by SL Beabhar
Reggie turned her green eyes towards Phoebe. "Regretting your decision already, huh?"
Phoebe didn't know how to take her question. Did that mean she was aware of the agreement between Phoebe and her nephew? "It was a long drive, and I just needed a moment to myself."
"Bullshit," Reggie muttered.
"God dammit, Reggie!" yelled Ash from inside the house. Phoebe felt her heart flutter upon recognizing his deep voice. "Would it kill you to be polite?"
Phoebe craned her neck to peer inside, but the room was too dimly lit for her to see him. She reached out to take Reggie's arm and was immediately smacked on the hand for her efforts.
"Hey," said Phoebe, withdrawing her hand. She looked at Reggie's outraged face and realized her mistake. She hadn't asked Reggie if she needed her help, instead she'd assumed that she did. "I'm sorry. I guess that's just second nature." She pointed towards the open door. "Would you like my help to go back inside?"
Reggie rolled her eyes. She shifted her weight until she faced the door. Then she planted her cane down and shuffled through the doorway.
Phoebe stuck her hands into her jacket pockets, shot a final glance at her “piece of shit car”, and then stepped into the house. The living room was lit by natural light. French vanilla scented the air, and she heard the sound of pans banging away in the kitchen.
"I'm back here, Phoebe," called out Ash.
She swung around and followed the loud noises. When she entered the kitchen, she found Ash kneeling down beside the oven with a bright orange oven mitt on his hand.
"Take a seat," he said, pointing towards a tall bar stool.
She did as he ordered, sitting down and folding her hands on top of the counter. In silence, she watched as he removed a baking sheet of sugar cookies and placed them on the stove. With his back to her, she felt emboldened enough to look.
He was tall, perhaps six-foot-two or six-foot-three, with broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and long legs. His hair was the color of French Roast coffee; his skin was tanned even though she noticed a few freckles at the back of his neck. He wore a green checkered shirt, dark denim jeans, and a pair of black and white Chuck Taylors.
"I've been craving cookies lately," Ash said with his back still turned towards her. He was sliding a spatula under the cookies and placing them onto a serving plate. "I guess it's the stress. Over the last month, I've gained five pounds. Mostly from eating sweets." He lifted the plate from the counter and finally turned to face her.
A wide grin split his face, revealing twin dimples in his cheeks. His dark brown lashes were long and curly, contrasting with his bright, amber eyes. His bottom lip was fuller than his top lip, but it only highlighted his perfectly aligned teeth. The man was gorgeous and, judging from the gleam in his eye, he knew it.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" he asked, placing the cookies down. He plucked one from the plate, lifted it to his lips, and bit into it. He continued to grin as Phoebe watched him chew and swallow his treat.
Realizing she was gawking at him, Phoebe blinked a few times, then dropped her gaze to the plate of cookies. She took one and broke it in half. She could feel his eyes on her as she nibbled at its edges.
"Good?" he asked.
She nodded, looking up. "Your recipe?"
His brows lifted, and he walked to the stove where he raised an empty wrapper. "Nope. Fresh from the fridge section of the commissary." He laughed. "I'm passing fair when it comes to cooking. I've truly excelled at making spaghetti, frozen pizzas, and sandwiches. I'm still working on scrambling eggs properly."
"I'm sure your eggs are just fine."
"You say that now." He grimaced, took a step back, and rubbed the back of his neck. "You'll be singing a different tune later." He rubbed his hand against his chest, then offered it to her. "By the way, I'm Ash. Your new fiancé."
CHAPTER SEVEN
His fiancée did not look amused. In fact, she looked on the verge of panic. She crammed the cookie into her mouth, bulging out her cheeks and dropping crumbs onto her blue jacket. For the most part she averted her eyes, but he caught her sneaking glances in his direction.
He was used to it. Women found his looks appealing, and some went out of their way to try and hide it while others showed their attraction quite openly. His little Phoebe was definitely the latter, which was both endearing and, well, annoying.
