Painted Melodies : A Small Town Romance
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Synopsis
A divorced man seeking a new beginning. A woman driven by her art. A new beginning which brings them together…
Dax Tennyson was a Dallas accountant, eager to start a family with his wife. When he learns she’s lied about everything, he ditches both his wife and the conventional lifestyle he’d adapted for her. Following his heart, Dax opens a coffeehouse on the square in Lost Creek, a small town in the Texas Hill Country, and is ready to start a band, hoping they can play weekend gigs.
Ivy Hart’s passion is painting. To pay the bills, though, she takes a position as the assistant manager of Houston art gallery, soon finding she does all her boss’ work and her own for less than half his salary. Tired of having no free time to pursue her own art, Ivy quits and returns home to Lost Creek. She becomes head of the tasting room at Lost Creek Winery, her family’s successful business.
Finding inspiration in the surrounding landscape, Ivy volunteers to paint a mural on a wall of the town square, hoping to showcase her talent. While painting it, she meets Dax, who is determined to discover more about the enigmatic artist behind the mural. The couple bonds over their shared pursuit of artistic dreams, even more so after Dax surprises Ivy by arranging a live music and art fusion event at his coffeehouse. Local musicians and artists are invited to exhibit their talents, and the joint venture becomes a popular affair in the community, mixing the magic of music with art as Dax takes to the stage, singing original songs he has written.
Ivy’s incorporates elements of the Hill Country and nature into her paintings, capturing the essence of the region. As her reputation grows, an offer to exhibit her work in a larger venue causes her to face a decision regarding her career and her relationship with Dax.
Will Ivy leave everything behind— including her budding romance with Dax— to pursue an art career beyond Lost Creek?
Find the answer in bestselling author Alexa Aston’s Painted Melodies, the second book in Lost Creek: Texas Hill Country.
Each book in the series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order. The entire series is available in Kindle Unlimited.
Series Order:
Book #1: The Perfect Blend
Book #2: Painted Melodies
Book #3: Script of Love
Book #4: Love in Every Bite
Book #5: Whispered Melodies
Release date: June 25, 2024
Publisher: Oliver Heber Books
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Painted Melodies : A Small Town Romance
Alexa Aston
PROLOGUE
Dallas— October
Dax Tennyson left his office a little before six and drove home, hoping to find his wife there. Shailene was a realtor and worked odd hours, sometimes showing homes in the evening and oftentimes on weekends. Sometimes he felt they were becoming more like roommates who shared a few things in passing as one went in the door and the other went out it. He hoped tonight would be different.
Because he really was ready for them to have a baby.
They had been married six years, and he was eager to start a family now. Actually, Dax had been ready to have children from the moment they got married, but Shailene had said she wanted to become more established in her career. He had agreed to put it off and kept quiet for five years. Last year, he’d brought up the subject for the first time, and Shailene had seemed surprised. She had agreed, though, to go off her birth control pills and see what happened.
Nothing had. At least, not yet.
With both their careers in full swing, though, finding time to be together—much less be intimate—was getting in the way of accomplishing that goal. Dax hoped not only would his wife become pregnant soon but that it might spark a deeper closeness between them. He longed for the early years when they discussed their plans for the future.
He had given up a lot of his dreams when he married. Before he’d tied the knot, he’d had steady employment with his accounting job and played the market on the side, making quite a bundle. Weekends, he’d served as a DJ for weddings and other events, which generated a terrific income. He’d been dabbling in songwriting for years and had thought about chucking the day job in order to pursue a career in music— until Shailene came along. She was very conservative in her outlook, and the thought of her fiancé giving up his lucrative career in business to try and earn a living as a musician had horrified her. She’d threatened to break off their engagement if he pursued those dreams.
Instead, he’d put them on hold. At least, that’s what he told himself. That someday, he would make enough money to break out of the eight-to-five rut and follow his heart back to music. Dax had put his DJ-ing equipment into storage and shelved his songwriting. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d picked up his guitar. He focused on work and had moved up the corporate ladder swiftly, now managing an accounting group of over thirty employees.
His instincts for the market had also paid off, and he was at a point where he could actually quit work if he wanted and pick up music again. Dax had even thought about being the stay-at-home dad to allow Shailene to keep working since she loved what she did so much. It would be a blessing to be able to remain home and raise their kids, writing music on the side, and hopefully performing some on weekends.
But first, they needed to get pregnant. Once that happened, he’d talk things over with Shailene and make new plans for their future, ones that included their growing family and his desire to follow his passion.
He arrived home, parking in the driveway of their Park Cities house, an exclusive area in the heart of Dallas and close to where he’d attended college at SMU. Dax had DJ’d many fraternity and sorority parties during his college years, as well as events throughout the Park Cities. They’d purchased this home three years ago, a pocket listing Shailene had, and he knew today, after the work he’d put into it, that they could sell it for double what they’d paid for it.
