Ivy McLaughlin bustled around the boutique, the new maxi-dress coverups tempting her. If she bought one, the money would come right out of her paycheck. She’d barely even miss it. Of course, she’d bought that crop top last week and a new pair of boyfriend jeans just yesterday. At the rate she was going, she’d be lucky to even get a paycheck on Friday.
So the swimming suit coverups went on the rack, despite her desire to take a size small in black to the dressing room and see how it looked with her newly bleached hair.
Everything about Ivy was new and improved. It had to be now that she was back on the market after a long relationship with Brooks Dentin—which had ended last week.
And she’d been so sure he’d asked her to the fanciest fish house on the island to propose. But he’d gone all Legally Blonde on her and broken up with her. Ivy wasn’t in a sorority, nor did she have any inclination to go to law school.
She just needed a new manicure. A new haircut and color. A new pair of jeans—check—and a new outlook on life.
Then she’d be fine.
Never mind that all of her sisters had now found love with some great guys. Eden and Holden were married now, as were Iris and Justin. Orchid and Maine would have an “event of the century” on the island by the end of the year, and Ivy was happy for all of them.
Honestly, she was.
She just wanted her own knight in shining armor. Or a football helmet. Or a Navy SEAL uniform. Or whatever. Since she’d been dating Brooks so seriously, she hadn’t been calling in favors like she usually did to keep her social calendar full.
And now that she had access to the starting quarterback of the Orcas, she found she didn’t want him to set up a date for her.
She wasn’t sure what that meant, as Ivy was usually the life of the party. The star of the show. The one who turned heads, who could flirt with anyone with a Y-chromosome, the one who never stayed in on the weekends.
Now, she didn’t even want to go out.
She felt broken inside, and she had no idea what to do about it.
Her phone rang, and she swiped on the call from her sister. “Heya, Eden,” she said. “How’s life in the glass building?”
“Just grand,” Eden said, an edge to her voice that Ivy usually didn’t hear unless Eden had good news.
“What’s up?” Ivy turned toward the door as a chime sounded and watched two women walk into the shop.
“I have some exciting news,” Eden said.
Ivy knew what her sister was going to say before Eden’s voice landed in her ears. “Holden and I are expecting.”
So maybe Ivy hadn’t put those exact words in that exact order. A shriek had already started building beneath her vocal cords, and she let it out for just a moment. There was nothing better than being an aunt.
“I’m so excited for you guys,” she gushed as the women came closer. If her boss were here and found her talking on the phone while there were customers in the store, he’d be furious. “Look, I have to go, but I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” Eden said, and Ivy hung up.
She approached the women. “Hey, ladies. Can I help you find something today?”
“She needs a new bathing suit,” the brunette said.
“I do not,” the other woman said. She threw her friend a scandalous look and tucked her regular brown hair behind her ear.
“Something sexy,” the brunette said without missing a beat.
“Shannon.”
“What?” Shannon asked. “You do. She’s going to meet a guy out on this deserted island, and she wants to look hot for him. Hot. H-O-T.”
“Stop it,” the other woman said, actually reaching up and covering Shannon’s mouth with her hand. “Just a regular bathing suit. I like a solid color. Black or red—”
“A solid color?” Shannon gasped as if her friend had just committed a fashion crime. She flipped a few more hangers on the rack in front of her, which didn’t even hold swimming suits.
“We have some great one-shoulder stuff back here,” Ivy said, hoping to draw the friend away from Shannon. “I’ve got solids and stripes.” She really wanted to hear more about this deserted island. Maybe there was a singles event going on she hadn’t heard about.
She’d been out of the singles scene for so long now, and part of her didn’t want to get resubmerged in it. But summer had just arrived in Getaway Bay, and that brought a lot of vacationers out to the beaches.
Not only that, but summer was the best time to meet a new man, and Ivy felt some of the scales she’d been carrying for a while fall from her eyes. She could find a new boyfriend. She could.
She just didn’t want to.
The island had plenty to do in the summer, and as she pulled a black suit off the rack and held it out to the woman, she asked, “Where are you going to meet this guy?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Her blue-green eyes sparkled with a secret. “There’s this crazy billionaire who’s put out an Internet ad.” She rolled her eyes like the very idea was stupid. And yet, she was going to buy a sexy swimming suit to meet him. “He bought an island, and—”
“A deserted island,” Shannon inserted.
“A deserted island,” the woman continued. “And he wants someone to come live on it with him for three months. See if they can fall in love.” She sighed like it was the most romantic thing in the world.
