She could feel her eyes starting to tear up and she swallowed quickly. “I know. I couldn’t have made it the past six months without all of you.”
“Sure you could have. We couldn’t have made it without the two of you.” Mr. Borden started toward Kayla, then stopped. “But what does this all have to do with Tate?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s this party he’s taking me to tonight. It’s at some fancy restaurant in West Cedarville and I’m afraid he’ll think I don’t fit in, either.” Phoebe walked beside her neighbor to Kayla’s play area.
“Let me tell you a few things, Phoebe.” Mr. Borden stopped, gripping the bars of his walker tightly. “First of all, you carry yourself with grace. Have since the day I met you. You have a warmth inside you that radiates outward, drawing people to you whether you realize it or not. And last but not least, Tate Williams grew up right here on Quinton Lane. People don’t forget their roots. He’s going to see you for exactly who you are—a beautiful, sensitive, talented, warm and loving woman.”
She tried to respond, to say something even semi-intelligent, but she was too stunned to do so. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
Mr. Borden leaned over his walker and kissed her temple. “Just say you’ll be yourself. It’s all you can be. And believe me, it’s more than enough.”
PHOEBE ADJUSTED the straps of her emerald-green silk camisole and twirled in front of the mirror, the knee-length black skirt swirling around her legs in a way that was sweet and sexy at the same time. Her hair had cooperated, tendrils escaping the French twist in just the right way to emphasize her high cheekbones. If she didn’t know any better she’d think she dressed like this all the time.
But she did know better. Her daily attire consisted of jeans and paint smocks. Not silk tops and three-inch heels. And her normal dining consisted of macaroni and cheese and pizza, not lobster tails and filet mignon.
“Awww, Boots, what am I doing? I’ve been down this road once before. It didn’t work then. Why should I think it could this time?” Phoebe sank onto the white, cushioned vanity bench across from her bed and sighed.
The cat, who’d been eyeing her lazily from on top of the bedspread throughout the impromptu fashion show, suddenly stood and walked over to the edge of the mattress, her big yellow eyes reflecting the light from the floor lamp.
“Yes?” Phoebe asked with as much playfulness as she could muster.
Boots simply looked at her then jumped onto the vanity, her tail weaving in front of a silver-framed photo Phoebe kept dead center.
Gram.
Phoebe inhaled quickly as her gaze fell on the woman who’d taught her everything she knew. About life. About love. About dreams. And about believing in herself—always. A five-star restaurant didn’t change the fact that she was still Phoebe Jennings.
“Thanks, Boots,” she whispered as she squared her shoulders and headed for the stairs.
Chapter Eleven
Tate knew Phoebe Jennings was a beautiful woman; he’d have to be blind not to see that. But still, he was unprepared for just how breathtaking she truly was when she greeted him that evening. The long legs that had tantalized him in shorts earlier in the week were downright dangerous emerging from underneath her black, slitted skirt and running all the way down to her black, strappy heels. Her virtually bare shoulders showcased soft, lightly tanned skin his fingers begged to caress. But it was her khaki eyes, sparkling with anticipation as she smiled, that made him moan inwardly with desire.
“You look incredible, Phoebe.” He tried to keep his voice light and casual, but it was difficult. All day he’d been aware of the fact they’d be on their own that night for the first time, and his mind had run amok with images, with possibilities, unlikely as they were. Seeing her now, so vibrant and alive, only fanned the fire.
“Thanks, Tate. So do you.”
He couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes flickered across his face before traveling down his body, her cheeks taking on a pinkish hue as she caught him watching her.
“Would—would you like to come in for a moment?” she stammered. Her voice was quiet, almost shy, and it endeared her to him all the more.
Tate glanced down at his watch and swore silently to himself. As much as he’d love to take advantage of every moment possible, the reception was due to start in thirty minutes. And considering he was the guest of honor, it was probably best to hit the road. “I’d love to, but we’d better get going.”