Selling their home was something he wanted to broach with his wife. While he liked the house, he wanted more room for their family, even if that meant leaving the Park Cities. His gut told him Shailene wouldn’t go for that, though. She liked the fancy address, plus most of her showings were in this area, which made it easy for her to come home in-between clients.
Dax entered the house, calling, “I’m home,” but he sensed it was empty. He’d wanted to get a dog, but Shailene was allergic to pet dander. Maybe he could look into dogs that were hypoallergenic. He’d always wanted a pet growing up, but his mom said they were too poor to have one. Since she worked three jobs and they still barely had food to put on the table, he’d known not to press the issue. But he wanted his kids to have a pet and bond with it.
Checking his phone, he saw he had no texts from his wife, which disappointed him. It was his birthday, and a part of him had wanted her to make a fuss over him because of it. Presents for birthdays or Christmas had been unheard of in his household, but now that he had money, he wanted to celebrate some, be it with a gift or an evening at a nice restaurant. He decided to text her and see if she wanted to meet him somewhere.
Just got home. Can you meet me for dinner?
Dax waited, knowing if she were with a client that she wouldn’t reply immediately. After a few minutes, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and went upstairs, getting out of his work clothes and throwing on a T-shirt and faded jeans. He returned to the den, flipping on the TV, holding his beer up to the screen.
“Happy birthday to me,” he toasted, unhappiness rolling through him.
He was thirty-two and hoped he would’ve done more with his life by now. Yes, he made a terrific salary and had a beautiful wife and nice house, but he felt so empty inside. Maybe this would be the year of change for him. He would quit his job. They could buy a bigger house with some land. It was time to start writing music again. And hopefully, Shailene would finally become pregnant. After a year of trying with no results, he’d insisted they both get checked out two weeks ago. Their physicians gave them each a clean bill of health. Her OB/Gyn had even told Shailene not to stress about it. That the more they relaxed, the easier it would be to become pregnant.
Of course, they’d actually have to make love for that to happen.
Standing up, he went to take his empty can into the kitchen and make himself a sandwich since he hadn’t heard back from his wife. He tripped over one of her shoes and stumbled, falling on his hands and knees. A fingernail caught against a wood plank and tore, and Dax cursed loudly. Pushing to his feet, he had sore knees, aching palms, and a bleeding finger. He rinsed the beer can in the kitchen and placed it in the recycling bin and headed up to their bathroom to doctor his finger.
Under the strong light, he saw how jagged the wound was. Dax washed it thoroughly with soap and needed an emery board to smooth out the nail since clippers wouldn’t do the job. He knew Shailene had to have one, so he went to her side of the bathroom and opened a drawer, digging through lipsticks and other assorted makeup, not finding one. He opened a second drawer and struck out and moved to the third one.
“Bingo!” he said, finding the emery board and sanding down his nail, which hurt like hell.
As he started to place the emery board back in the drawer, he paused. His gut tightened as he dropped the nail file.
And picked up a familiar-looking, plastic package.
Surely, this was an old birth control pack, one Shailene hadn’t bothered to throw away. Yet his senses were on high alert as he popped open the pack. Today was the twelfth.
The pill pack was missing twelve pills.
It felt as if a heavyweight boxer had slammed a fist into Dax’s gut.
Why had Shailene lied?
Digging around the drawer, he found two more pill packs, both full. She’d always gotten them in groups of three from their mail order insurance company. Which meant she’d recently started this pill pack. All the while, she was bemoaning how they couldn’t get pregnant. Everything that came out of her mouth was a lie.
Dax took all three packs with him, closing the drawer, not knowing if or when he was going to confront her. If the pills were missing and she went to take one tomorrow morning, that would clue her in that he had discovered her secret. Should he wait until then to say something? Or should he confront her and accuse her of holding out on him the moment she got home?
His finger was throbbing madly now, as was his head, where he knew a monster headache was building. He put a little antibiotic ointment on the nail and then wrapped a bandage around it, still not quite being able to come to grips with the situation.
Going back downstairs, he placed the three pill packs on the center of the kitchen table and sat, disbelief pouring through him. Then he heard the garage door going up and knew Shailene was home. He steeled himself for the fight that would play out in mere seconds.
She entered the kitchen, looking chic in her smart, designer suit and sky-high stilettos. She spent a small fortune on her wardrobe, telling Dax she had to dress as well as her clients in order to be successful and gain their trust.
“I got your text,” Shailene said, setting down her tote on the kitchen counter, along with a large brown sack.. “I thought I’d just pick up something for dinner. It’s Chinese.”
She turned and started to say something else to him, their gazes meeting. He stared hard at her, anger building inside him.
“What’s wrong with…” Her voice trailed off—because her eyes had caught sight of what sat on the table in front of him. Then anger sparked in her eyes. “You had no right going through my things,” she spat out.
