, and that grated. But another part wanted him to know where she’d come from. Needed him to see her clearly. “She loved me—in her way. As much as someone so narcissistic can love anyone else. But as I got older, she viewed me less as a daughter and more as a rival. All women were competition to her, and for that competition to be her own daughter...? She hated it and began to resent me for being younger. For taking attention away from her. Things between us were tense, and as soon as I graduated high school, I moved out. We weren’t close during those last few years.”

That was an understatement. About the only time she and her mother spoke during that time was when they happened to run into each other.

“How did she die?” Clinton asked.

“Car accident. She’d been seeing a local businessman who was going through his midlife crisis by buying a sports car and taking on a beautiful cocktail waitress as his mistress. The roads were icy. He took a corner too fast and went off the road. She died instantly. He survived. One of those freak things where he walked away with a few bruises and scratches. He came to see me after,” she heard herself admit. She’d never told anyone about her mother’s lover visiting her. “And offered to pay for her funeral expenses.”

“Generous of him. He must have cared about her quite a bit.”

“More like he was worried if he didn’t at least offer, I was going to take him to civil court, fleece him and his family of all his hard-earned money. It was payoff, pure and simple. I declined.”

“You paid for your mother’s funeral? She didn’t have insurance?”

“When you live paycheck to paycheck, you can’t afford luxuries such as life insurance or even health insurance. I paid to have her buried.”

She’d used the money she had saved for culinary school. Now she was saving again.

“I take after her, you know,” Ivy felt the need to point out. “In looks. In temperament. But I promise you this—I’ll be a better mother.”

Studying her in a way that made her nervous, Clinton slowly closed the distance between them. “I’ve never met your mother, but I know the type of woman you’ve described. As you said, your mother and mine have quite a bit in common, and I can tell you that you’re nothing like them. You haven’t been sitting around waiting for some man to take care of you. You’re one of the smartest, hardest-working people I’ve ever met. I know you don’t need me to take care of you or to make you happy, but I’d be damned lucky if you let me in your life.”

And then, millionaire Clinton Bartasavich Jr., with his designer jeans and shirt that cost more than she made in a week, did the most wonderful thing a man had ever done. He kissed her forehead and hugged her. Just...held on.

She wanted to resist, to assert her independence. It was scary being that vulnerable, but in the end, she couldn’t fight the emotions flowing through her. She relaxed, wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, wrapped in that embrace, his chin resting on the top of her head, his hands making soothing circles on her back, her cheek pressed against the softness of his shirt. His warmth seeped through the material to her cheek. She could hear his heart beat strong and steady.

When she finally lifted her head, she gave him a wry smile. “And that’s the story of my mother.”

He laughed. “My mother doesn’t seem so bad now.” He frowned, scratched his cheek. “Don’t get me wrong—she’s a lunatic sometimes, and if she collects one more boy-toy boyfriend, I’ll probably go insane, but at least she didn’t blame me or Kane for her mistakes. Just our dad.”

Ivy laughed, remembering his mother in that little dress at the engagement party. “I’m glad I could help you realize you don’t have it so bad, after all.”

“Your mother didn’t know what she was missing by not being a part of your life,” he said gruffly. “Don’t ever think you’re like her.”

“I don’t want to, but I have used my looks to get attention, to get certain things in life.” Admitting it was hard, but somehow, making this confession to Clinton seemed like the right thing to do. “When I was younger, it was easy to charm the boys a bit to make myself feel good. Oh, look how many boys want me, want to date me, have me on their arm, but then I realized that they were using me as much as I was using them. I became cynical. I couldn’t tell who was with me because they really liked me and who just wanted to use me. For a while, I couldn’t even tell that about myself. I used them and told myself it was fair because they were doing the same.”

Maybe Clinton had been right earlier. Lord knew she hadn’t given those men or herself nearly as much credit. Especially herself.

She forced herself to face Clinton. “But I don’t expect you to take care of me. Your child, yes. But I already know you’ll take care of your responsibilities. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to trick you into a relationship with me. If you want to go your way, I understand.”

He kissed her. Hard. Just swooped right down and claimed her mouth, the kiss stealing her thoughts and her breath. When he finally broke away, he scowled at her, took hold of her upper arms as if he wanted to give her a shake. “Does that feel like I want to leave? I’m the one who came here, asking you to give me a chance. Don’t push me away, Ivy.”

He wanted assurances she couldn’t give him, so she hugged him. But even as she held on, she knew she’d have to let him go eventually.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

C.J. STEPPED INSIDE O’Riley’s the next afternoon, tipped his hat back and scanned the bar for his brother. Pearl Jam’s “Even Flow” played over the jukebox in the far corner. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as it had been when he and Ivy had been there for dinner. Only a few tables had customers, while the booths lining the wall were empty.

C.J. would have thought the bar would be busier on a Friday, but maybe midafternoon was slow no matter what day it was. Then again, today was July third. Maybe people were at home, gearing up for the Fourth, getting ready for picnics, parades and fireworks. All of which he would like to share with Ivy. If he could convince her to spend the holiday with him. He thought he could. Especially after last night.

Ivy had opened up to him. Had trusted him with a piece of her past. And since he hadn’t pushed for more, the rest of the evening had been relaxed and fun. They’d eaten a delicious dinner then watched the latest Tom Hanks movie. It’d all been very normal. Almost as if they were a couple.

But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to spend more time with her. And what better way than celebrating their country’s independence?

He’d call her about it, maybe charm her into having dinner with him tonight, as well. Right after he figured out why his brother had texted him and invited him for a drink.

He didn’t believe for one minute that the impromptu invitation was Kane’s way of extending an olive branch. For one thing, Kane didn’t drink. Not since becoming clean and sober over fifteen years ago. For another, Kane had never reached out to C.J. first, preferring to stay hidden. Letting his family make all the moves.

Now suddenly Kane wanted to pal around?

Something was up. Whatever it was, C.J. figured there was a good chance he wasn’t going to like it.

He started walking across the room, spied Kane in the last booth. Kane looked up, caught C.J.’s eye and gave him a smug grin that set all of C.J.’s instincts humming. Had his footsteps slowing, his muscles tensing as if waiting for a blow.