Page 109 of The Devil of Downtown

“I didn’t know him,” I admit, feeling heat rush into my cheeks.

“Oh my God,” she laughs, shooting me a wink. “Now I know why he’s in such a good mood. I mean, everyone needs a little Ivy in their life.”

I groan. “Stop being such a dork.”

“I should’ve known,” she continues, poking my ribs with a smug grin. “That he’d fall for you.”

“Oh, stop it. Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Who’s being ric-lous?” A tiny voice pipes up.

We both turn. Elsie stands in the doorway, curls tangled in every direction, wearing pale blue spotty pajamas and the most adorably unimpressed expression I’ve ever seen.

“Your mommy,” I say, sticking my tongue out at Sloane.

“Ridiculous, Elsie-boo,” Sloane corrects as Elsie climbs onto her lap, snuggling her head into her shoulder. “And I’m not being ridiculous. If anyone can melt that man’s heart, it’s Ivy.”

“Oh, give it up already, will you, Sloane,” I say, reaching my palms over to cover Elsie’s ears as she giggles. “And it’s probably just a short-term thing, but you don’t need to worry; there’s no way he would get rid of you; he knows how damn good you are.”

I let go of Elsie’s ears, and she just rolls her eyes in the way only a five-year-old who’s seen too much grown-up drama can.

“I’m not worried about my job, Ivy,” Sloane sighs, her tone softening again. “I’m worried aboutyou. Don’t let yourself get hurt by him.” Her thumb absently strokes Elsie’s arm, a protective gesture she probably doesn’t even notice. “I’ve seen the trail of broken-hearted women who think they’re the one who’s going to change him.”

Her words land like a knot in my stomach. A heavy one. One that knows she isn’t wrong.

“It’s fine, Sloane,” I murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

Her eyes linger on me for a long second—warm, skeptical, deeply sister-like—before she shifts Elsie upright. “Anyway. Let’s get someone some breakfast, hmm? Then I need to get ready for work.”

“You go get ready,” I blurt, grateful for the out. “I’ll get Elsie’s breakfast.”

I open the cupboard door, reaching for the cereal, trying to ignore the way my hands tremble just a little.

Elsie climbs onto the stool and watches closely, chin propped in her palms.

“That’s the cereal we get after dance class,” she says, eyes bright.

“It is,” I agree. “So, are you practicing the moves from last week, or have you retired already?”

She grins. “I’m practicing. I just don’t show everyone.”

“Smart,” I say, sliding the bowl across. “Mystique is important.”

She eats happily, rearranging the cereal with her spoon, nudging pieces into a careful circle.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“They all have to get milk,” she explains patiently. “Otherwise, it’s not fair.”

“Of course,” I say. “We can’t have cereal injustice.”

She giggles and keeps eating, feet swinging beneath the stool. I lean back against the counter, watching her.

As she eats, my thoughts drift somewhere else entirely—last night, his bedroom, the low light, the way he’d backed me toward the bed without breaking eye contact. I shake my head slightly, cutting that off before Elsie can notice me smiling like an idiot.

“All done,” she announces, hopping down.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s get you dressed for school.”