She had no idea how relieved he was upon seeing her for the first time. He'd noticed her car parked a few doors down and had drawn Reggie's attention to her presence. Together, they had stood at the window while Phoebe had pounded her head against the steering wheel. Although he could see her in the car, he hadn't been able to make out her features from that distance.
It wasn't until she was standing on the porch that he was able to get a good look at her. She was of average height and weight with breasts on the smaller side and an ass worthy of second and third glances. Her black hair was piled high on top of her head, and her dark brown eyes were wide yet somber. She had high cheek bones and a wide-lipped mouth that seemed permanently curved in a frown. Sadness hovered around her, which was a complete surprise to him. On the phone, her husky voice had been warm and alluring, painting the impression of a fun-loving woman.
She was pretty enough in a Black Irish sort of a way, but definitely not his usual type. He liked tall, lithe women with pale hair and pale eyes. Women ruled by passion that enjoyed having a good time.
He knew immediately that Phoebe was the exact opposite of his ideal lover. Which made her the ideal wife.
"Another cookie?" he asked sweetly. He lifted the plate and held it close to her mouth. Those sad brown eyes focused on the sugary treats, and he could tell she was thinking critically about taking another. Then she shook her head and lowered her gaze.
"I'm not a big fan of sweets," she said softly.
He shifted his weight and put the cookies down. Squinting his eyes, he planted his hands on top of the counter. "So what's your vice?"
She lifted her gaze and squinted. "Pardon?"
Cocking his head to the side, he studied her. She was neatly put together, wearing a blue jacket over a v-neck tee and floral print leggings. She smelled clean, like a bar of soap with a bit of aloe lotion. There were two gold plated studs in her ears and one of those pedometer watches on her wrist. And from what he could tell, she wore no make-up, except perhaps a bit of tinted lip gloss.
Ash slapped his palm against the marble counter. "You're vegan, right? You eat snap peas and kale chips."
From the tugging at her lips, he thought she struggled to contain a smile. "I hate snap peas, and I don't think I've ever had kale."
"It's all the rage, apparently. Kale soup. Kale salads. Kale shampoo."
This time, she laughed. "What? You're joking."
He shook his head and walked to the fridge. He grabbed the carton of milk from inside, then removed a couple of glasses from the cabinet before returning to the island. Setting them down, he looked up at her and cringed.
"You don't do animal products, right?"
She grinned, leaned across the counter, and removed the carton from his hand. She then lifted one of the glasses and poured herself some milk. With a daring glint in her eye, she swallowed a gulp of it.
"Not vegan," he said.
She placed the glass down. "Nope." Picking up the other glass, she poured milk into it, then handed it to him.
He smiled, accepted her offering, then saluted her with the glass.
"Where's Reggie?" she asked suddenly, spinning on the stool. She was about to hop from her seat when he reached out and placed his hand on top of hers. Clearly surprised by the contact, she turned back to look at him.
As he dropped his hand away, his mind registered how warm and soft her hand had felt beneath his. He placed his hand back on the counter and drummed his fingertips. "She's probably sitting on the porch. That's about as far as she goes nowadays. Well, that and the bathroom."
"How is her recovery?" she asked, pinning
him with her warm brown eyes. "Has the doctor referred her to any services?"
"I think I'm going to make chocolate chip cookies tomorrow."
She shook her head. He could see the confusion darkening her features. He blinked a few times, pushing away all thoughts of her dark eyes. He smiled crookedly, hoping to disarm her with his charm. "I told you. I'm totally obsessed with cookies."
A slight wrinkle appeared in her brow. "Have they provided a treatment plan?"
His soon-to-be bride was all business.
"There will be a physical therapist," he said. "She's supposed to help Reggie increase her stamina so she can stand for longer periods of time. Her doctor mentioned making a referral for an occupational therapist who'll help her with eating, combing her hair, things like that."