“Of course.” Phoebe spun gracefully on her heels, grabbing a small black clutch from the antique table beside the door before joining him on the porch. As she turned the key in the lock and dropped it into her bag, she smiled up at him, wisps of hair curling delicately around her cheekbones. “It feels weird to be going somewhere without a diaper bag in tow. I guess it’s been longer than I realized since I’ve had a grown-up night.”
Her wistful look pulled at his heartstrings, and he ached to draw her into his arms and taste her lips. But he resisted. If all went well, there’d be time for that later.
Placing his hand against the small of her back, he guided her down the porch steps and along the sidewalk, his senses keenly aware of all things Phoebe Jennings. The feel of her silk top beneath his fingers. The scent of lilacs and summertime that seemed to float in the air around her…
And then there was the little matter of how his body was reacting to those subtleties.
“So where is your little angel this evening?” he asked as much out of curiosity as distraction.
“She’s eating dinner at the Haskells’. When it’s bedtime they’ll bring her over here so she can sleep in her own crib.” Phoebe gently touched his forearm as she stopped on the sidewalk to look at him. “They said we could stay out as long as we wanted, but I’d rather not take advantage, if that’s okay.”
“I understand. As long as we put in an appearance, enjoy our dinner and maybe take a spin or two around the dance floor, we can wrap it up whenever you want.” He pulled the passenger door of his BMW open and admired her slender body as she lowered herself into the sports car. “Does Kayla do well with them?”
“The Haskells? Oh, yes. She adores them.” Phoebe paused as he walked around the front of the car and slid into his spot behind the steering wheel. “Kayla is an easy baby. Very happy and cheerful. I have no problem painting when she’s around. But I couldn’t have worked all those parties in the evenings if it hadn’t been for the Haskells’ ongoing offer to watch her whenever I needed.”
He turned the key in the ignition and shifted the car into gear, slowly pulling away from the curb. “How often do you work those parties?”
“I don’t anymore. The Dolangers’ event was my last. Thanks solely to the painting I did—ironically, for them. And if all goes well, I can make it from here on out just from my art. But it will be tight.”
“You should open up a gallery in West Cedarville. You’d make a killing.”
Her sweet laughter filled the car and he smiled instantly. “What’s so funny?”
She raised an eyebrow. “A gallery in West Cedarville? I don’t think so. Not unless Kayla and I were to live on the streets. And even then it wouldn’t work.”
“What do you mean?” He turned onto Route 52 and headed toward the western edge of town.
“Making rent for my house isn’t always easy. Leasing a building in downtown West Cedarville could never happen.”
“Do you know how many people on that side of town will be tripping over themselves to commission you to paint portraits of their family now? You could rent five buildings.”
He glanced across the seat, his smile disappearing as he realized she was looking down at her hands. “Phoebe? You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She pulled her focus from her lap and fixed it instead on the passing scenery. “So, this dinner has something to do with your work?”
Unsure of what to make of the sudden and seemingly deliberate shift in conversation, he simply nodded and pointed out the wind
ow. “Do you see that place? The one up there on the bluff? A colleague at another firm designed it, and it’s supposed to be incredible. Eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, a rec room that would make any guy salivate, a media room, an indoor swimming pool, separate guest quarters—you get the idea. Should be close to three million by the time all is said and done.”
“That’s a lot of house for one family.”
“Even more for just one guy.” Tate swung his attention back to the road in time to see the sign for their exit.
“You can’t be serious?”
“Trust me, I am. He’s West Cedarville’s newest and most eligible bachelor and likes to entertain the ladies in style, from what I hear. I met him a few months ago at some party.” Tate pulled onto the ramp, slowing his speed to accommodate the upcoming traffic signal. “Unfortunately, it was more or less a quick hi, hello kind of thing. Which means the chance of scoring a behind-the-scenes tour of his new digs is slim to none.”
“Do you like homes like that?” she asked.
