Easton groaned and gave his stow-away pillow a couple of shoves at each corner, hoping a little comfort might lull him into sleep.
What did you do to poor Ivy? She burst into tears at the sight of your picture.
Please call, Easton. I’m sick to my stomach. I don’t want to lose what we have.
Lose what they had. Thatwas the biggest enigma of all.Thatwas the unsolvable mystery that had kept him up every night since he left. Which said something sincethis—sleeping in tents beneath the sky—this used to be his haven, his happy place, his refuge no matter the storm.
Now it seemed his only refuge was in thoughts of Ivy. In recollections of holding her in his arms. Of kissing her silky lips. Of laughing at her family tales and goofy jokes.
His heart thundered as—vision after vision, memory after memory—the torment multiplied. Ivy’s solemn text played out in the sound of her voice in his mind, a prodding, pressing repeat that had him shrugging onto his stomach and forcing the pillow over his head.
Don’t want to lose what we have.
Don’t want to lose what we have.
But now it’s too late, Easton,he could hear her saying.You won’t even listen to what I have to say. You’re punishing me for something I didn’t even do. Thanks for proving that the other men in my life were right all along. Thanks for making it that much harder to trust.
Another groan tore through him as he sat up and reached for the bag at his side. The zipper was cool beneath his touch. He grabbed the small tab and tugged it open, then pulled the phone from its pouch. It took a moment for it to power on, but once it did, Easton saw that it was only 4:00.
This day was never going to end. Sure, the sun had already started to set, but was he really willing to stick it out for the whole night? He’d promised himself to sleep on it.Itbeing the messages he’d gotten from Ivy and Marsha Langston. But ifsleepingwas not in the cards, how could he achieve that?
His mind must have been one step ahead of him. Already Easton was reaching for his socks and shoes. He shoved into them before unzipping his tent and climbing out. He was about to pack up all of his gear when he thought better of it.Call first.
A red-tailed hawk cawed overhead, drawing his attention to the colorful sunset in the distance. The reflection of light caused the pink formations to glow nearly red—it was the Valley of Fire, after all.
Ivy would like this, he decided. It was beautiful. He could acknowledge the fact easily enough, but he couldn’t enjoy the sight for himself. Not at a time like this.
Easton watched the bars on his phone, waiting until they said he could call. Getting up and out of the tent had quelled his anxiety at first. But now, with each additional step he took, his nerves became more and more agitated. The parking area was in sight now. May as well try to make a call.
Yet just as he moved to click on the screen, a text came in from his sister.
Chantelle:Thought you better see this for yourself.
It took a moment for the image to pop up, but once it did, a spark of amusement flashed through him. It was a magazine article of some sort, a tabloid probably, with the title “Runaway Bachelor”on the front. Less amusing was the photo they had of him. Some picture taken at the rehab center a few years back.
If this was supposed to pack some sort of punch, it had failed by a long shot. Easton would rather be some flash in the pan runaway bachelor who would—by any stretch of the imagination—fizzle out in days than have to go on that horrible show and make a fool of himself.
But then another image came up. It was a shot taken of the article spread inside.
A curse fell from his lips. And then another as he looked over the photo they’d printed of Ivy. “They had to drag her into it,” he muttered.
In the photo, Ivy was sitting up to a table, a plastic lobster bib tied around her neck, readying to take a fake bite from the shiny red lobster on her plate.
How they’d managed to find a less-than-flattering photo of a woman so obviously beautiful was beyond him. Andwhyin heavens name would they do it? They probably assumed a woman who looked like her didn’t have an insecurity in the world. Little did they know…
A groan rumbled in his chest as he scrutinized the image some more.
Reluctantly, Easton read the small print beneath it.
Rumors have it that Ivy Ingles, assistant toLooking For Love’s producer Marsha Langston, got caught in a blizzard with this gorgeous bachelor while filming his interview. Lucky girl! I’m sure he knows how to keep a woman warm—just look at him.
The strange thing is that the interview never made it to Langston. Until Ivy’s co-worker sent it in.
Hmmm… sounds fishy to us.
Was this blonde-haired lobster-eater so obsessed with the handsome hunk that she tried to keep him off the show? Was she hoping he’d pick the pauperess over the princesses he’d find in the show’s castle-like mansion?
We think so! What do you think?
