CHAPTER FOUR
Nash Bennett.
As the name reverberated through her head, pounding in her ears, a chill settled over Ivy. Even though her body twitched and her hands shook, she managed not to drop the plates. But the sooner she got them and herself into the kitchen, the better.
What was Nash Bennett doing in Quinn Valley? At the pub? Talking to her?
Not that it mattered. Okay, maybe a little.
All she wanted was to put distance between her and him. She hurried toward the doorway, forcing herself not to run. Maggie and Ryder would be on her if she fell, or worse, ran into a customer.
Was Nash Bennett still here?
Ivy didn’t dare glance his way to find out.
She wove around someone pushing away from a table.
Oops.That was a close call.
Even though she hadn’t recognized him last night, when he’d taken off his sunglasses she’d known in an instant who he was. He might be disguising himself with the beard and beanie, but his blue eyes were the same.
Only tonight, his gaze had been warm and focused only on her. Not harsh and condescending like the last time she’d stood in front of him.
Ten years ago.
Forget about it.
Him.
She wanted to, but his compliment from last night streamed in her head.
You have a fantastic voice, and I won’t be forgetting that last song.
Yeah, right. Her breathing hitched.
She’d wondered if Nash Bennett ever thought about the singers he’d judged so harshly. Now she had her answer.
He hadn’t.
At least not her.
Nash Bennett had forgotten her. That was why what he’d said yesterday and tonight about her singing were the opposite of what he’d told her when she’d auditioned in Seattle for what was then the hottest talent search on television.
Only the strong survive in the music business. You’re not ready. You sang off-key for the first half of the song. Your voice was weak and pitchy. Some of that might be nerves, but you never gained control of your vocals. My advice is to go home. Not everyone has the talent to make it in this business. You don’t.
For ten years, those words had been stuck in her brain, resurfacing at the worst possible times. Like right before a performance. Nothing she did had made them go away. Not even time had let them fade.
Ivy could accept criticism. She had from music and choir directors, but Nash Bennett hadn’t been trying to help her. His tone had been patronizing and demeaning as if he wanted to hurt her on purpose. Worse, he’d barely looked at her, preferring to speak to the camera or glancing at the other judges, who nodded along as he spoke. One appeared to forget she’d wanted to let Ivy through to the next round. Guess it was easier to jump on the “slam the singer” bandwagon.
The worst part, however, had been after Ivy walked out of the audition room. She had no one waiting for her. No one to hug her. No one to tell her the judge was a jerk and to ignore him.
Instead, she’d accepted a squeeze on the shoulder from the host, who said he was sorry. All she’d managed was a nod. Then a production assistant had led her to a separate area where Ivy could be alone.
Except she hadn’t wanted to be by herself.
She would have rather returned to the large room where people waited for their chance to audition. Someone there would have understood her devastation. Another singer would have hugged her and told her it would be okay.
But she was too upset to say no and tell them what she wanted.