Dax crossed his arms. “You had no right to lie to me, Shailene. Yet you have. Over and over again. You said you wanted a baby as much as I did. We even had our doctors run a mess of tests, trying to see if either of us had something wrong with us. And all along, you’re calmly ordering and taking a birth control pill each morning, preventing the very thing you know we want. Or should I, what I want? Because apparently, we are on a different page from one another. Maybe even a different book. I want a family. You obviously don’t. And you were coward enough to take these behind my back.”
“I’m not a coward,” she said quickly, crossing her own arms defensively. “I just wasn’t ready to be a mom.” She huffed. “Frankly, I don’t know if I ever want to be one, Dax.”
He shot to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could have talked about this.”
“Because you wouldn’t have listened to what I wanted,” she snapped. “We always have to do whatever you want.”
“What?” he said. “Are you kidding me? I’m the one who gave up DJ-ing for you. You told me I’d never make a decent living in music, so I put away my dreams of writing and performing. I’ve toed the line these last six years of marriage, trying to fit into the corporate world and dying a little more each day when I went to work. And you’re never home, Shailene. We don’t do anything together anymore. You’re always out showing houses and attending open houses and corporate parties. I can’t remember the last time we went to a movie or concert together. Couples need to do things together. Spend time together.”
He paused. “Make love together. Or else their marriage won’t survive.”
“This marriage is already dead,” she said succinctly, another blow to him.
“No,” he protested. “No. We can keep trying. See a marriage counselor. We can—”
“I don’t want to see anyone, Dax. I got tired of you a long time ago,” Shailene admitted. “I don’t want to have your baby. I don’t want to stay married to you. I’ve… I’ve found someone else.”
All the air seemed to go out of the room. He grew dizzy and collapsed into the chair again.
“You don’t love me anymore?” he asked dully, suddenly realizing he felt so empty because the love he’d had for her had withered and died a long time ago. That he’d been holding on to her out of habit.
“I don’t know if I ever did,” she said, biting her lip. “I’ve been seeing someone else. For a while now.”
He shook his head. Just when he thought this day couldn’t get any worse, it did.
“Who?” he demanded, but a part of him felt as if he didn’t really care enough to know.
Her face flamed. “Alex,” she spit out.
Dax went cold inside. “Alex. My best friend Alex? The one you always complain about.”
She shrugged. “It just… happened.”
No wonder Alex had seemed so distant lately. Because he was banging his best friend’s wife.
Scooping up the birth control pill packs, he shoved them at Shailene. “Then I guess you’ll need to keep taking these. Alex has said repeatedly that he never wants kids.”
He turned to go. Where, he didn’t know. Just that he had to escape.
“So, that’s it?” she demanded.
“What do you want me to say, Shailene? You’ve lied to me repeatedly. You’re sleeping with my closest friend. This bomb has gone nuclear. There’s no coming back from it. I certainly don’t want to stay married to you. I’ll file for divorce online. A guy at work did it last year, so I’m familiar with the steps he took because he talked about it so much. If you don’t contest it, it’s pretty smooth sailing. We file. Wait sixty days. Get a court date for a hearing and then appear before a judge.”
Stubbornness filled her face. “I want my half of things,” she said. “You owe me, Dax.”
It appalled him that she was thinking about money at a moment like this. “I’ll give you this house outright, plus half of what’s in our savings and checking accounts.”
Shailene had no idea how much money Dax had accumulated through his stock trades. He had several accounts solely in his name. She knew he played the market, but he never really talked about his losses or profits. Giving her the house was more than fair. He supposed in his gut he had known Shailene wasn’t in the marriage for the long-haul, and that was why he’d set up a few accounts she didn’t know about. Dax felt no guilt at this moment about doing so.
“I’ll take it,” she said abruptly. “You can leave now.”
Dax shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “I’ll stay in the guestroom, but I won’t leave this house until the day the divorce decree is issued. Then I’ll move out. You can keep all the furnishings. I’ll want to start over.”
She pursed her lips in thought. Lips he used to want to kiss. Once, he’d thought her so beautiful. He realized now her outward shell held beauty, but her heart was dark inside.
“Then I’ll come and go as I please,” she told him. “Don’t ask where I am and don’t expect me to be home every night.”
She grabbed the Chinese takeout and her purse and left without a word.
He placed his elbows on the table, dropping his head into his hands. He felt totally wrung out, physically and emotionally, though no tears came. Inside, he felt dead.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he sighed loudly. He had a chance to have a new life, pursuing the things he wanted to do. He definitely would never get married again because his trust had been so badly damaged, he couldn’t imagine ever letting any woman get close again.
Dax went to the fridge and removed another beer. He made himself a PB&J and sat at the table.
“Happy Birthday to me,” he said, knowing he’d never celebrate another birthday again.
