Page 42 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
"And now you're interested in her."
"I was interested in her four years ago. Before she left for Maine."
Understanding dawned in Nick's eyes. "Ah. So this isn't new."
"We had one night together. She was twenty, upset about her future, looking for someone to listen. I should have sent her home. Instead…"
"Instead, you're human."
I laughed bitterly. "Her father made me promise to stay away from her. Years ago, after my scandal broke. He was worried about his daughter's reputation, about what people would say if she got involved with someone who'd already been through that kind of public humiliation."
"And you agreed."
"Of course I agreed. She was a teenager then, and Bill was one of the few people who didn't cut ties with me after the press got hold of the story. I owed him that much."
Nick finished his beer, signaling the waitress for another round. "But she's not a teenager anymore."
"No. She's twenty-four. An adult who can make her own decisions."
"So, what's the problem?"
"The problem is that I made a promise to my friend. The problem is that she might be hiding things from me, and I can't tell if it's because she's protecting herself or because she's playing games. The problem is that I don't trust my own judgment when it comes to women anymore."
"Because of Meranda."
I nodded. "Meranda taught me that mixing business and personal relationships is a mistake," I said. "But here I am, making the same mistake again."
"Is it the same mistake? What's Ivy done that makes you think she's playing games?"
I considered the question. What had Ivy done, exactly? Agreed to have coffee with me? Accepted my dinner invitation? Been putty in my hands when I molded her like clay?
"She's guarded," I said finally. "Secretive. She deflects whenever I ask about her life in Maine."
"Maybe she's just private. Some people are."
"Or maybe she's hiding something significant."
Nick leaned back in the booth, studying my face. "You're looking for reasons to distrust her."
"I'm trying to be realistic."
"No, you're trying to protect yourself. You're so afraid of being hurt again that you're sabotaging something that might actually be good for you."
The waitress brought our second round. I stared at the fresh bourbon, remembering the way Ivy had looked last night when I'd asked if she wanted there to be a "this" to define. She'd seemed genuinely conflicted, genuinely scared.
Not calculating. Not manipulative. Just afraid.
"Bill will never forgive me if he finds out," I said.
"Maybe. Or maybe he'll realize his daughter is an adult who deserves to make her own choices about who she spends time with."
"You didn't make that promise."
"No, I didn't. But I've made plenty of promises I had to break because circumstances changed. Sometimes keeping your word means causing more harm than breaking it."
I thought about that as we finished our drinks. About promises and loyalty and the complicated mathematics of friendship. Bill had stood by me when others hadn't. But Ivy hadn't asked to be protected from me. She'd made her ownchoice to kiss me, to come to my house, to let me take her under the tree in Bill's own backyard.
Maybe Nick was right. Maybe I was looking for reasons to walk away because walking away felt safer than risking my heart again.