“Sure. Doesn’t everyone?” He made a quick left on Tower Grove Avenue, then an immediate right onto Linley Street. Pedestrians were out in full force, enjoying the warm evening, peeking in shop windows and dining in outdoor cafés.
As the Autumn Room, with its slender white columns and lighted trees, came into view, he looked at his date once again. The genuine happiness he’d seen on Phoebe’s face when he’d arrived at her door had dissipated somewhat, replaced by an aura of uncertainty, maybe even sadness. His stomach turned.
“Everything okay?” He stopped the car at the curb and waved to the impeccably dressed attendant at the valet stand. As the man hurried in their direction, Tate took a moment to reach across the center console and gently guide her chin until their eyes met. “You seem…I don’t know…sad, maybe?”
“Just a little tired, I guess. Tag sales are quite a lot of excitement, you know?” She flashed a reassuring smile in his direction before grabbing her clutch purse and exiting the car as the valet opened her door.
“Did it go well?” Tate asked as he, too, got out of the car, then hurried around to her side.
“Very well. We raised close to a thousand dollars, if you can believe it. Though that won’t buy us more than a few young trees, I’m afraid.”
Tucking her hand in his arm, he walked with her toward the glass door trimmed in miniature white lights. “A few new trees would be a really nice addition, as long as they don’t interfere with a potential Whiffle ball game or impromptu round of hide-and-seek.”
Her laugh echoed through the vestibule, warming his heart. “I’m not sure there’s anyone left who has the energy for such play. Though I’m sure Kayla will be revved and ready to go in a few short years.”
“Well, see, there you go. Trees are good, just be careful where you put them.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not terribly confident a few trees will be enough to satisfy the city, and the Quinton Lane crowd doesn’t have a lot of money to invest in something bigger.”
He glanced down at her, his breath nearly catching at the way she looked up at him with a mixture of concern for her friends and anticipation of…their evening together? He wasn’t sure, but he was hopeful. “I think we’ll make them happy.”
“I don’t follow,” she said, her voice becoming harder to hear as they walked toward the second set of doors and the band playing inside.
“I think we’ll find a way to please the city and get them to go sniffing around some other part of town.”
“We?”
Raising a finger to the tip of her nose, he gave her a mischievous smile. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
He laughed as she protested, “Uh-uh! You can’t leave me hanging like that…”
“I can. And I just did.” Gently, he untucked her hand from his arm and grasped it with his own, pulling her toward the private room his firm had reserved for the night. He was proud to have Phoebe Jennings on his arm, excited to show her off to his partners, eager to introduce her to Regina in a more relaxed atmosphere than a brief exchange outside his office had afforded.
Band music wafted from the end of the hall, beckoning them inside. A man dressed impeccably in a crisp white shirt and black suit greeted them. “Your name, sir?”
“Tate Williams.”
The man’s face lit up. “Mr. Williams, we’re so glad you’ve arrived. And we’re honored that you would celebrate such a special occasion with us here at the Autumn Room.” He motioned them through, alerting a server on the other side to their arrival. “Serina will be available to take care of anything you or your guest may need this evening. Congratulations on your accomplishment, Mr. Williams.”
“Thank you.” Tate released Phoebe’s hand, placing his own at the small of her back as he guided her through the crowd of people who, one by one, noticed their arrival and turned to clap.
“What’s going on?” she whispered. “You didn’t tell me this was for you.”
“I guess that’s not the part I was focused on when I asked you to come with me.”
“So what did you do?”
“I’ve been named partner at my firm. McDonald and Murphy will, from here on out, be known as McDonald, Murphy and Williams Architectural Firm.”
“Are you serious?”
He grinned. “Yup.”
“I think that was an important piece of information, don’t you?”
“Nah. The important part was your saying yes to my invitation. The rest was easy.”
