Only Mine

Her sister was slightly taller and twenty pounds lighter, but when Jilly had finally given in to the inevitability of attending tonight’s New Year’s Eve party, she hadn’t had any time left to shop for a proper dress. And she hadn’t argued with Joey when her sister had nixed every outfit in Jilly’s closet. Baggy long-sleeve T-shirts and sweat pants definitely wouldn’t cut it at the swanky event, and she’d succumbed to sister-induced pressure and agreed to the outfit Joey had pushed on her. The only thing left was to be grateful that her sister had chosen something relatively demure. The black long-sleeve dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline showed more skin than Jilly was comfortable with, but even though the skirt was snug around her bottom, the knee-length hem wasn’t so short she was in danger of flashing her drawers.

She eyed the giant countdown clock at the front of the Wentworth ballroom and took a breath small enough to oxygenate a flea. Ten minutes and she could escape to the penthouse apartment she shared with Joey. In eleven minutes, the dratted dress would be back in Joey’s closet and she could climb into those sweat pants and a Titans T-shirt. Since the flea-sized breath didn’t do a thing to help the stinging pressure around her torso, she gave real consideration to ducking out of the party early. With only minutes remaining before midnight, it was possible her bosses at Sugar Babies Sweet Shop, the good-intentioned bullies who had insisted she attend tonight’s party, were distracted enough to miss her exit.

Jilly glanced around the ballroom, her eyes flitting over the snowy, silver-dusted poinsettias and twinkling white lights scattered throughout. People gathered in clusters at the edge of the dance floor, some couples electing to continue dancing to Midnight Moonshine’s cover of “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” The Nashville night was cooperating with the fairy-tale feel by promising a snowfall later and a cold-but-not-too-cold weather pattern. Though there were at least three hundred people in attendance, the room didn’t feel overly stifling, just full. Black-tie had been the theme of the night, and no one skimped on jewelry or glitter. Mixed in with the elite of Nashville society and guests of the Wentworth were residents of the Hale Street neighborhood.

Jilly wondered if Burke Wentworth had imagined this kind of event when he’d begun the process of rehabbing his hotel and the surrounding neighborhood the previous year. Hale Street offered everything from a couture dress and wedding gown shop to a funky and off-beat boutique, a lawyer’s office and a bookstore, Frank Dole’s long-standing hometown diner, and her current workplace, the bakery owned by Violet, Kennedy, and Ivy.

Boss number one, Violet Calloway, wearing a dark blue dress, was dancing with her boyfriend, Nick Morello, both of them laughing. The handsome contractor had that effect on the society princess, and though some might have raised eyebrows at their relationship, Jilly figured when a man made a woman as happy as Nick made Violet, the uppity gossips could stick it where the sun don’t shine. 
Jilly continued to scan the room and then had to hide a smile as she saw boss number two, Kennedy Lowell, engaged in a conversation with Lurlene Williams, one of the few longtime residents on Hale Street. Lurlene was good-hearted but a few bricks short of a full load. Tonight she was minus her usual companion, Snowball the ferret, but her navy-blue sweater with sparkling snowflakes, bright green pants, and matching Crocs brought her enough attention. Kennedy, dressed tonight in a sleek column of dark green, nodded at Lurlene while her eyes searched the room. Likely looking for her fiancé, Hunter Clayborne. 
With two down and one to go, Jilly readied herself to make an escape.

“Where’s your champagne, girl?” 
Instead of sighing, Jilly pasted on a smile and turned to boss number three. Ivy, in a gold gauzy dress that covered her front and left her back open to the waist, looped an arm around Jilly’s middle and waved over a nearby waiter. The head pastry chef for Sugar Babies winked at him, released Jilly, and plucked two glasses from the serving tray. “Thanks, Hank.”

“No problem, Ms. Gibson,” answered the befuddled Hank. Ivy tended to have that effect on men.

“Hank, I’ve told you a hundred times, call me Ivy.”

Jilly’s smile turned genuine as the twenty-year-old server nodded. The kid knew where his bread was buttered, and since Ivy’s boyfriend was Hank’s boss, he would have to be crazier than Lurlene to refer to Ivy as anything other than Ms. Gibson. As if the matter was settled, Ivy turned to Jilly and held out the flute of pretty bubbly wine.

Six months at Sugar Babies had proved that arguing with Ivy was pointless, so Jilly wrapped her fingers around the fine stemware and took a tiny sip. Matt had hated it when she drank champagne. Had told her it loosened her tongue and made her chatter like a fucking magpie.

Her husband was now her very ex-husband, she reminded herself, and took a healthy swallow of champagne. Though Matt had been out of her life for fifteen months, sometimes it felt like he was still right there in the room with her, telling her she was stupid and worthless. 
Ivy’s brown eyes focused on her, and Jilly tried to maintain a poker face. Ivy always saw more than was comfortable. With no hesitation, Jilly threw out a guaranteed distraction. “Where’s Burke?”

Ivy’s expression transformed from dogged determination to plain and simple joy.

