Still Not Over You

by Barbara Lohr

  Inside the sunny kitchen, Maisy glanced around as if it were on the cover of House Beautiful. “Cool place.”

  “Thanks. It’s not much but I like it,” Phoebe said.

  “It’s nice when a place looks lived in. My mom and me, well, we never live anywhere long enough to even put pictures up.” Here she motioned to the vintage South Shore posters. The colorful illustrations pictured the train decades ago.

  Another wave of sadness washed over Phoebe. No wonder the girl was withdrawn and difficult. She never knew what was coming her way. “Why don’t you take a seat on the porch and I’ll grab some hats?”

  While Maisy meandered onto the side porch, Phoebe made her way back to the bedroom. One of Ryder’s shirts hung on the bedpost. Coming closer, she ran a hand down the chambray fabric and lifted a sleeve. Breathing in Ryder’s scent, she felt her stomach tighten. Yep, it sure smelled like him. Warm. Sturdy. Sexy. She couldn’t go there. She let the shirt fall. Ryder was sure being quiet today, and his silence made her uneasy.

  Remembering why she’d come in here, Phoebe opened her closet and grabbed a couple hats. Ryder traveled light. He’d hung some shirts in here, but they were gone. She froze.

  Turning, she scanned the room. His navy duffle bag was open on a side chair. She pressed the hats to her chest. Her heart had stopped. Was she having a heart attack? Maybe. But when she pressed her hand tighter on her chest, she felt something. She was still okay, but not for long.

  “Phoebe?” Maisy called from the hall, her steps approaching. “You still here?”

  Oh, goodness. “Yes, honey. Sure am. Just choosing my hats. Go out to the porch. I’ll be right there.” Swiping at her eyes, she somehow made it back into the kitchen. She found Maisy on the porch, studying the table.

  “You working on this table?”

  “Y-Yes.” Geez, she could hardly talk. Her heart was back with that navy bag. “It’s my summer project. Pretty pathetic, right?”

  “Hmm.” Maisy’s fingers traced the ragged hearts on the wood. Thinking back, Phoebe remembered how dreamy she’d felt that day.

  Holding out the hats with shaking hands, she asked, “Which one, Maisy? The plain straw or the black with the green ribbon?”

  “Oh, the black.” After cramming it on her head, she went over to the mirror near the door. “What do you think? Do I look older?” Maisy turned her head to the other.

  “Yeah. I guess. Do you want to be older?”

  “Of course I do. Are you kidding?”

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “I get to drive. Maybe I’ll have a boyfriend.” She began ticking off things that had once seemed important to Phoebe too.

  “Oh Maisy, boys and cars just bring more trouble.”

  The girl threw Phoebe a weird look. Teenagers always thought being sixteen or so solved everything. They had no idea.

  But Phoebe’s mind veered away. What to do. What to do. Ryder was leaving.

  Feeling that her lungs might just burst, Phoebe pushed open the screen door and walked into the sunshine. The day that had seemed so beautiful now felt too bright, too harsh. Like a bad movie.

  Maisy trailed out behind her. “Which ones are the weeds?”

  Pressing a hand to her heart, which had started to beat again, Phoebe said, “Well, I guess anything that’s not a flower is a weed.”

  “Wow.” For a second the girl looked overwhelmed and Phoebe felt terrible. The yard had been too much for her. The cottage was too much for her. Maybe Ryder was right. She should just sell it. How could she live here if he was leaving?

  Just then Ryder rounded a corner and stopped when he caught sight of them.

  “Ryder, you remember Maisy. Will’s niece?”

  His hand shot out. “Right. We met on the Fourth of July. I’m Ryder.”

  Suddenly shy, Maisy shook his hand. “Hi.” Phoebe didn’t blame her. Ryder was an eyeful. A green T-shirt clung to his torso, with a damp patch headed south in a V. And then there was that wicked pirate headband he wore. But his smile? Strung a little tight today.

  He was leaving. Her heart felt like a rock inside.

  “So. What are your plans?” He glanced from one to the other.

  “Maisy’s helping us with the yard.”

  “Weeding.” Maisy glanced around. This was one big job.

