Love to Hate You (Hope Valley #9) - Jessica Prince Page 0,39

a huffed breath. “Not on easy targets.”

“That’s right. Now go help your aunt set the table.” The girl literally skipped off with a wicked smile on her face.

I turned to look at Hayden, slow blinking as I muttered, “She just played me, didn’t she?”

“With hardly any effort.” She shook her head in mock disappointment while bracing her hands on her hips. “Really, Micah, I’d have expected better from you. I told you she’d clean you out if you weren’t careful. You gave in within thirty seconds of that door being open. That’s a new record, even for her.”

“Wait a minute.” I lifted my hand, finally registering what she’d said. “Easy target?”

Her response was to shrug her shoulders on a sweet, melodic giggle. “If the shoe fits.”

I couldn’t argue that. “But . . .” I looked back into the house. “That face. Christ, it was the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I’d have signed over the title to my truck if she’d asked.”

“Yeah,” Hayden said on a weary sigh. “She’s gotten way too good at it.”

My head whipped back to her, my tone almost accusing as I asked, “How the hell are you not affected by that face? Is your heart made of stone or something?”

She brushed me off like it was nothing and started into the house, waving for me to follow. “Oh, please. Where do you think she learned it? That face has been passed down for generations,” she said as I followed her toward the kitchen. The house was still as bright and insanely decorated as it had been when Sylvia lived in it, but I noticed Hayden had made some additions. There were new framed photos everywhere, almost all of them containing Ivy, either by herself or with Hayden and/or Sylvia.

“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath. “I just stepped into the lion’s den, didn’t I?”

She turned and threw a beaming smile over her shoulder that hit me straight in the chest before traveling south—along with all the blood in my body—to my dick. Christ, she had an incredible smile.

“Just watch where you step,” she teased with a wink.

“Ah, there he is,” Sylvia crooned as soon as Hayden and I entered the kitchen. She moved from the stove, coming around the counter to place her hands on my shoulders, her way of communicating silently that she wanted me to bend so she could give my cheek a kiss, which I did. “Heard you got hit with The Look. You managed to survive the first time, which is more than I can say for some men.”

“Let me guess. You’re the one who taught Hayden, who taught that little devil child.”

Ivy grinned happily, completely unfazed at being called a devil.

“It wasn’t so much taught as it was passed down through the genes. You can’t blame me for genetics.”

“I’ll find a way,” I grumbled in mock seriousness.

Then I noticed the delicious smells filling the air around me. My stomach let out a loud growl, reminding me I hadn’t put anything in it since the donut I’d gotten at Muffin Top that morning. If dinner tasted anywhere near as good as it smelled, I couldn’t wait.

“Mike. Come sit here.” Ivy patted the cushioned stool next to hers at that bar. “You can draw with me till supper’s done.”

“I don’t know, kid. I’m not very good at drawing.”

“Dat’s okay. Just try your best. Dat’s what Mommy always says.” She patted the seat again, giving me no choice but to join her. As soon as I sat, she shoved a piece of yellow construction paper in front of me and slid a box of crayons between us.

I looked across the counter to where Hayden was standing at the stove, her lips curled between her teeth in a failed attempt to hide her smile as she watched us. When she caught me staring, she uncurled them and grinned, mouthing sorry.

“Let me get you a drink, Micah,” Sylvia decreed, shuffling toward the drink shaker she always made her Tom Collins in. “I’ll have you set up in no time.”

Before I had a chance to fight back a wince at the thought of having to drink that disgusting cocktail, Hayden spoke up. “Actually, I was gonna offer Micah a beer,” she said quickly. “I bought a six pack the other day, and I ended up not liking it. It’ll go to waste unless he drinks it for me.”

“All right, dearie. More gin for you and me, then.” Undeterred, Sylvia whipped up a new batch while her niece