"Do you have the physical therapist's phone number? I can contact them and get visits scheduled. And, if the therapist approves it, I can do some of the passive exercises with Reggie." As if she was distracted, she reached out and grabbed another cookie. She broke it in half, and placed the other half back onto the plate. As she munched on the cookie, her gaze grew distant almost as if she'd forgotten he was there.
She ate the cookie in a totally efficient and methodical manner which impressed him. Then her little pink tongue made an appearance to flick away a sugar crystal, and he caught himself wondering what it would feel like to have that tongue flick across his nipples.
"We should probably grab your stuff," he said, feeling sweat gather under his arms.
She continued to chew with her eyes focused on a spot beyond his shoulder. He turned his head but found nothing of interest other than the coffee machine.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" he asked.
Again, she didn't speak. She didn't even acknowledge that he had spoken. For the first time in what felt like his entire life, Ash found himself not the center of a woman's thoughts.
He leaned forward and waved his hand before her eyes. "Phoebe?"
It took three passes before her eyes fluttered and she focused on his face. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to speak. Her face darkening, she grimaced and smiled crookedly.
"Sorry," she said, sliding from the stool. She lifted her hands in a placating manner. "I'm not crazy. I swear. It's just when I get tired, my mind starts shutting down."
"Does it shut down frequently?"
She smiled again. "It's been a long day. A really long drive. I should probably grab my things and take them up to my room. Is that okay?"
He nodded. "Of course. I'll help you." He walked around the island and stood in the doorway. When she hesitated beside the stool, he motioned for her to go first. "You lead, and I follow."
"Okay," she said, sliding the jacket from her shoulders. She folded it in half, then placed it on the stool. "Luckily, I don't have much stuff. Just a few boxes and an old suitcase."
He waited until she walked past him through the doorway, then he followed a few steps behind. His eyes dropped to her generous bum, and he smiled as it seemed to be the most exaggerated part of his soon-to-be wife. Then he lifted his eyes and beheld the ugliest car in existence. He nearly tripped in outrage.
"This car seriously made it from Indiana?"
Phoebe walked to her small, old hatchback and placed the key into the door's lock. "Yep," she said, opening her car door. She had to pull the door locks up, something he hadn't seen in many years. She then kneeled in the center of the driver's seat, facing towards the back. She pressed her hand against the rear door's glass and pushed open the door.
He grabbed onto the door and wrenched it open. He noticed her flinch as the door creaked loudly.
"It's old," she said, leaving the front seat. She came to stand beside him, covered her eyes from the sun, and squinted at his face. "But it's got a good engine."
"How many miles?" He grabbed the box closest to him and hoisted it in the air.
Leaning into the car, her answer was muffled.
"What was that?" he asked.
She stood to her full height, then blew at a strand of her hair. The box looked heavy, but she seemed to carry it with ease. "Over a hundred thousand."
"Double," he muttered, turning away from the car. He skipped up the steps to the house, then trotted up to the second floor. He kicked open the door to Phoebe's bedroom and placed the box on the floor.
She entered the room soon after he did and dropped a box onto the bed. She glanced around the room with an impressed look on her face.
"This is bigger than I thought." She moved to the walk-in closet, opened the door, and stepped inside. She peeked her head out and grinned at him. "I don't think I have enough clothes to fill it."
He sat down on the bed. "You'll just have to buy more clothes, I guess."
"No. I guess I'll have ample room to store my hats."
"Hats?" he repeated.
She walked from the closet, knelt down in front of the box he’d carried, and opened it. She reached inside and pulled out an assortment of hats. "My inheritance. My sister collected them and when she died, her husband was going to sell them. So I took them and now--"
"Oh, dear Jesus."
She laughed. "Some people collect shoes. Others collect dolls. My sister collected hats, specifically knit hats." She placed a particularly hideous green hat on her head and beamed with happiness. "This one was one of her favorites. When I was a kid, she used to plop it onto my head when I was in a bratty mood." She yanked the hat off and tossed it back into the box. "Sometimes I still wear it when I feel totally crappy. Unfortunately, that's been a lot lately."