  Eyes widening, Ryder jumped right in. “Maisy, I’m here to help Phoebe this summer. But I guess I’ve been so wrapped up in the painting, I clean forgot the lawn.” He glanced over at Phoebe like he was inviting her to chime in.

  “Yeah, we just never got around to it.” Her eyes met Ryder’s and they tangled. His eyes roiled with heat. Afternoons spent lolling about in the pink bedroom probably spun out in both their minds like a film, the kind that made you breathe heavy.

  But Maisy was here so it was back to business. “While you start with the weeds, why don’t I just get that lawn mower going?” His eyes clicked to Phoebe. “You do have a lawn mower?”

  “Yes. Somewhere. Probably in the garage.”

  Turning, Ryder sprinted toward the garage like he was escaping the scene of a crime.

  Phoebe struggled to organize her thoughts. “Maybe you could start around the house. In the shade?”

  “Sure thing.” And Maisy was gone.

  Before long the mower roared to life, and Ryder was cutting diagonal strips into the wild yard. Circling the house, Phoebe found Maisy kneeling in the shade, pulling plants from the dirt. If she got a daisy or two, she didn’t seem to notice. “Doing a great job,” Phoebe told her.

  Then she saw it. The neat pile of supplies at the back corner of the house. The rollers and brushes, as if he were finished. And he wasn’t coming back. Tears blinded her.

  But Maisy was there. Phoebe couldn’t fall apart right now. The girl’s life had been dramatic enough without imposing Phoebe’s screwed up mess on her.

  Getting to her feet, Phoebe stumbled inside. Her early morning promise to Fernando took flight. The lawn mower roared as Ryder took on the long grass, strong arms vibrating a bit. She sank into a chair on the porch, unable to tear her eyes from him. She loved him wildly, more than ever and that terrified her. If this didn’t work out, then what? Sure, right now Ryder was being wonderful, attentive and sweet. But what about next month and the month after that?

  What if he turned to another Trixie?

  She had to do something. After a thorough search of the cottage, Phoebe came up with a pad of paper and began to jot down her points. Everything she wanted Ryder to promise. If he signed this contract, maybe then she’d feel better. Maybe this awful worry eating at her would go away.

  When she was finished, she tucked the pad in a drawer. Then she pried open her can of paint and dipped in her brush. She half-heartedly swiped a few hearts on the top surface. But her eyes weren’t on the table, No, they were on Ryder. Just then he looked up, as if he felt her eyes on him. With a wink, he waved. Casual and cool. The man she loved.

  But when her stomach growled, Phoebe tapped the top back onto the red paint and went inside. She rinsed out the brush and left it on the ledge above the sink. Then she started to make sandwiches. By the time the motor went silent, lunch was ready. “Come and get it,” she called out from the back door.

  Walking toward her with that stride she’d know anywhere, Ryder held a bunch of daisies and black-eyed Susans. “Not much but kind of pretty. Courtesy of Maisy’s work.”

  “They’re beautiful.” When had he ever thought to give her flowers? “I’ll just put these in water. Can you call for Maisy, please?” Taking a vase from the cupboard, she filled it with water. While she was arranging the flowers, Ryder and Maisy came in. She put the flowers in the center of the kitchen table. “They’re beautiful Ryder.”

  Tipping her chin up, Ryder kissed her. Phoebe blushed, not missing the look Maisy gave them. Made her wonder how much she saw at home. From what Diana had said, Will’s sister was a real trip. And she was still haunted by the expression on the girl’s face when Ph
oebe lifted her hand earlier in the garage. That was definitely a trained response, and Phoebe didn’t like it one bit.

  Having company for lunch kept her from asking Ryder questions. Her stomach heaved and she could only eat half her ham and cheese. While they cleaned up afterwards, Maisy drifted out to the porch.

  “What’s this supposed to look like?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Wiping her hands on a towel, Phoebe came to stand at the open french doors. “I have a lot of unfinished projects.”

  Was Ryder one of them?

  The teenager circled the table, studying the legs and the tops. She looked puzzled and Phoebe didn’t blame her. “I don’t know what I was thinking, Maisy. Really I don’t.”

  Maisy looked up. “But it could be really neat. You know, full of seashells, fish and stuff. Maybe some clouds.”

  “You have a great imagination, Maisy.” Phoebe rubbed the back of her neck. The heat buzzed in her head. “Isn’t it about time to go down to the beach?”