CHAPTER 1
Bali— February
Ivy Hart stretched lazily, gazing out at the changing colors of the sea on Kuta Beach.
Paradise…
It was a place she had never thought she would visit, much less under these circumstances. She glanced to the lounge chair next to her, seeing Harper also gazed out across the water. The sun was just touching the horizon, and soon they would be witnessing the last, spectacular sunset of this trip.
Reaching out, she took her sister’s hand. “It’s beautiful here. Thank you for asking me to come with you. I hope being here has helped heal your soul some, Harper.”
“It helped. A little.” Harper squeezed Ivy’s hand and released it.
They continued to watch the sun make its descent, the sky streaked with a rainbow of colors, from oranges to pinks to purples. Artist that she was, Ivy had taken many shots of these sunsets with her cell phone over the past ten days. Tonight, though, she merely committed the beauty of the sunset to memory.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. This was Harper’s honeymoon. Only without her groom. The night before the wedding, Harper learned she wouldn’t be marrying Atherton Armistead—because he was sleeping with Harper’s roommate and best friend. The little weasel hadn’t even been man enough to face his fiancée and break things off with her in person. Instead, Ath had sent Trey Wilson, his best friend, to tell Harper she wouldn’t be marrying Ath.
Trey had been as gentle as possible in relating everything to Harper, but the biggest blow had been that the wedding would still take place the next night, with Cynthia Fox stepping in as the bride. Ath’s betrayal was horrific enough, but to learn that her groom’s wedding with another bride would occur almost broke Harper. Thankfully, Ivy had been there to step in and pick up the shattered pieces. Trey, who had firmly announced he was on Team Harper and had cut all ties with Ath, gave her the airline tickets and told Harper Ath wanted her to go ahead and take the honeymoon. Bewildered, she’d turned to Ivy, who had agreed to accompany her sister to Bali. The only kink had been Ivy’s job.
A job she no longer had.
She had worked for a Houston art gallery ever since she’d graduated from Trinity University in San Antonio with a bachelor’s degree in art. Ivy was a painter, but she had needed to find a job to make her way in the world. The art gallery had seemed a natural fit at the time. She thought she would work there by day and paint by night. Little did she know she would put in between ninety and one hundred hours a week, performing the job of art gallery director and auctioneer, without the title or pay. Lawson Everhart, her boss and head of the gallery, was the laziest person Ivy had ever met. She did his job and hers, with no thanks.
Ivy had been the one to manage the gallery’s staff. She had trained them in on how to handle artwork to prevent damage to paintings and sculptures being placed on display, as well as instructing them on how to set up exhibitions. She met regularly with clients who collected art, advising them on future purchases and enabling them to sell pieces in their collections. She had also met with artists, reviewing their pieces and determining which ones would be selected for upcoming exhibitions at the gallery. The shows themselves had all been hers to design, as well as the marketing used to promote upcoming shows and events. All financial aspects had been left up to her, including accounting, budgeting, and the all-important fundraising.
After she had found the artists and put the shows together, organizing every aspect from style to theme, Lawson would swoop in as if he had planned the entire exhibition, taking credit for everything from finding a particular artist to the kind of hors d’oeuvres and wines served. He claimed responsibility for tracking down unusual pieces of art collectors wished to purchase and crowed about the prices he received for the ones they sold.
Lawson Everhart was an ass.
When Ivy had called, wanting to take some of her accumulated vacation time to go to Bali with Harper, her boss had refused, even though she had over fifty vacation days coming to her. When she saw Everhart wasn’t going to budge, she did the unthinkable.
She quit.
No two-week notice. No apologies. And uttering those two, simple words had freed her.
Lawson had screamed at her over the phone, but Ivy stood firm. Her sister needed her. She wasn’t going to abandon Harper at the lowest moment of her life. She blocked Lawson’s number and that of the gallery. Of course, once she returned to Houston, she would touch base with the twins, Arlo and Paloma. They had worked at the gallery for over a decade, and they had become close friends of hers.
She wouldn’t stay in Houston, though. Ivy hadn’t told Harper yet, but she had called their parents a couple of nights ago. Not only had she wanted to assure them that Harper was doing as well as could be expected, but Ivy told them she wanted to come home to Lost Creek, the small town in the Texas Hill Country where she and Harper had been brought up. Their parents owned a winery there, and Ivy knew the tasting room manager would be retiring soon. She’d pitched the idea of taking on that position. It would be a terrific fit for her, because of her excellent sense of smell and knowledge of the wines Lost Creek Vineyards produced.
It would also finally give her time to pursue her art. Never again would she put painting on a back burner as she had for the last several years. She was determined to use her voice through her artwork. Thankfully, her parents agreed she would be a natural to head up the tasting room. Once she and Harper’s flight landed in Houston, she would pack a few things and head for the Hill Country. She only had about six weeks left on her apartment’s lease, and that would give her plenty of time to figure out what to save, sell, or donate. Ivy looked forward to starting a new chapter in her life, in a place she had always thought was in her blood. Being back in the Hill Country would definitely inspire her art.
