a photographers’ code of ethics?”
“Well, there should be.” Ivy tucked her knees to her chest.
“Fine. Be that way.” Holly settled back into her chair. “I suppose I can’t complain. I mean, you’re taking care of Dad. And the nursery. You know I’d stay and help, but...”
“It’s okay. You’ve got enough going on with the baby and your new show in rehearsals. It’s my turn to pitch in. Besides—” Ivy scanned the newly reconstructed dock, impeccably landscaped yard and sprawling house “—you’re letting me stay here. That’s not exactly a hardship. Especially when the alternative was staying with Mom and Dad.”
“They driving you nuts?”
Ivy could hear the smile in her sister’s voice. She smiled back. “Not yet. But close.”
“I just wish it hadn’t taken a heart attack to bring you home.” Holly reached out to cover Ivy’s hand on the faded wooden armrest. “I missed you.”
“Ditto.” A lump of guilt clogged Ivy’s throat. She’d fled Stockton, so desperate to reinvent herself she’d run from anything that reminded her of the girl she’d been. But in doing so she’d alienated herself from her family, too.
A mistake she needed to rectify. And maybe helping out her parents was a good start.
“This where the party’s at?” Devin’s voice drifted down from the house.
Ivy turned and saw her ambling toward them, a tray balanced on one hand. Gabe walked beside her and a third, shadowy figure lagged a few paces behind them.
“Look what the cat dragged in.” Gabe gestured at the silhouette, whose features became more distinct with each step.
“Got room for one more?” Cade held up two six-packs of chocolate stout. “I brought suds.”
* * *
CADE TOOK A pull on his bottle of stout and leaned back in the weathered wooden chair, one of eight surrounding the fire pit. Holly had gone up to the house to see if her husband needed help with the baby, and Devin had followed a few minutes later, pleading exhaustion.
Leaving the Three Amigos to relive their glory days.
Sort of.
“That is so not what happened.” Ivy fixed her brother with a defiant stare.
“Is too,” Gabe countered. “I distinctly remember you falling into the pool in the middle of the boys’ swim team practice.”
“You’re delusional.” She shook her head, making her reddish brown curls, free from the bun she’d worn the last time he’d seen her, sway and shimmer in the firelight.
Cade stared into the flames, fighting the squeezing sensation in his gut. This—this feeling—was why he’d almost thrown Holly’s invitation into the circular file. But whatever issues he had with his mother, she’d raised him better than that. The Nelsons were like family to him, even more than his egg and sperm donors. They’d given him what his parents couldn’t—affection. Warmth. A sense of belonging.
And you didn’t skip out on family, no matter how hard it was for him to be near Ivy without getting turned on.
“Am not.” Gabe swigged his beer.
“Are too. Right Cade?” Even in the half glow of the fire, Cade could feel Ivy’s hazel eyes piercing him. “You were there.”
“Oh, no.” He waved a palm at her. “Leave me out. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”
“Traitor. I wouldn’t have been there in the first place if you hadn’t dared me to fill the pool with rubber ducks.”
Cade smiled at the memory. “You never could resist a dare. But you didn’t get the pool filled, did you?”
“Yeah.” Gabe chuckled. “Because she fell in.”
“I never said I didn’t fall in.” Ivy stuck out her chin defiantly. “Just not during swim team practice.”
“You know what that means?” Cade ran a finger around the rim of his beer bottle.
“Not a clue.” She pulled her sweatshirt tighter around her, emphasizing those full, firm breasts he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since the photo shoot. “But I’m sure you’re planning to enlighten me.”
He shifted in his seat to hide the evidence of his reaction to her. “You owe me. One dare.”
Gabe’s chuckle turned into a guffaw.
“Oh, please.” Ivy turned to Cade, swinging that damn curtain of hair and sending another jolt of tension through his midsection. “That was more than ten years ago. You can’t be serious.”
“As ammonium nitrate.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Come on, Ivy.” He had no idea why, but he felt an instant, overwhelming desire for her to agree, as though some stupid dare would bring them closer together again. And why did he care about that anyway? She’d be out of town faster than a flashover as soon as her dad was on his feet again. It would be safer for both of them if he just kept his distance. So why couldn’t he? “For old times’ sake.”
“No way. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a professional, with a reputation to uphold.”
“I promise it won’t be anything illegal.”
“Yeah, right.” She dragged the toe of her sneaker through the grass.
“Or harmful.”
“Says the guy who made me drink an entire jar of pickle juice.” Ivy grimaced. “And then eat all the salt at the bottom of the pretzel bag.”
Yeah, Cade remembered that one. She’d puked her guts out. For hours. He’d felt terrible about it, not that he’d let her know. “Give me a break. I was thirteen.”
“Which only means you’ve had seventeen years since then to come up with something even more diabolical.”
Any snarky response Cade could have come up with was preempted by his cell phone ringing. He pulled it out of his pants pocket, knowing—and dreading—what was coming.
“Shit.” He pressed Reject, turned the damn thing off and stowed it back in his pocket.
“What’s wrong?” Gabe crossed to a pile of wood on the opposite side of the fire pit, picked up a log and tossed it into the flames, making sparks fly into the cool night air. “Your mother after you again?”
“Nah.” Cade glanced at Ivy, wishing he didn’t have to air his dirty laundry in front of her. He drained his beer, then opened the cooler next to his chair, dropped in the empty and pulled out a fresh bottle. “Sasha. She keeps texting and calling. Even showed up at the station this afternoon bearing brownies.”
He grabbed another beer from the cooler and held it out to Gabe.
Gabe took it and returned to his seat. “The guys must’ve loved that.”
Yeah. They’d never let Cade live it down. They were already calling him Brownie Boy.
“Can I have one of those?” Ivy pointed to the cooler. “And who’s Sasha?”
“Cade’s girlfriend.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Cade amended, opening a bottle and handing it to her. Their fingers brushed and he felt a flicker of something electric pass between them. “As of two weeks ago.”
His date with Sasha the night of the photo shoot had been their last. Not that the session had anything to do with their breakup. It was pure coincidence he’d picked that night to call it quits.
Wasn’t it?
“Do