Ivy made a face and then giggled.

The morning went smoothly, and when noon came, Ivy and Shay were able to slip away. They had chicken sandwiches at the coffee shop across the street.

“I thought you were mad at me,” Ivy confided between delicate bites from her sandwich. “I guess I shouldn’t have called Mitch and told him you were filming another commercial.”

Shay leaned forward, forgetting her sandwich. “So that was how he knew. I should have guessed. Ivy Prescott, what possessed you?”

“Actually,” Ivy replied, “it wasn’t anything quite as dramatic as possession. It was plain old bribery. Mitch promised to try to get along with my mother if I would call him whenever you were doing a spot.”

“Traitor!”

“What can I tell you? I love my mother and I love Mitch and I want to see them bury the hatchet, especially with the wedding coming up.”

Shay remembered what Mitch had told her the night before, when they were talking about hang-ups. “Is it working?”

“They’ve been civil to each other,” Ivy said, shrugging. “I guess that’s a start. So, are you and Mitch an item, or what?”

“An ‘item’? Have you been reading old movie magazines or something?”

Ivy executed a mock glare. “Stop hedging, Shay. You don’t need to tell me, you know. You can just sit by and see me consumed by my own curiosity.”

Shay sighed. “If you’re talking about the love-and-marriage kind of item, we’re not.”

Ivy’s eyes were wide with delight. “That’s what they all say,” she replied. “So the gossip is true! You and Mitch are doing more than working together!”

“Now that is definitely none of your business, Ivy Prescott,” Shay said firmly. “And exactly what gossip is this?”

“Well, you two were inside the RV together for quite a while yesterday.…”

Shay willed herself not to blush at the memory and failed. She hoped Ivy would ascribe the high color in her face to righteous indignation. “What were you doing, standing out there with a stopwatch?”

“Of course not!” Ivy’s feathers were ruffled. She squirmed in her chair and looked incensed and then said defensively, “I don’t even own a stopwatch!”

Chapter Seven

“This is some pile of bricks,” Ivan announced, gazing appreciatively up at the walls of the house while Mitch was still recovering from the surprise of finding his agent standing on his doorstep. “Pretty big for one person, isn’t it?”

Mitch stepped back to admit the small, well-dressed man with the balding pate. Ignoring Ivan’s question, he offered one of his own. “What’s so important that it couldn’t have been handled by telephone, Ivan?”

Ivan patted his breast pocket and grinned. “An advance check of this size warrants personal delivery,” he answered.

Mitch turned and walked back toward the library where he’d been working over his notes for the Rosamond Dallas book, leaving Ivan to follow. Mrs. Carraway, who had been upstairs cleaning most of the morning, magically appeared with coffee and warm croissants.