The sun finally disappeared, and Harper turned to her. “Thank you for coming with me to Bali. If I would have come by myself, I’m afraid I might have remained in a dark place. Having you here with me, Ivy, made all the difference. Yes, I could have swum and snorkeled and surfed on my own. Taken the Balinese cooking class and e-biked on my own.
“But you’ve also let me talk everything to death, too. Thank you for being my sounding board. My rock. I love you so much.”
Harper embraced her, and they clung to one another a moment, their love for each another an unbreakable bond, despite the fact they weren’t blood sisters.
Harper pulled away. “You even quit your job to come be with me. I know I was a wreck after Trey broke the news to me, but I’m starting to feel guilty.”
“Don’t,” cautioned Ivy. “I needed something to force me to act. To quit. While I loved what I did at the gallery, I was sick of Lawson claiming credit for everything I accomplished. Plus, I haven’t really painted since college. I’m determined to return to it.”
“It’s always been such a big part of your life. You should pick it back up and devote as much time to your art as you can,” her sister encouraged.
“I will. If anything, I will be more vocal in whatever I do now,” she promised. “I won’t accept compromise like a meek lamb anymore. I am going to be a lion.” She grinned. “Or a lioness, I suppose.”
Harper laughed. “I will cheer you on as you roar. Maybe I’ll even get my own roar back.”
A server appeared, bearing the drinks they had ordered. They thanked him and lifted them from the tray, holding them high.
“To us—and whatever we decide to do next,” Ivy said, clinking her glass against Harper’s and then taking a sip of the tropical drink, laced with the perfect amount of rum.
“I actually have an idea of what my next venture will involve,” her sister shared.
“What?” she asked. “I’m excited that you are thinking ahead.”
“I’ve drowned my sorrows for the last ten days. Atherton Armistead isn’t worth any more of my time. Neither is Cynthia. She can have him. Good riddance to them both.” Harper took a sip. “The biggest thing I realized is that I’m going to need to leave Austin.”
“Oh, Harper, you love Austin. And working for Sandra Bellows.”
“I’ll admit Austin holds a very special place in my heart. After all, I spent the last decade there, first as a college student and then working in the city. But think about it, Ivy. With Ath’s dad being the lieutenant governor—and Army probably going to run for governor during the next election—the Armistead influence is everywhere. All the movers and shakers in Austin that I deal with as I plan events either know the Armisteads well or are acquaintances of them. How can I plan weddings, engagement and birthday parties, bar mitzvahs, and corporate events and escape that Armistead circle of influence?”
She nodded in agreement. “You can’t. Everywhere you go, you’d be planning business or social or political events that included people who would know what happened to you. Worse, they might try to pump you for information or gossip about what happened.”
“Exactly,” Harper said. “The Armisteads own that town. I can’t change that. But I can change my situation.” She took a deep breath. “What I’m thinking about is going home to Lost Creek.”
“What?”
Harper smiled. “I know. I always wanted to leave our small town for the big city. Yes, I could land a job in Dallas or Houston or San Antonio. Sandra would easily write me any recommendation I needed. She knows people everywhere, and she could probably help me land a new job right away. I don’t want a big city, though. I realize I miss where we grew up. The Hill Country is calling to me, Ivy. I need the peace and serenity it offers.”
“What are you thinking of doing there?” she asked.
“I’m going to talk with Mom and Dad about building an event center at the winery,” Harper explained. “More and more brides are abandoning traditional church weddings and looking for something unique. What would be a better place than Lost Creek Winery as the setting for their wedding? The event center could be on the property. I could use wines from the vineyards. Have a couple of the places in town cater the receptions.”
“Blackwood BBQ would be perfect,” Ivy suggested.
“I agree. Barbeque would be my go-to in that kind of setting. Besides an event center, I could also offer outdoor space for wedding ceremonies. While I think weddings would be my biggest bookings, I could plan and execute all the same kinds of events I’ve been putting on for the last several years. Think about it. Lost Creek is only forty-five minutes or so from San Antonio. I know I could pull in business from there. It could also help out the town. Destination weddings are growing, and this would be one where you didn’t need a passport to attend. There are already so many B&Bs around Lost Creek, as well as a few small hotels and a couple of chain ones. Guests coming in could benefit the restaurants and other businesses along Main Street and the town square.”
Ivy smiled. “I think you’ve hit on a perfect idea for you, Harper. It would be a great career move, to helm your own business.”
“I just need to talk things over with Mom and Dad. Convince them.”
“Hey, you’ve already persuaded me it’s a great idea. It would also be a nice way to showcase the family wines. I’m sure if guests aren’t familiar with any of Lost Creek Vineyards wines, they would be by the time they leave the event they attend. You know the winery has the land. That won’t be a problem. What about financing? Will you ask Mom and Dad to go halves with you?”
