Page 12 of Who Pissed Off Ivy Dell?

“Are you sure that’s the word you were looking for?”

I take a drink of my wine and stare at that entire chair full of sassy gorgeousness. And then I turn around and get started on our gourmet dinner. “I meant beautiful. And mean.”

She comes back into the kitchen and drops two slices of bread into her toaster.

“Guess what? I’m going to be on the planning committee for next year’s festival.”

My body locks from head to toe again, but it’s a far less pleasurable sensation. “How’d you decide that?”

“Petra and I decided together.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I’m certain with every cell of my being that she has misunderstood something, but I’m not going to tell her that. Ican’t tell her that. There’s no way to say it that wouldn’t sound demeaning.

“And I’m about to play matchmaker for Cujo and Josephine.”

“I think you might be showing up a little late for that job.”

“Not matchmaker between a man and a woman. Matchmaker between a man and a tattoo artist.”

“She was a tattoo artist when they met. What am I missing here?”

“She wants to give him a tattoo, but she doesn’t want to bring it up because she’s afraid he might think she’s not good enough.”

“You might want to let them work that out on their own.”

“I think he just needs a little nudge in the right direction.”

“You’re going to nudge Cujo?”

“Gently.”

“Oh, well, as long as you’re just butting into his business gently.”

“I’m not butting in. I’m helping. There’s a difference. I met April today.”

“Damn. You had an eventful day.”

“I did. Is it true she and Cujo had a thing for a while?”

“Is that another issue you plan to help with?”

“No. But she shouldn’t hate Josephine because of it. I feel like they could be friends if everybody just cleared the air, you know?”

“That’s definitely a matchmaker challenge you should leave alone.”

“We’ll see. I need to get to know her a little better to be sure, but my instincts are usually good.”

“Let’s eat. Drink some wine. Get some sleep. You might have a whole new perspective by morning.”

“Maybe. My ass will probably still be sore, though.”

“You look so refined and sweet, and then you say things like that.”

“And you like me even more.”

I laugh into my wine glass. She’s not wrong.

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