I certainly can’t ask Cassidy for the truth. Her secrets are buried with her. I’m going to have to find out who Lauren believes the other guy is and proceed from there. If she wants me to write this tawdry script, she’s going to have to reveal some clues as to his identity. Was he one of Cassidy’s classmates in college? Does he live in town? My heart skips a beat. Does Eric know him?

This could get really ugly. I think the majority of people around here would want to remember Cassidy the way she was and not have their memories of her ruined. She was such a beacon of local pride, the selfless young woman who sacrificed her life for her unborn child, the girl next door who battled cancer with everything she had and lost. No one’s going to want to hear that she really wasn’t so sweet and innocent after all.

Lauren’s crazy to even consider putting this version of events out there for public consumption. Sure, it might have a limited audience of those who enjoy a good scandal, but most are going to be disgusted by it, thinking we’re all trying to make a quick buck off of yesterday’s news. And Eric’s the one who’s going to be vilified for going along with it because of his involvement with me. On a national level, the public isn’t going to care who Lauren is. They’re going to be too caught up in pointing fingers at Eric to pay any attention to her. Plus, if word gets out about his financial troubles, he’s going to look like the desperate ex-boyfriend trying to get rich by smearing Cassidy’s good name. Eric’s word is his bond, and it will kill him to be cast in such an unflattering light. Will he be able to bounce back from something like that? Is it even possible?

And it will be a sort of double betrayal. He’s going to be hurt when he learns of Cassidy’s infidelity and he’s going to hate me for being the one to tell him. He’ll never forgive me for keeping something like this from him, but the circumstances surrounding how he ended up in L.A. just wouldn’t allow it. I was sedated and lying in a hospital bed after nearly suffering a miscarriage. The first words out of my mouth very well couldn’t be, “Lauren thinks Cassidy cheated on you.” It wasn’t the time or the place, but now that we’re home, things are different. I can’t keep it from him much longer and expect him to understand my reasoning for not bringing it up sooner. I know if our roles were reversed I’d want him to tell me. There’s no excuse for continuing to remain silent. Like he said, we’re in this together. I have to be up front with him about everything, not just when it’s convenient for me.

“Ivy, you’re shivering,” Eric murmurs, holding me even closer to his body. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

In one fluid motion, he gets to his feet with me in his arms, reminding me of his sheer physicality. He’s such a fine specimen of a man, both inside and out.

He walks by Shep, who’s thumping his tail just outside the door, and carries me over to the bed now covered in fresh linens. He tucks me in, bundling the array of quilts and blankets up to my chin before turning out the light and slipping in beside me. He doesn’t stay on his side of the bed for long. I feel him nestle against my body, his hand on my stomach and one of his legs covering both of mine. I stare at the moon through the skylight as his breathing falls into a steady rhythm and it’s not long before he’s snoring. I allow my fingers to lightly trace his sideburns as he sleeps peacefully, unaware of the jumbled thoughts racing through my mind. I glance at the clock. It’s after midnight. I better shut my eyes and at least try to get some rest. Eric shifts in his sleep, turning over onto his back, and I already miss the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

In L.A., I got a taste of what it would be like to have to sleep alone, and it shook me to the core. I can’t go back to the way I lived before, content to lie in a dorm room all by myself. Those days are over now. No matter what kind of ideas Lauren tries to plant in my mind about going back to college, it’s not what I want. Not anymore. I run my hand across Eric’s chest while patting my stomach. I have everything I need right here.

If only I can hang on to it.

Lauren

So the little skank ended up in the hospital. Oops.

I should feel guilty, but I don’t. Ivy shouldn’t have gotten pregnant in the first place. It’s like she just wanted to land a guy to support her sorry ass for the rest of her life. Ryan even told me she grew up on welfare for pity’s sake. Just because her drunk mother was too lazy to work for a living doesn’t mean she has the right to sit at home and do nothing. Talk about an unjust sense of entitlement.

Everything about Ivy Thompson just infuriates me.

I’ve worked my entire life to get where I am. True, I might have worked my connections, but who hasn’t? My stepdad is a wealthy man. He helped me land this job at the Gazette, but it’s not like he’s here burning the midnight oil while I’m kicking back, painting my nails. I devote my entire life to the paper. I’m the first one there in the morning and the last to leave at night. I log sixty to eighty hours a week and that doesn’t even count holidays and weekends. I don’t take any time off when I have menstrual cramps or a headache that won’t quit. No, I’m here all day, every day.

I run board meetings. I approve layouts. I schmooze advertisers. All in the effort of turning a profit and keeping the paper in the black at a time when print is dead and digital thrives. It’s not easy running a successful business in an industry that is undergoing monumental change. People don’t get their news delivered to their doorstep every morning anymore. No, they get it on their phones or when they turn on their tablets. Who wants to get their fingers dirty reading newsprint?

Luckily, the pathetic farmer types around here do. Ah, one of the perks of living in the land that time forgot. I could be in Hollywood assisting my uncle on his next big film project. I could be in Manhattan helping my stepdad manipulate the stock market like it’s his own personal lottery. I could be doing so much more, but I’m not. Instead, I’m stuck in a job I’m vastly overqualified for in a town where a tractor pull is considered a cultural event. So why do I stay if I could have a much more glamorous and exciting life?

Two words. Eric Young.

From the moment I set eyes on him at that Chamber of Commerce meeting, I knew he was the one for me. We were both up-and-comers at the time. He was getting ready to open the garden center and I was just appointed editor of the Independent Gazette. We were the bright young stars in the community, both looking to make a splash.

I’m usually not attracted to guys like Eric, but there was just something about him. He was poised yet thoughtful, articulate yet respectful. The way he presented his business plan to the loan committee made me sit up and take notice. I was bored out of my mind listening to a roomful of old men ramble on about the price of milk and soaring interest rates, but when Eric got behind the podium, he had my full attention.

I think he was surprised to see me there since the panel was dominated by lifelong business owners and I was fresh out of Harvard. Here I was, two weeks on the job, and I had a hand in deciding his fate. It was a heady feeling, knowing I’d have a role in determining his future. I seemed to make him nervous as I tossed my hair over my shoulder, daring him to take his eyes off me.

His presentation was impressive. He’d done his homework and knew what he was talking about, backing up his projected figures with market research and economic trends. He was a farm boy, sure, but he was a hell of a lot more than that. He was intelligent, well-spoken, persuasive—finally a man who was my equal in every respect. He didn’t have the advantages I grew up with, but he more than made up for his lack of wealth with his work ethic and charm. The way he presented himself screamed success. He was destined for great things, and I was determined to push him as far as he could go. The sky was the limit—with me by his side, of course.