“Did I hear my name?” 
If Jilly hadn’t known Burke Wentworth since high school, the sheer beauty of the man would tie her tongue. His dark-blond hair was cut close to his head, and his blue eyes danced with amusement. He slid his arm along Ivy’s waist and tugged her close to him, her long bright blond curls spilling over the black fabric of his tuxedo jacket. At the sight of Ivy’s happiness, Jilly felt a squeeze in her chest she knew wasn’t caused by her strangling undergarments. Not once in all the years she’d spent with Matt had he ever looked at her like that.

“Just like Beelzebub, you show up when your name is mentioned,” Ivy teased. She tipped up on gold heels and gave Burke a kiss. “Shouldn’t you be up on stage about now?”

“Daisy is going to take care of the announcements and thank-yous,” Burke answered. “It’s really her show.”

Jilly had learned, first as the middle child, then as a survivor of major family drama, and finally as a wife of a mercurial man, to listen for the things that went unsaid. Sarcasm, pity, contempt, anger. But when Burke talked about Daisy Calloway, there was nothing in his manner that suggested discomfort at their former relationship. Acceptance, pride, and sometimes a brotherly worry, but no indication that he was less than comfortable with his former fiancée and current general manager. Jilly had observed enough to know that a lot of that had to do with how Daisy had made it easy for Burke. Jilly, with her honed instincts, wondered sometimes if Daisy wasn’t as okay with Burke’s current relationship with her cousin as it appeared. There was something sharper, harder about Daisy now than had been her character when the two of them had been in high school together.

“She’s good at that kind of thing.” There was pride in Ivy’s voice. “And here she goes.”

The three of them turned toward the stage as Daisy clasped a microphone in one hand. In all the ways Ivy was a free-spirited bohemian, Daisy was a cultured, perfect beauty queen. Everything about her screamed sophistication, from her strapless black dress with a flare at the bottom to the diamonds glinting at her neck and ears. Her voice was smooth and easy as she thanked the crowd for their attendance. 
Three minutes until midnight, Jilly watched the countdown clock numbers race toward zero. Sometimes it felt like her own life was racing along just as fast. Even after fifteen months on her own, she still had no idea where she fit. She certainly wasn’t a bohemian like Ivy, a sophisticate like Daisy, or even a country singing sensation like her sister.

Annoyed with herself, she took another small sip of champagne. And nearly choked on it as all heads in the room swung in her direction. 
Her shoulders went rigid, and she’d taken half a step back before she realized the crowd was paying not one bit of attention to her. Daisy was toasting Burke. A pause and then she continued, “You’ll want to take a moment to thank John Sinclair for the fabulous food.”

In relief and reflex, Jilly looked to the man Daisy was thanking. And felt everything in her body freeze. She’d known the chef at the Wentworth Hotel was a former mixed martial arts fighter, had listened when Joey had mentioned him from time to time. But in the six months she’d lived here with her sister, she hadn’t yet seen him. Most of that was her own schedule, rising early to get to the bakery and going directly home, staying in, and creating a real and long-term relationship with Netflix. 
Her ribs banged as she tried to take in a deep breath at the sheer physicalness of him. He wasn’t overly tall, somewhere around six foot, she figured. But though he might chop food for a living these days, his body proportions announced he hadn’t given up on his training regimen.

His chest was broad, straining the fabric of his black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled back to his muscled forearms. His nose looked as if it had been broken and reset at least once, and his dark-blond hair was cropped close to his head. He wasn’t handsome like Burke, but he was arresting, and power exuded from him in a way she could feel standing twenty feet from him. He lifted one hand in acknowledgement as Daisy wrapped up her accolades, and Jilly had a breathless vision of that big hand coming toward her.

She could feel herself flinch and hated it.

Despair washed over her. Matt was right. She was pathetic. 
She glanced at the countdown clock and decided it was time to make her escape. As she eased away from Ivy and Burke, her bag vibrated at her hip. Since it gave her the perfect opportunity to get out of the ballroom, she mumbled a quick apology to the couple and stepped toward the edge of the room. She fumbled with the clasp on her clutch and pulled out her phone, knowing by the ringtone who was on the other end. “Hey. Don’t you have someone to kiss in about ten seconds?”

Her sister’s laughter rang through the phone. “Nope. Thought I’d call and wish you a Happy New Year.”

Without thinking, Jilly smiled wide. Joey Bloom might be a real-life superstar, but no matter how famous she got, she was always a big sister first. 
On the other end of the connection, Jilly could hear the crowd at Joey’s record label party start counting down just as the crowd at the Wentworth did the same. The two sisters were quiet as the count wound down to one. “Happy New Year, Jilly.”

“Happy New Year, Josephine.” The sound of a smacking kiss over the phone made Jilly giggle out loud. “You’re a nut.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Now go have some fun.”

Jilly swiped her phone off and sighed with relief. Ten seconds and she could get the heck out of her bra. She started to tuck her phone safely away in her purse and then dropped it on the floor when a masculine hand reached out and grabbed her arm.