“No,” Harper said, determination on her face. “I’ll pay to rent the land from them, but I want to build the event center on my own. The big thing will be finding a bank who’ll loan me the money. I’ve made a healthy income the past few years, and I’ve socked away a lot, but I don’t have enough for everything needed.”
“Maybe Mom and Dad could loan you the money. I know they put a lot back into the business, but they’ve had several good years in a row now, especially with the blends Dad has created in recent years.”
“That’s a thought,” Harper mused. “I need to think more about it, but just talking it out with you now makes me know this is what I’m meant to be doing. I’m going to follow my heart—all the way home.”
“Since I don’t have a job, I believe I’m going to go home, as well,” she admitted, not ready to tell Harper yet about her new manager position at the tasting room. Only ten days ago, her sister had been shattered, thinking her life was over, betrayed by two people she had trusted implicitly.
Now, Harper was so excited about her new venture, ideas spilling from her, and Ivy didn’t want to take away from this moment. They would have plenty of time to discuss her own move, especially since they would both be living in Lost Creek once again. This time tomorrow, they would be on a plane, returning to Texas, to start the next chapter in their lives. Ivy hoped it would be both professionally and personally satisfying.
Raising her glass, she said, “To the Hart girls—and our futures.”
“To the Hart girls,” Harper echoed, touching her glass to Ivy’s.
CHAPTER 2
Houston—March
Ivy finished packing her car, satisfied that in this second time, she’d combed through her things and was only taking the absolute essentials to Lost Creek. She had left Houston a month ago with two suitcases and a few art supplies and driven to her childhood home, where her parents had welcomed her with open arms. She had even moved into her old bedroom as she had taken over management of the tasting room, where she had met employees Sarah and Melanie, two sisters who worked various shifts. They were in their mid-forties, their kids out of the house and in college, and they had both decided to work part time since they had more free time on their hands. Ivy liked them quite a bit and had found the women knowledgeable about wines, especially those produced at Lost Creek Winery.
Now, she was renting a house in town, a few blocks off the square, with Harper and Braden Clark, the tall, rangy Californian with sky-blue eyes who was the vineyard’s new viticulturist. Braden was a quiet man, thoughtful and deliberate, and the best cook she knew. He had agreed to cook for the trio, while Ivy and Harper would handle the housekeeping. Braden was becoming a good friend to her, but Ivy sensed the sparks smoldering between him and Harper. Hopefully, with her in Houston this weekend, the pair might have enough time alone to figure out they were attracted to one another—and act upon it.
She walked to the leasing office and dropped her keys in the slot, having spoken to the manager yesterday. Her lease would end in four days. Obviously, she would not be renewing it. Over the weekend, Ivy had hauled several sacks of clothes to the local Salvation Army, as well as donating what little furniture and kitchenware she had to one of her neighbors who had recently graduated from college and was starting from scratch. What she brought home with her this time included several art books, as well as her winter clothes, coats, and boots. These items would certainly fill up her closet and the chest of drawers in the rental.
Because Braden had agreed to move in with them, Ivy hadn’t been able to use the third bedroom as her art studio. She decided she would look for some space in town this next week, determined to return to painting. The tasting room was running smoothly now, and she had contributed her ideas to the new tasting room which would be built at the same time the event center was constructed. Harper had hired Trey Watson to design both, and the two sisters had met with Trey, explaining what they wanted.
After seeing Trey’s finished plans, Ivy was glad Harper had hired him as their architect. At first, she had been wary of Trey working so closely with them, but he made it clear that he had parted ways with Atherton Armistead. Trey had incorporated not only their ideas into both spaces, but he had used many natural elements from the Hill Country to bring a unique perspective to both buildings. The current tasting room, which shared space with her parents’ offices, would become Harper’s headquarters for Weddings with Hart, her event planning business.
The new tasting room would be almost three times as large as the current one. Along with the typical tasting bar, it offered seated spaces for wine tastings, as well as a couple of areas for visitors to sit and enjoy any extra glasses of wine purchased after their tasting. She was working with The Cheese Connoisseur now, and they had created tasting plates that were an additional cost to the wine tastings, but the plates added a nice element to the experience. So far, they had proven to be a successful addition. In the new space, they would have ample room to refrigerate these pre-made plates, as well as carry additional cheeses and fruits. Ivy already stopped by the new construction of the building every day and was eager to keep her eye on the progress being made.
Harper also had Trey add a large patio to the tasting room being built. It would be covered and have seating for those who wanted to stop by and buy a bottle of wine and sit outside, enjoying the weather and some wine. An outdoor bar would be available for buying wine by the glass or bottle, along with soft drinks and Cecily Hart’s famous lemonade for children and non-drinkers. In addition, picnic tables would be scattered throughout the area adjacent to the tasting room. Harper’s intention was to eventually have local bands play on Friday and Saturday nights, encouraging people to bring picnic baskets. Of course, baskets would also be available for purchase at the tasting room.