  Ryder peeked in. “Did I hear beach?”

  “Yeah, I guess. This July heat is getting to me.”

  Questions pulsed in her mind. But Phoebe couldn’t ask them. Then her fears would be real.

  Before long they were all in their suits, towels slung around their necks. In her bag, Phoebe had sun lotion and some grapes. Ryder piled three chairs into the canvas wagon they’d always used on beach days. They started out. Maisy was clearly excited. When they reached the top of the stairs, they grabbed their chairs and left the wagon.

  “You stay right here,” Ryder told Phoebe. “I’ll take this stuff down.”

  Of course, she could have made it down but the cast was clumsy. Sand ended up in it, making the itching worse. Families had set up their towels and tents down near the water, and the three of them quickly found a spot. She didn’t miss the curious look on Maisy’s face when Ryder carried her over to where Maisy was setting up the chairs.

  “Sure wish this cast was off,” Phoebe said, looking at the waves.

  “Next week, right?”

  “Can’t wait.” But would he be with her?

  She didn’t want to go there.

  Ryder’s shadow fell over her. “Do you mind if I go out into the water? I hate to just leave you here.”

  “Of course not. Go. Scoot.” But when she waved her hands at him, she felt terrible.

  Don’t go. Don’t go. The words echoed in her brain.

  Doing a shallow dive, Ryder emerged and shook back his long thick hair. Then he threw her that wicked smile before setting out for the sand bar.

  “Your Ryder’s really something,” Maisy said from the chair next to her.

  “That he is, but he’s not mine.”

  Maisy snorted. “Of course he is”

  Phoebe followed Ryder’s every move. “Do you like your mother’s boyfriend?”

  Maisy appeared to think that over. “Oh, Ray’s not so bad. He likes my mom. I kind of hope this one lasts.” When Maisy made a face, for a second she was like a mother who hopes her kid doesn’t mess up again.

  Now that made Phoebe chuckle. She adjusted her hat and began to slather herself with sunscreen. She didn’t want to pry but Maisy continued on.

  “I mean, it’s not like my mom’s boyfriends are like Ryder.” She stared after him with awe reserved for Olympic swimmers. Ryder was doing a slow crawl parallel to the shore. He swam the way he danced, with total control and sexy rhythm. Phoebe loved watching him and, apparently, so did Maisy.

  “What do you mean?”

  Maisy shrugged. “I guess this isn’t nice to say, but my mom picks up losers. At least the last one was, before Ray. Ryder’s so cool and he’s crazy about you.”

  “You think so?” Butterflies circled in Phoebe's stomach.

  The girl snorted. “I know so. The way he looks at you? You should have seen him picking those flowers. They had to be just right.”

  “Aw.” Maisy’s words warmed her.

  “I don’t need a stepfather, but if I did, I’d sure choose Ryder. He’s awesome.”

  “Yeah. Right. I guess every woman between here and Texas thinks so.” Her troubling doubts resurfaced.

  “Like you’ve got anything to worry about.” Picking up a stone, Maisy winged it toward the water. “He adores you. Bat shit crazy, as my mother would say.”

  “Well now.” Delinda must be a very colorful person. Phoebe tried to imagine Will using that phrase but her imagination failed her.

  With dreamy eyes, Maisy watched Ryder swim. “Some day I want a boyfriend just like Ryder.”

  “Oh, you’ll have one, Maisy,” Phoebe rushed to give her hope. Anything to erase all the pain and uncertainty from her face. Didn’t every woman in the world want to find the right man? And how did she know he was right?

  “Hey!” Suddenly, Ryder was standing there, the water giving his skin a wet sheen. More than one woman glanced over. “Coming out, Maisy? The water’s great.”

  “Um. Sure. I’ll be right there.”

  Ryder’s glance slid to Phoebe. “Wish you could come too. The water’s beautiful. Finally got warm enough.”

  “Next week.” She looked down at her cast.

  “Right. Next week.” Turning, Ryder stared at the horizon.

  While they were talking, Maisy had managed to slide out of her baggy shift. Okay, she was not skinny but she looked fine, although the bathing suit was probably three years old. “Go on in and cool off.” Phoebe shooed them away with her hands.