Ivy’s heart started pulsing in her chest. At first, the sensation felt strange, as she hadn’t felt anything like this in a while. Even while dating Brooks these last few months—which should’ve been a dead giveaway to her that their relationship wasn’t going to last.
“She’ll try that teal bikini too,” Shannon said, and Ivy got it down amidst protests from the other woman.
“Come on, Kari,” Shannon finally said. “You’re going to meet this guy on his island. You can’t show up in Bermudas and a T-shirt with a popsicle on it.” She all but shoved her friend into the dressing room, another fistful of very revealing swimming suits in her hand.
Ivy smiled at the pair of them, their banter and back-and-forth so much like hers and Iris’s. A pang of missing hit her hard when she thought of her twin. No, they couldn’t stay together forever, but Ivy had always been so close to Iris, and she had Justin now.
The retired Navy SEAL worked for an app company now, and Ivy wondered if maybe he knew some single guys she could go out with.
Nope, she told herself as she picked up her phone from the check-out counter. She wasn’t going to ask for help to get a date. Not this time.
No, this time, she was going to look up this crazy billionaire who’d bought an island and put out an ad for a companion. After all, money could make up for a lot of things. Maybe even a little bit of mental instability.
* * *
That evening, Ivy sat at her computer, the cursor blinking in the empty chat box in front of her. She’d read all about Mason Martin and his scheme to find someone to spend his life with.
His words, not Ivy’s.
He claimed to be from Texas, and his proposition was clear. Come to Long Bar Island, about two hours south of Getaway Bay, and spend three months there with him. See if a love connection could be made.
The end.
He wouldn’t be compensating anyone, and the only way he’d send out pictures was if someone messaged him and asked.
So Ivy sat in front of the chat box, ready to ask. Any time now. “Any minute,” she muttered to herself. Beside her on the desk, the small guinea pig she sometimes took out and carried around with her lay curled into a ball.
If she went out to Long Bar Island, she’d have to figure out what to do with Tommy.
“He’s a guinea pig,” she told herself.
She’d been talking to herself all afternoon since looking up the email order bride scandal that had Getaway Bay in a twitter. She wouldn’t miss anyone’s birthday. She wouldn’t miss Orchid’s and Maine’s wedding. And Eden had said she wasn’t due until the first week of January.
Ivy had her job at the boutique, but honestly, it was exactly that—a job. Not a career. If things didn’t work out with this Mason fellow, she’d come home and find something else to do.
She couldn’t believe she was even considering this. There were singles cruises and beach parties right here on the island.
“Hello,” she said as she typed out the words. “My name is Ivy McLaughlin. I’ve read your proposal, and I think I might be a good fit.”
She read over the words again, and then again. She didn’t want to ask for a picture of him right up front, though she could admit that looks were important to her. What if he was some sort of Quasimodo, and she didn’t know it until her boat landed on the island?
“It’s not all about what he looks like,” she reminded herself, her hand hovering above the mouse, which already sat on the send button. She wondered how many people had sent him messages. Did he walk around the island? Maybe she could meet him that way.
Because this just felt ridiculous.
Her doorbell rang, and she jumped. Her knees hit the pull-out tray that held her keyboard, and her hand hit the mouse.
Moving quickly, she got up and hurried to the front door, adrenaline streaming through her now. “You ordered sausage and anchovies?” The guy standing on her porch with her pizza couldn’t be more than sixteen.
“Yes.” Ivy took the pizza from him and handed him the twenty-dollar bill on her front table. “Thanks.”
“No problem, ma’am.” He saluted—actually saluted her—and turned to leave. Disgust coated her insides.
“Ma’am.” She was only thirty-one-years-old. She wasn’t a ma’am. Was she? “It doesn’t matter,” she told herself as she took her food into the kitchen. “He was way too young for you.”
Something beeped from her computer, and she turned toward it. The machine sat just outside of the kitchen, back toward the front door. Another beep sounded, and a box popped up as she watched.
“Oh, holy starfish,” she said, abandoning the food as she sprinted back to the computer.
She’d sent her message to Mason Martin when she’d been startled by the pizza delivery guy. And he was responding. With pictures.
He had dark hair and dark eyes, and he looked downright good enough to eat. His broad shoulders met Ivy’s requirements, and she could only imagine what he’d look like out on an island with his shirt off.
“He’s handsome,” she murmured as another image came up. Another box ticked. Rich. Good-looking. So he wasn’t Quasimodo. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the Beast either.
Most people want to see what I look like, he’d typed. That’s me. Mason Martin. I’m 35.
Are you from the island? Ivy typed into the box, all thoughts of eating now gone, because this man was checking her dating requirement boxes faster than she could remember what they were.