Ivy had been the one to push for the addition of a gift shop. She had gotten online and viewed other wineries and what they offered and was determined to get Lost Creek Vineyards merchandise into the hands of people who visited the winery. Her suggestion of wearing shirts with the Lost Creek Vineyards label had been enthusiastically accepted, as well. Some of the merchandise would be displayed at the tasting bar, and she would direct those who wanted to purchase it to head to the adjacent gift shop. Trey had thought her idea of locating the restrooms at the rear of the gift shop brilliant, with people having to pass by all the goodies to reach the restrooms.
Already, she had stocked some of the items at the current tasting bar, simply to get a feel for what moved and didn’t. On display were ball caps, T-shirts, and golf shirts, as well as few bar items such as corkscrews and wineglasses with the Lost Creek Vineyards brand etched into them. Her father, who would soon turn over winemaking duties to Braden once the current crop of grapes was harvested in a few months, would then concentrate all his efforts on sales and marketing. In the past, he had managed both. Bill Hart already had Ivy working on some new labels for the upcoming blends and updating the current logos for the reds and whites the winery produced.
She liked this design work, wanting to freshen the family’s brand and make it more appealing to customers. Ivy was also working on designing Harper’s website and would be overhauling the winery’s website, too. While she liked using her artistic talents in these endeavors, she was determined to get back to painting. Returning home to Lost Creek and taking the job as tasting room manager would give her time to paint, especially now that the work on the new tasting room had begun. She had free time on her hands, and she was itching to dip her brushes into paint and begin to create. Painting filled her soul. After years of neglecting it because of the hours she put in at the art gallery, Ivy was ready to listen to her heart and follow her true calling.
Since she hadn’t had the time to spend her salary on things most people in their twenties did, other than on some nice outfits to wear as she hosted events at the gallery, she easily had enough in savings to be able to rent a place in which to paint. Of course, she would also be out and about in the Hill Country sketching, and she knew she would do some of her painting outdoors, especially since the weather was warming up. Even so, she wanted a studio where she could work, as well as store her supplies and finished canvases. Her goal was to find a spot by the end of this coming week.
She reached the restaurant where she was meeting Arlo and Paloma for brunch, then she would drive back to Lost Creek. While she was looking forward to seeing her friends, she knew they would want to gossip about work.
That was the last thing Ivy wanted to hear about.
Still, they had been good friends for several years, and Arlo and Paloma had supported her in so many ways at the art gallery. If they needed to gripe, she would offer a sympathetic ear.
Entering the restaurant, she stopped at the hostess stand and gave her name.
“Ah, yes, your party has already arrived. Follow me,” said the hostess, leading Ivy to a prime spot. On the way, she passed several buffet tables, eyeing the chicken and waffles and Eggs Benedict.
Arlo shot to his feet the moment he spied her. “Ivy!” he cried, wrapping his arms about her and kissing her on both cheeks.
Paloma was waiting for the moment her brother released Ivy, and she did the same, their Italian heritage showing in their exuberant greeting.
“Have a seat, mio dolce amico,” enthused Paloma, and Ivy knew from her years being in their company that Paloma had called her my sweet friend.
Arlo held out a chair for her, and they took their seats as a server appeared.
“A mimosa? Or a Bellini?” he asked.
“A Bellini,” she agreed to, thinking those would be scarce in Lost Creek, where neither the Lone Star Diner or Country Hearth served alcohol, and Hill Country Hangout, the sports bar, served mostly beer. She also knew to limit herself to one drink since she would be driving to Lost Creek after brunch ended.
Arlo took her hand as the server left and kissed it several times. “It is so good to see you, Ivy. We have been miserable without you.”
“Worse than miserable,” Paloma agreed. “Lawson was a bear before you left, but at least he wasn’t around very much. He would merely swoop in and make an appearance every now and then. Now, he is in our hair all the time. He’s actually having to work! That is not a very Lawson thing to do.”
“No,” Arlo agreed. “He has the knowledge, but he hates having to be there. Paloma and I keep to ourselves. We do only what we were hired to do and no more.”
“You used to help me with all kinds of things,” Ivy protested. “Even if it didn’t appear in your job description.”
Arlo sniffed. “That is because it was you, Ivy. I refuse to lift a finger to help Lawson Everhart look better. He needs to be a true director and manage things.”
“The first exhibition held after you left was decent,” Paloma told her. “After all, you had already planned every detail as you always did. But the artist?” She shook her head. “You remember how temperamental he was.”
Ivy laughed. “I will never forget how hard he was to work with. I called him Mr. Nasty. Here we were, giving him his big break, and he was being impossible.”