  But watching the two toss Frisbees in the deeper water, where Maisy was apparently comfortable, Phoebe wondered about Ryder’s expression when he’d said “next week.” Like they wouldn’t have one. Not together.

  Sitting in the hot sunlight, she shivered.

  Things were so complicated.

  Chapter 21

  Maisy had gone home and they were alone. Phoebe stood out on the porch, not knowing what to do. The two of them had eaten chicken salad from the refrigerator, but they’d both picked at the food. She wasn’t hungry and neither was Ryder. Heck they’d hardly spoken. She tucked the contract under one of the cushions.

  Ryder was inside, filling the dishwasher. A whippoorwill called somewhere deep in the woods. The night felt sad. No happy chatter filtered from the road. Even the lake had fallen silent. When Ryder walked up behind her, she smelled his soap but it brought no comfort. He didn’t wrap his arms around her. Feeling sick at heart, she turned to see storm clouds gathered in his eyes.

  “What is it, Ryder?”

  “Aw, Pheebs.” Taking her hands, he tugged her over to the futon. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

  Yep, not good at all. When Phoebe perched on the edge of the futon, she heard the crinkle of paper. Ryder looked away and she held her breath. What was the use? Maybe she’d been a fool to think they could repair the past.

  “Don’t worry. I saw your bag,” Phoebe finally said. “I know you’re leaving.”

  The eyes he turned to her were full of pain. She’d never seen him like this. “Here’s the thing, Phoebe.” He set down the words as if they were hot coals that might burn.

  “I love you. So bad it hurts.” His voice cracked.

  “I love you too, Ryder.” Somehow she got that out. “I don’t want either one of us to hurt ever again.”

  Elbows resting on his knees, he looked worn out. “I’ve changed and I’m asking you to love me now, this man sitting right here. Not the idiot I was before. Can you believe that?” Desperation flooded his eyes.

  “Yes, I can see that. I believe it. I believe in you, Ryder. You’re the sweet man who’s taken care of me these last few weeks. The guy who plays checkers with me at night. The man who’ll sleep in a pink bedroom.” She was relieved to see his lips curl into a smile, even though it was a sad smile.

  “I don’t want to be your handyman. Don’t get me wrong. It’s been great, being here with you. Kidding around and well, loving you.” Here his voice cracked.

  “Oh, Ryder...
” Her arms jerked. How she wanted to hold him.

  But he pushed them away. “Nice words but I see something different in your eyes. Dammit, Phoebe. You’re like a dog that’s been kicked once and can’t trust anymore. And I don’t blame you.”

  By this point, they were leaning toward each other but felt far apart. When had she ever felt so uncomfortable?

  A soft, sad smile touched his lips.

  “Don’t say that,” she whispered. “I do trust you.”

  He gave a frustrated growl. “I don’t think you do. And I can’t stand it. Can’t stand you doubting me. Makes me wonder what I’m doing here.”

  When Ryder fell back in his chair, the pain on his face seared clear through to her heart. She couldn’t lose him. Not again. Desperate, she tugged the pad of paper out from under her. It wasn’t easy and she ripped it in the process.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  She handed him the contract. “Please read this. If you just sign it, why then, I’ll know. I’ll know we’re going to work things out this second time.”

  Looking puzzled, he ran his eyes down her list. She had to make him see. “This could solve everything, Ryder. If you agree to this in writing, it would be as binding as a marriage contract.” She flinched at his reaction. Instead of feeling the peace that Phoebe felt writing those points, Ryder looked furious. Her chest felt so tight. She could hardly breathe.

  Ryder was seething. By the time he got to the end, his nostrils flared. When he threw the pad onto the sofa, she lost all hope. Standing up until he loomed over her, Ryder put his hands on his hips. “If this is what you think of me, Phoebe. If you think I’ll agree to every small detail of how our day should go, then you have no trust in me, and I have no business being here. Are you also going to tell me when I should brush my teeth? What time I should be in bed?”

  “Ryder, I––”

  For a big man, Ryder could sure move fast. Her heart broke as she watched him stride to the door, where his bag sat waiting. “I’ll make plans with someone to take care of this kitchen. The floors, the cabinets. Whatever you want.” He gave the room a dismissive look.