"How unfortunate," he said softly, pushing off the bed.
She hopped to her full height. "Excuse me?"
He raced to the door, then turned to face her. He grinned. "I said, how awesome is that."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Phoebe couldn't stop looking at his large hands as he placed the last of her boxes just inside the bedroom door. With his wide shoulders and long legs, he seemed big all over. He was damn near overwhelming, and it excited her.
"Is that everything?" he asked.
Smiling to cover her brief indiscretion, she raised her head and nodded emphatically. "That's everything. My whole life is right here."
He leaned against the doorframe and shoved his hands into his jeans. A crooked smile curved his lips, and childlike glee shone in his eyes. "Could I ask you for a favor?"
She knew he was pushing the charm level to epic when he grinned broadly and fluttered his long lashes. She tried to maintain a neutral expression even though her heart thudded in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she sat on the edge of her new bed and looked him in the eye.
She would like this man. She would share funny moments with him, and she would care for his aunt just like she was her own. But there was no way she would let him worm his way into her affections. She had dealt with too much loss.
The loss of her mother. The loss of her sister. The loss of her home. She would not deal with the loss of him.
Stiffening her resolve, she rubbed her sweaty palms against her leggings. "Depends on the favor."
Ash pushed away from the door and sauntered over to her. He knelt down before her, all the while maintaining eye contact. "Reggie's not been eating much lately. I know it's because she's tired of my cooking. Like I said, I mastered some basic meals, which have been on constant rotation for the last few weeks." His smile faded and was replaced with a pleading look. "I know you just arrived after four days driving but--"
"Sure," she said, cutting him off. She slid away from the mattress to avoid his penetrating eyes. She then picked up one of her boxes and entered the closet. When there was enough distance between them, she called out, "I don't mind making dinner. I'm not a great cook, but I think I can make us something hot and fresh. First, I'm going to do a bit of unpacking. When I'm done, I'll come down and see what's available in the kitchen." She held her breath and waited for his response.
Several moments passed in silence. She slid
the box onto a shelf and turned to face the door, only to find him standing there silently. There was a look of consternation on his face as he ogled her. She glanced down, checking to make sure her stomach wasn't exposed or one of her boobs wasn't hanging out.
"Food." He blinked as if coming out of some trance, then he squinted down at his feet as he rocked back on his heels. "Food."
"Yes. Food." Phoebe cocked her head and studied his features. She thought she was alone in spacing out at random times, but he was looking to be a kindred spirit. "I'll make dinner." She shrugged. "I guess we can agree that I'll make all meals from here on out."
His gaze flicked over her then darted away as he abruptly pivoted and walked from the closet. "We need food."
Now that he was gone, Phoebe rolled her eyes and left the closet. She walked to the bedroom door and watched him trot down the stairway. She could hear him chanting "food" with each step.
Phoebe stepped out of the room and quickly followed him down the stairs. She'd barely reached the bottom when he entered the kitchen, grabbed a set of keys from a hook near the back door, then made a beeline right past her.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, watching him bolt to the door.
Ash's hand landed on the doorknob before he turned and looked at her. "I just realized. We don't have food."
She shook her head in confusion. "You mean like bread, milk, and eggs?"
"And canned tuna, mayo, cheese, bacon, whatever. All that." Scowling, he started to pat his pockets, starting with his jeans then moving up to his checkered green shirt. "My wallet. Where did I put my wallet?"
Sweat beaded at his brow, and his breathing was accelerated. He looked near to having a panic attack.
"Are you okay?" she asked, stepping closer to him.
He retreated a step and leaned against the door. His eyes were wide. His tanned skin looked pale. "I should get to the store. But I need to find my wallet first." He sprung away from the door and rushed by her in the hallway.