“Shall we say how bad it got that night, with you not there to keep him in line?” Paloma continued. “I can tell you that Lawson had no idea how to handle him. Of course, Lawson had to hang all the pieces himself. He was trying to prove to everyone how essential he is. And Mr. Nasty hated, absolutely hated, the design of the show.”
“But I had already drawn up the entire placement,” she said. “Every single piece. We had agreed—after much discussion—on the look of the show.”
Arlo laughed. “Lawson said your plans for the exhibition were trash.” He laughed harder. “Little did he know how you had coaxed your way to every piece’s place. And when Lawson tried to change things and Mr. Nasty saw that, fireworks erupted. It got ugly, Ivy. Worse than ugly.”
Her Bellini arrived, and she took a sip, grateful she was no longer under Lawson Everhart’s thumb.
“The fighting continued right up until we opened the gallery’s doors. You had invited some key art critics. While they may have liked the art being displayed, they couldn’t help but observe the tension and arguing that went on all night between Lawson and Mr. Nasty.”
“Did the work sell?”
“Not as well as if you had been there, steering people to certain pieces, and suggesting they buy it. Lawson has none of your ease with clients. He is too pushy. Too obvious,” Paloma noted. “And then Lawson had to plan an entire showing himself after that. Oh, you could see he was missing you then. He had no idea what to do. How much food and drink to order. Which clients to invite. Which critics to cozy up to.”
“It was a disaster,” Arlo confirmed. “The gallery is already losing clients. Several have asked where you went. I told them you were no longer with any gallery. That you would be painting your own pieces. You are doing that, aren’t’ you, Ivy? I ask because clients are curious about what you will produce. I know several you could sell to.”
She had shared with her friends how she longed to paint again, and they had encouraged her to do so.
“I’m going to rent studio space this week,” she confirmed. “Let’s go hit the buffet, and then I’ll tell you about what I’ve been up to.”
The remainder of brunch, she shared the designs for the new tasting room and how it would complement Harper’s event center. Ivy walked the pair through what her day was like and encouraged them to come for a weekend and do a tasting with her.
“You have always had a good nose and taste buds,” Arlo told her. “You definitely know your wines. I suppose you enjoy sharing that with others who stop in.”
“It is nice to expose people to different wines. The average person has no idea how to really taste wine. How they need to use their other senses, beyond taste. I teach them to observe the color. I go into how to smell a wine and pick up the different scents within it. Then we do the actual tasting and talk about the various flavors in the wines we sample. I hope by the time they leave, they have a greater appreciation of wine itself and that they’ve found some new ones to their liking.”
“How is Harper doing?” Paloma asked. “She is lucky to have you living so close to her again.”
Ivy had shared with her friends how Harper’s engagement had been broken and that she accompanied her sister to Bali.
“I’ll admit that it was rough those first few days. But Harper is the most resilient person I know. She felt she had to leave Austin because of Ath’s family being so prominently connected to many of the clients her event planning company serviced. She is definitely excited about running her own business, though, and the plans for the event center at the winery are simply spectacular. You’ll have to come to the grand opening once it’s finished.”
“We would love to do that,” Arlo told her. “It will depend upon if we are still here.”
“What?” she asked, surprised. “Are you leaving?”
Paloma nodded solemnly. “We cannot work for Lawson. He is impossible to be around. He yells all the time. He demands things which no boss should ask of an employee. Both Arlo and I have put out resumés. We hope to hear something soon.”
Ivy was afraid the gallery would fold if they left. Then again, Lawson had brought all of this upon himself.
“Tell me where you’ve applied,” she encouraged.
“Where haven’t we?” Arlo said, laughing heartily. “Dallas. Los Angeles. Chicago. New York. Atlanta. Denver.”
“We aren’t going to be picky,” Paloma insisted. “And we know we may not find a place to work together. But for our health and sanity, we simply can no longer be in Houston under Lawson.”
She held up her glass, having saved the last sip of her Bellini. “Then here’s to a successful search. I hope you both find a position in a place which will appreciate you and your talents.”
“Salute,” her friends echoed.
Arlo insisted upon getting the bill, and Ivy kissed both of them goodbye. “Keep me posted,” she told them. “And if you need me to write any references for you, I’m happy to do so.”
“Thank you,” Paloma said, hugging her tightly. “We cannot let Lawson know what we are doing, or he will fire us on the spot. And truthfully, he has no idea what either of us do at the gallery.” She smiled mischievously. “And if he thinks work is hard now, wait until we are no longer there to bail him out.”
She bid them goodbye and went to her car. As she pulled out of the parking lot, Ivy was thankful she had quit her job. She had known she was under a lot of stress, but it had taken getting away from the gallery before she truly relaxed. She was sleeping better, and her skin glowed once more. Every day when she awoke, she had no knot in her belly and no worries. Her former place of employment was in her past.
And she was eager to see what the future held.
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