The way she shook her head in mock disgust made him laugh out loud and he pulled her closer as they threaded their way through the maze of guests, stopping from time to time to shake a hand and offer introductions. Each and every time, Phoebe’s face brightened with a genuine smile, her warmth putting everyone at ease.
Finally they reached the other side of the room where Regina was waiting, her arms outstretched for a hug. Tate removed his hand from Phoebe’s back long enough to embrace his secretary.
“Regina, you remember Phoebe Jennings, don’t you? And Phoebe, my secretary extraordinaire and even better friend, Regina Melvey?”
The women gravitated toward each other immediately, as if their brief encounter at his office had lasted years rather than moments. It didn’t surprise him, since they were alike in many ways—hardworking, genuine, caring, funny…
“I understand you’re an artist, Phoebe?” Regina motioned to a few empty chairs positioned around a table in a quiet corner of the bustling room. “I’ve always admired creative people. Writers. Actors. Architects. Painters. It’s such a gift.”
Tate leaned back in his chair and simply watched and listened as the two women shared a little about themselves. There were so many things he’d noticed about Phoebe over the past two weeks that had embedded themselves in his thoughts. The way her smile spread across her face, enhanced by the sparkle in her eyes. The way she cocked her head a hairbreadth to the left as she listened…The way she downplayed her talent…
“My dream has always been to open a studio,” she was saying. “For portraits mainly, but certainly not exclusively. It’s just that capturing a person or family at a distinct moment in time has always interested me.”
A waiter appeared behind them, a large tray of caviar hors d’oeuvres in his hand. He held it toward Tate.
“Phoebe? Regina?”
The women shook their heads in unison, then laughed.
“Not your thing, either?” Regina asked with amusement.
“No.” Phoebe leaned back in her seat and tickled Tate’s arm, his skin tingling at her touch. “I’m more of a mini hot dog and cheese cube kind of girl.”
“Me, too,” he said.
“Really?” She glanced in his direction, then playfully rolled her eyes at Regina.
“What?” He started to cross his arms, then realized what he’d said. “Wait. Me, too. On all but the girl part, anyway.”
“That’s a relief.” Regina turned toward a female serve
r, who appeared with a tray of wine goblets. “What kind is that, dear?”
As the two discussed the various selections of wine, Tate rubbed his hand slowly across Phoebe’s bare arm, acutely aware of how she blushed in response. “Having fun?”
“Yes. Regina is wonderful.” She looked at his secretary quickly, then leaned close to his ear. “She’s someone I could talk to for hours.”
“I know. Trust me. I’ve lost many valuable hours of work time doing just that. But I’m going to pry you two apart soon so I can dance with you.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “You look beautiful tonight and I don’t want to share you the whole time.”
Regina took a sip of her chosen wine, then took charge of the conversation once again. “You have a daughter, Phoebe?”
She nodded and smiled. “Kayla. She’s eleven months old.”
“It must be hard being on your own with someone so small.”
Surprised by Regina’s directness, Tate sat up in his chair, ready to change the subject at a moment’s notice. But if Phoebe was bothered by the question, she didn’t let it show.
“It is at times. Like when Kayla is sick and I have to work. Or when she wants cuddle time and I’m facing a deadline. But somehow it always works out. Some of that, I think, is the angel we have looking over us.”
“Angel?”
“My grandmother. She died two years ago. She was my grandmother, grandfather, mother, father and best friend all rolled into one. And she always believed in me, no matter what.”
Tate glanced over at Regina. “Sounds like someone in my life.” Then he turned toward Phoebe and placed his hand atop hers. “And I can’t imagine anyone not believing in you.”
The sparkle in her eyes disappeared almost immediately, replaced by a flash of pain. “Kayla’s father didn’t.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than her cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not the time or the place for such things.”
Regina shook her head. “In what way did he not believe in you?”
Once again, his secretary’s straightforwardness took Tate by surprise though it shouldn’t have. It was one of the things he admired most about her. She cut to the chase. Always.
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