Remembering Ivy Page 2

  “Yes, the fact that he works in finance reminds me of Julian,” I said. “Although that’s probably not fair to Blake. But I still don’t think he’s interested.”

  “When will you run into him again?” she asked.

  “I have an appointment at Dorset on Tuesday, actually,” I said.

  Her lips turned up in a conspiratorial smile. “I bet if you give him the right signals, he’ll ask you out.”

  “But—”

  “Hear me out,” she said. “If he strikes up a conversation, just relax. Make eye contact. Smile a little. And if he does ask you out, say yes. Oh, and save the lit references for at least the second date.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” she said. “You need a dating ice-breaker. Something to get you past this block you’ve created.”

  Maybe she was right. I did want to get out of this rut. Maybe a dating ice-breaker would do the trick. I didn’t have to commit to anything else. Just a date. If he asked.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. If he talks to me this time, I’ll try not to bore him into oblivion. And if he asks me out, I’ll agree. But I still don’t think he will.”

  “I guess we’ll see.” She shrugged, looking a little smug, and took a sip of her tea.

  Thankfully, Jess changed the subject, and we talked about work for a while. We both finished our drinks and I started wondering if they had any good muffins in the case up front.

  Jessica’s eyes narrowed and she looked over my shoulder for what seemed like the hundredth time.

  “What do you keep looking at?” I asked.

  “Don’t look,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Mr. Amazing has been sitting behind you this whole time and he keeps moving closer. He’s leaning toward you like he’s trying to listen in.”

  My back tightened, and prickles ran up my spine. “Really?”

  She nodded. “He might be cute, but he’s acting weird. Maybe we should go.”

  I nodded and picked up my bag. Jessica situated herself between me and Mr. Amazing, as if she was worried he was going to attack me, and we left.

  Outside, Jess pointed across the street. “I parked over there. Do you want to go out to dinner with us tonight?”

  I smiled, genuinely grateful for the invitation. But staying home with Edgar was preferable to being their third wheel yet again. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. Another time.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  After saying goodbye to Jess, I walked to my car. My mind kept returning to the man in the café. Why had he been watching me? Had he really been listening? It was so odd.

  I got home and took Edgar outside, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Yes, he was attractive, but I’d never been one to get googly-eyed over a man, no matter what he looked like.

  But those eyes. They were so blue. So searching. I could still see them, watching me, scrutinizing. There was something mysterious about him, like he was a puzzle. And I loved a good puzzle.

  But I’d probably never see him again, which was kind of a shame. I’d have liked to know what he saw when he looked at me.

  Downtown

  The building downtown was forty stories of dark blue glass, glinting in the sunlight. I didn’t much like coming here—traffic was usually bad, parking was expensive, and it always seemed to take half a day. But since my dad’s death, it had become a necessary evil. Dorset Financial was located here, and they handled the details of my inheritance.

  My dad had known Arthur Horace, who worked at Dorset, for thirty years, and he’d entrusted the management of the financial portion of his estate to him. I’d kept Arthur on, hiring him to manage the accounts I now owned, mostly because of my dad’s trust in him. Also because I had no idea what to do with the money I’d inherited.

  I’d always known my dad had been financially secure. Growing up, we hadn’t lived extravagantly, but we’d been comfortable. He hadn’t seemed to worry about money. He’d paid for my college, all the way through my PhD program. I’d wondered how he could afford it, but he’d always assured me it was no problem. He’d been a practical man, so I’d assumed he’d simply been good at saving.

  When he’d gotten sick, he’d given me access to his bank accounts so I could handle his bills and medical expenses. After his death, however, I’d discovered that there were accounts I hadn’t known about. And those contained almost ten million dollars. Apparently, he’d made smart investments as a much younger man, including buying stock in some now-prominent software companies. And he’d never told me.

  Since finding out about the money, I’d wondered many times why he’d kept it a secret. He’d had the money for decades. There was no explanation in his will. No letter he’d written that I’d been meant to read after he passed. I suspected it was because he’d felt the same way I did now—bewildered at the idea of being wealthy.

  I went up to the twentieth floor. My meeting with Arthur was brief. He had some changes to go over, and as usual, I adhered to his advice. There were a few forms to sign, and he once again asked if I’d like to take a more substantial distribution. And again, I declined. He didn’t seem surprised.

  Waiting outside the elevator, I adjusted my handbag. It was a bit after three, but I didn’t have any classes this afternoon. I wondered if I should go back to my office or head home for the day.

  “Ivy. It’s nice to see you again.”

  I turned at the voice. Blake Callahan stood next to me, dressed in a dark suit. He was handsome in a classic sort of way, with slicked-back hair and a chiseled jaw.

  My mind immediately went to what Jessica had said, and I made eye contact. “Hi. Blake, right?”

  He smiled. “I’m flattered you remember. You must have had a meeting with Arthur.”

  “I did.” I thought about saying more, but I had a feeling if I kept talking, I’d somehow wind up quoting Tolstoy.

  The elevator opened, and he gestured for me to get in. I did, and he followed me inside.

