Gracie’s sigh was a work of art. Long-suffering and heartfelt. Ah, to be seventeen and a master of sarcasm. And a slave to emotions. “Cynical.”

“Well, that cuts deep, doesn’t it?” Giving her coworker a thoughtful frown, Ivy kept her tone somber. “But I’ve now seen the error of my sensible ways, thanks to your amazing grasp of syntax and the perfect amount of pathos in your tone.” She lifted the champagne flute in a mock toast. “Pink lacy hearts, huge diamonds and chocolates for everyone.”

Tucking one leg under the other, Gracie turned and studied Ivy with her too-intense gaze. “Molly says sarcasm is a defense mechanism used when someone hits too close to the truth.”

“Molly has six sons under the age of eight, one of them a newborn. It’s obvious your stepmother is a few kale leaves short of a pound, so we’re not going to take anything she says to heart.”

Another sigh from Gracie, this one just a few notches below resignation. At least all those heavy exhalations were warming up the car a bit. “Don’t worry. Someday, you’ll get over it.”

“If the it you’re referring to is my common sense, then sorry, but you’re going to be majorly disappointed. If a woman doesn’t have her wits about her, she has nothing.” Ivy dug out a pen and crumpled napkin from the console. Handed them to Gracie. “Write that bit of wisdom down so you remember it.”

Gracie didn’t even glance at the offerings in Ivy’s hands. “It being your broken heart. Someday, when you’re ready, it will mend, and you will be able to live your life free of all that anger and pain you carry around.” She tipped her head, her ponytail bouncing, and studied Ivy some more. “I’m surprised you don’t know this. You should have better self-awareness.”

Ivy laughed. She got such a kick out of this kid. “Honey, there’s not a woman alive who is more self-aware than I am.”

Gracie meant well, but she was way off base. Ivy had gone twenty-six years without suffering from a broken heart, and she planned on keeping that streak alive for...oh...forever sounded good.

She already knew the damage heartbreak could cause. It wore you down and stripped you of your pride, leaving you angry, resentful and so hurt, you never got over it.

She may not have experienced it firsthand, but she’d heard about it plenty, had witnessed its effects up close, thank you very much. Her mother had spent her entire life jumping from relationship to relationship, happily swallowing the lies men fed her, believing their promises only to be let down again and again.

So, yeah, Ivy knew all about the frailty of emotions. How they tricked you into believing foolish myths about happy endings and forever after. No other person could complete you or make you happy.

Give away your truth and you gave away the upper hand. Share your secrets, your hopes and dreams and desires, and you lost all power. The idea of true love looked good on paper, but in reality, it was complicated, often messy and, in many cases, downright ugly.

Loving someone made you vulnerable. Weak.

And any weakness led to pain.

* * *

GRACIE WATCHED IVY pick up the empty champagne glass, lift it to her mouth and tip it back. When nothing came out, Ivy held the glass out and glared at it, as if she’d expected bubbly wine to magically appear.

“Are you okay?” Gracie asked. She tucked her hands under her legs to warm them. Her nose was starting to run. She sniffed. “You’re acting...” Weird. Flustered. “...not like yourself.”

Ivy was not only possibly the most beautiful woman Gracie had ever seen in real life, she was also the coolest. Always in complete control of her emotions. Her actions.

Gracie knew her well enough to know it was a defense mechanism of some sort, a facade she kept up in order to keep people at bay. Still, she couldn’t help but admire Ivy for it.

“I’m fine. Come on. Let’s get back inside before we freeze to death.”

“Thank goodness.” They climbed out and crossed the parking lot, their steps quick, the click-click of Ivy’s heels ringing. Pressing her hands to her aching ears, Gracie hurried to keep up, though how Ivy could move so fast in those high heels—let alone how she wore them during her entire shift—was beyond Gracie. “Do you think there’s a correlation between low temperatures and hearing loss? I mean, the cold can affect blood circulation. Extreme heat can affect brain function.”

“I have no idea. I’m sure you could find out, though.”

That was the thing about Ivy. She never got frustrated with Gracie’s questions, was never short with her when she started talking, never interrupted her and told her to condense what she had to say and wrap it up already.

She listened. Really listened. And she believed in Gracie, in her ability to seek out her own answers. To find her own way.

Ivy opened the door, and they stepped into the blessedly warm hallway.

“I have a few more minutes left on my break,” Ivy said. “I’m going to grab a bite to eat.”

“Okay.” Gracie took the one-hundred-dollar bill from her pocket. “I suppose I should give this back to the hot cowboy.”

“Why would you do that?”

“He asked me to get you. I didn’t.”

“He asked you to deliver his message to me. Which you did.”

Gracie bit her lower lip. She could use the money, no lie. At the rate her parents kept having kids, they wouldn’t be able to afford to pay for her college tuition until she was sixty. “It doesn’t seem right.”

Ivy looked as if she was about to argue, but then she smiled. “It’s up to you. Follow your heart.” She picked a tiny silver piece of heart confetti from Gracie’s sleeve and handed it to her. “No pun intended.”

They parted ways at the end of the hall, Ivy heading into the kitchen, Gracie going back to the main room. The band was playing a slow country song long on melody and short on substance, repeating how love had saved some poor guy.

Gracie wanted to kick the lead singer in the shin. Get him to just stop already.

She was sick of love songs. Yes, it was an engagement party, so she supposed they were fitting, but add the songs to the fact that it was Valentine’s Day, and it was all just too much.

V-day. It was so dumb. All that pink. All those hearts and the sappy commercials telling you the only way you were worth anything was if you had a significant other.

It was ridiculous. Being single wasn’t a bad thing. You had to be comfortable being alone before you could fully be with someone else anyway.

And she’d keep telling herself that until she finally believed it.

The cowboy was still where she’d last seen him, but now he was talking to a beautiful blonde in a clingy red dress. The woman turned, gestured wildly with her hands, and Gracie realized she wasn’t a woman, but a girl around her own age.

A girl with the body of a twenty-five-year-old swimsuit model and the face of a beauty queen. The dress showed ample amounts of toned, tanned thighs and above-average boobs. Her hair fell, thick and straight, to her shoulders, the strands glossy and smooth.

Gracie touched a coarse, loose curl at her temple, tucked it behind her ear.

Nothing like seeing perfection standing effortlessly in a pair of four-inch heels to make a girl feel inadequate.

Gracie frowned. That was just silly. A person’s worth should never be based on their looks. So what if the blonde was one of “those girls,” the kind who probably never went anywhere— including gym class or a quick trip to the grocery store—without full makeup and high heels. Who rolled out of bed with nary a snarl in their hair or a pimple on their chin.

It took all kinds.

A dark-haired guy tapped the blonde on the shoulder. Something about the color of his hair, the shape of his head seemed familiar. Before Gracie could figure out if she knew him or not, the blonde turned and squealed as if he’d spent the past ten years on a deserted island with only a volleyball for company, then threw her arms around him. Hugging her back, he turned, giving Gracie a clear view of the huge smile on his face.