Page 6 of The Parent Pick-Up
He heads back to his cruiser, leaving us alone. A moment of silence stretches between us.
Even soaking wet and covered in goosebumps, she’s striking. Her delicate features, fierce eyes, and natural elegance despite the circumstances create kind of presence that makes it hard to look away.
No ring.
Not that I’m looking.
Okay, I’m definitely looking.
But the last thing I need is a single, gorgeous woman living next door, upending the fragile balance I’ve managed to claw together since Emily and I split up.
Ivy exhales, pushing wet hair out of her face. “This is not how I imagined meeting my neighbors.”
“Me neither. But I’m glad you’re not a burglar. My daughter is about your age,” I say to the little girl.
Ivy cocks her head, narrowing her eyes at me. “You have a daughter?”
“Yes. Her name is Hannah. She’s going into fourth grade.”
Olivia wipes her eyes and smiles, showing a mouthful of missing teeth. “I’m starting third.”
“That’s wonderful. Hannah will be so excited to meet you.”
“Can I meet her now?” Olivia asks, her big eyes bright with hope.
“Sorry,” I say regretfully. “She’s about to start a lesson. Then we have dinner, reading hour, and an early bedtime tonight.”
“Sounds like you run a tight ship,” Ivy says.
I’m not sure if it’s an insult or a compliment. “I hope the locksmith gets here soon. If you need anything, I’m not too far away.”
“Thanks.” Ivy ushers Olivia inside, then turns to me. “I appreciate you vouching for me with the cops. I promise I’m who I say I am.”
I study her face, feeling that spark of familiarity burst again. “I believe you.”
She waves goodbye and closes the door.
The rain is still pounding down as I dash across the street. Something nags at the back of my mind. A worry. A spark. I can’t pin it down.
Ivy is a distraction I don’t need. I’ve got everything buttoned up in my life. And Ivy’s right about one thing: I run a very tight ship.
I unlock the door and slip into the house, avoiding the front room where Hannah is having her lesson.
Despite my umbrella, I’m soaked. I hurry up the stairs to my room. As I pass Hannah’s room, I see her full laundry basket on the floor.
Dad duty never ends, and I may as well get a load of laundry going before starting on dinner.
I freeze when my gaze lands on the giant poster over Hannah’s bed.
It’s a brightly colored print of an all-girl band from a decade ago. The front woman, who is no more than a teenager, is dressed in a cropped top and mini skirt. Her blonde hair is tipped with pink edges, and her big blue eyes are outlined in dark liner. She stands in front of a keyboard, her mouth open as she belts out a song.
My breath catches, and recognition strikes like a bolt of lightning.
It’s Ivy.
My new neighbor is Ivy Ice, the pop star who fell off the radar ten years ago.
Chapter Three