  “Lobby or parking?” he asked.

  “Parking, please,” I said.

  He pushed both the L and P buttons, then put his hands in his pockets. In the close confines of the elevator, I could smell his cologne. It was something classic, clean with a faint spiciness to it. It was nice.

  But clearly, he wasn’t interested. He’d only said hello to be polite.

  “Forgive me if this is forward, but do you have plans this afternoon?” he asked out of the blue. “I was thinking of taking the rest of the day off. If you’re free, maybe you’d like to join me?”

  My brain scrambled to keep up. Was he asking me out? I was supposed to say yes if he did. I felt so flustered. “Oh, um… are you allowed to go out with a client?”

  “Not if you were my client,” he said. “But I’m in a different department.”

  Calm down, Ivy. Remember what Jessica said. Relax. Smile a little. “Then, yes, that sounds nice. Do you have something in mind?”

  “I don’t know—this is very spontaneous. What if we get some coffee and walk on the Bainbridge ferry? It’s a beautiful day.” The elevator reached the lobby and the doors opened. He gestured for me to go first. “Shall we?”

  “Okay, sure,” I said.

  We walked side-by-side through the lobby, my heels clicking on the floor. Blake held the door and we stepped out onto the street.

  “Do you mind walking?” he asked. “It’s not far. But if you’d prefer, I can get my car.”

  The sun was warm, and the sky blue. “No, I don’t mind walking.”

  I paused to get my sunglasses out of my bag. A short distance up the street, a man caught my eye. I did a double take, and sure enough, it was Mr. Amazing from Café Lit. He leaned against the building, like he might be waiting for someone. Those piercing blue eyes were fixed on me.

  What was he doing here? Could it be a coincidence? But what were the chances of seeing him twic
e, in two completely different places?

  I didn’t have time to contemplate the odds. Blake slipped on a pair of sunglasses and gestured for me to walk next to him. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, but Mr. Amazing stayed where he was. His arms were crossed, and although he didn’t take his eyes off me, he didn’t follow, either.

  It was disconcerting, but at the same time, I didn’t feel threatened. Something about his eyes were so disarming. It was strange to see him here—and stranger still that he’d been openly staring. But instead of being alarmed, I was intrigued all over again.

  Blake hadn’t seemed to notice him at all, so maybe he hadn’t been looking at me. He could have been facing my direction and watching for someone else.

  I was probably imagining things. I walked with Blake down toward the waterfront. We stopped for coffee and took our drinks to the ferry dock. The sun was shining, the light glinting off the water. It was a gorgeous day, and for the first time in too long, I was on a date. Jessica was going to be thrilled.

  But I still looked over my shoulder more than once, wondering if Mr. Amazing was following me.

  Imagining Things

  Seeing Mr. Amazing downtown—I didn’t know his name, so I had to call him something—had clearly messed with my head. In the week after my impromptu coffee date with Blake, it felt like I saw him everywhere.

  I caught a glimpse of someone who might have been him at the grocery store. I thought I saw him again when I was taking Edgar for a walk. A man I could have sworn was him had been at the Thai place near my house when I stopped in to grab takeout. And I saw him—or someone I thought might be him—at least twice a day on campus.

  Of course, I couldn’t confirm any of those sightings. When I’d seen him downtown, he’d been standing in the open, right there on the sidewalk. Since then, I’d only seen him from behind, or from the corner of my eye. Glimpses of a man walking around a corner or ducking through a door. I couldn’t be sure any of them had been him.

  The problem was, it was all so unlikely. What were the chances that another person had suddenly adopted a routine and schedule that was almost identical to mine? It was possible he was new on staff at Woodward. I didn’t know everyone who worked there, and people came and went all the time. Or maybe he was a student. Although I guessed he was roughly the same age as me, we had students of all ages.

  That would explain seeing him around campus—even at Café Lit. But it didn’t explain seeing him downtown, or any of the other places where I’d caught a glimpse of him.

  I figured there were three potential explanations. One, I was imagining things, and other than running into him downtown, none of the other sightings had been him. Two, I was seeing him everywhere I went, but it was all an enormous coincidence. Or three, Mr. Amazing was stalking me.

  Coincidence didn’t seem likely. But the idea that he was stalking me was even less so. I needed to remember Occam’s Razor: the simplest explanation was usually the correct one.

  The problem with the stalking theory was the number of assumptions it required. The more assumptions one had to make for the explanation to be plausible, the less likely it was to be true.

  To conclude that Mr. Amazing was my stalker, I had to assume he had a motive—a reason to stalk me. I had no idea what that could be. I wasn’t famous, even on a small scale. I didn’t use Instagram or other social media heavily enough that my face would be recognizable. My colleagues knew me, but outside the world of Woodward College, I wasn’t a particularly important person.

  There was the small possibility that it had to do with my inheritance. I could already hear Jessica musing over whether someone had discovered I had money. But how would a perfect stranger know? I could count on one hand the number of people who were aware of my recently upgraded financial status. Arthur, and some of the staff at Dorset Financial. And my friends Jessica and Peter. I hadn’t told anyone else.

  That made the explanation that Mr. Amazing had discovered I was wealthy, and determined that stalking me was the best course of action for—well, for what? Stealing my money? Worming his way into my life so he could marry me without a prenup, divorce me, and run off with my father’s fortune? The number of assumptions grew, and the likelihood that I was being stalked diminished.

  The simplest explanation was that I was imagining things. Simplest, and probably correct.

  I told myself, rather sternly, that what I was experiencing was selective attention. It’s like when you decide to buy a new car, and you settle on a red one. Suddenly, you see red cars everywhere, as if half the people in your city suddenly bought new red cars.

  There aren’t actually more red cars than there were before. Your brain is simply paying attention to them because your subconscious deems them important. I had seen Mr. Amazing at Café Lit, and again downtown, and he’d obviously made an impression on me. So now I was seeing men who resembled him, and jumping to the conclusion that they were all the same person. All Mr. Amazing. All watching me.

  Parting the curtain on my front room window, I looked outside. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and the street lights still glowed. Once I’d thought I saw him on my street, but when I’d looked again, no one had been there. Still, I’d taken to keeping my curtains closed, just in case.

  Edgar nuzzled my hand, flicking his tongue across the backs of my fingers. I smiled down at him and scratched behind his ears.

  “Hey, buddy. Almost ready for your walk?”

  The presence of my dog made it even less likely that I was being stalked. Edgar’s white fur and black nose made him look like a cuddly polar bear. But he was not friendly. To me, he was the perfect pet—sweet and loyal, typically well-behaved. And he’d loved my dad. He tolerated Jessica, and treated Peter with a sort of canine indifference, as if he’d sniffed him out and found him uninteresting.

  But he hated every other human on the planet.

  He wasn’t dangerous. But he eyed people with a great deal of suspicion, and he rarely let other people pet him. He’d move away when they tried and growl if they didn’t take the hint. Plus, he barked when people came near the house. If someone was creeping around, watching me, Edgar would let me know.

  I took him for his morning walk, let him do his business, and then headed to work. I parked in the lot near my building and walked across the street to Café Lit. Jessica had already texted to say she’d meet me there.

  She and Peter were inside, standing near the back, both with to-go cups in their hands. Jessica was dressed in a purple paisley blouse, her mass of black curls pulled back. Peter pushed his dark-rimmed glasses up his nose. I noticed the corner of his shirt was partially untucked.

  Jess smiled at me and there was something about her expression that made me pause. I took my place in line, but her eyes were wide, and she kept flicking them to one side. It was like she was trying to send me a signal—perhaps without Peter knowing—but I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. Looking around, I didn’t see anything unusual.

  As I turned to meet them after ordering my coffee, I realized what she’d been trying to say. Mr. Amazing was here. My view of him had been obscured by someone sitting at another table, but there he was.

  He sat at a table with two to-go cups in front of him. He had his hand wrapped around one, while the other sat across from him. I assumed it meant he was here with someone, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, that bothered me. I glanced around the shop, but no one seemed to be heading toward his table. Whoever she was—did I have to assume it was a woman?—she could have been in the bathroom. Or perhaps she hadn’t arrived yet, and he’d ordered for her.

  I tried very hard to ignore the fact that he was watching me. Again.

  Jessica grabbed my arm and yanked me closer as soon as I was within reach. “Girl, he is staring at you. Don’t worry. Peter and I have this.”

  “We have what?” Peter asked.

  “This,” Jessica hissed. “Don’t stress, honey. Peter, move over a little bit so you block his view.”


  Peter looked around as if just realizing there were other people present. “Whose view?”

  “Shh,” Jessica said. “I don’t care how hot that man is, he’s creepy. We’ll get out of here as soon as your order comes up.”

  Peter shook his head and looked at something on his phone.

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” I said. “It looks like he’s waiting for someone, that’s all.”

  “He looked like a dog on alert as soon as you opened the door,” she said. “Sat up straight, eyes on you. If he had a tail, he’d have wagged it.”

  I laughed. “A dog analogy?”

  Jessica shrugged. “It fits.”

  I shifted so I could take a quick peek at Mr. Amazing. I really needed to come up with another nickname for him. Or maybe see if I could sneak a look at his cup—the barista must have written his name on it. His eyes were still on me, as if we were the only two people here.

  For a second, it felt like we were. A strange sensation overtook me—a tingling across my skin—and I was momentarily convinced that the cup of coffee sitting across from him was meant for me.

  Just as I felt myself begin to move toward his table—as if he were the moon and I was the tide being pulled by his gravity—the barista called my name.

  I blinked and went to the counter to get my order. Jess and Peter moved toward the door, and I followed without looking back.

  Jessica linked arms with me. Peter walked beside her, but as usual, he didn’t seem to be paying attention to the world around him.

  “I have to get to my office, so give me the quick version,” she said.

  “Quick version?” I asked. How did she know? I hadn’t told her about seeing Mr. Amazing downtown, nor that I’d spent the last week thinking I saw him everywhere.

  “Of your date,” she said.