by Drea Stein
His eyes glinted down at her and Phoebe wished that she had closed the top button of her blouse, but to do anything now except meet him head on would betray the way he was making her feel.
“Can I help you with something?” She lifted her chin and met his eyes boldly, the way Savannah had told her to. Phoebe had never been much for channeling her inner femme fatale; still, the man had the grace to look a little ashamed that he had been caught staring.
“You just remind me of someone. Not sure who. Do you get that a lot?”
Phoebe smiled, but her back stiffened. It was a question she got so often that it annoyed her. Too bad, because before he had gone for the obvious line, she had felt that spark of interest on her part, her vivid imagination working overtime, wondering just how his wide, sensual lips might feel brushing against hers.
“Not really,” she demurred, while cursing the Ryan genes that showed so plainly in her face.
“Are you sure?” he said, snapping his fingers. “Because I swear, you remind me of someone. Let me see, someone famous. A model?”
Phoebe managed to arch an eyebrow. She had a swimmer’s body, moderately tall, wide shoulders and slim all over, but she’d never been mistaken for a model before.
“Nah, not quite tall enough, though those shoes make your legs go on forever,” the guy said, his eyes twinkling. He was smiling so outrageously that Phoebe almost didn’t mind that she was being blatantly hit upon. Perhaps his recognition of her had been fake, a cheesy come-on. Maybe he had no idea. “A singer?”
“Tone-deaf,” Phoebe countered.
“Too bad—you’d look pretty bad-ass up on stage.” Somehow, the guy had moved closer to her, invading her space and yet, Phoebe didn’t mind at all. He had lines around his eyes, as if he squinted too much in the sun, and his hands, one of which was splayed on the wall, like his clothes, were not those of a man who spent all of his time inside.
He snapped his fingers. “The stage. That’s it. You’re an actress. Theater? TV. A cop show. I can see you arresting the bad guys.”
Phoebe shook her head, feeling the smile that was lighting up her face and the buzz in her body as she decided to play along.
“Medical drama?” He tried again.
“Hate the sight of blood.”
“You’re sure I don’t know you from somewhere?” The guy leaned over her, his eyes looking into hers. Thoughts, none of them coherent, raced around Phoebe’s head and she was aware that it was warm, very warm in the house, where before it had been cool, almost too cool.
“No, I’m nobody,” Phoebe said and managed to take a deep breath, almost willing that to be true.
“I don’t believe that for a second, miss.” He leaned in close to her and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “With a face like that, you’re surely someone.”
Phoebe didn’t know what to say to that and she didn’t have to. Her phone beeped and, eager to break the intense connection between herself and this man, she pulled it out of her bag and saw that there was a text from Sandy, the real estate agent.
Have interest from buyer, heavy hitter, wants to see house ASAP
Phoebe cleared the text in frustration. She thought she had been very clear. She wasn’t ready to entertain any offers for Ivy House yet. But some people were rude and didn’t take no for an answer. Phoebe looked up. The guy, this “heavy hitter,” apparently hadn’t gotten the message because he was already looking around the place as if he were measuring how well his flat-screen TV would look above the fireplace in the living room.
Phoebe texted back, “Not interested…send away…”
Fast and furious came the text message back: “Too late, he’s already on his way…”
Phoebe gritted her teeth in frustration. “Fine, I will take care of him.”
She put the phone away just as it started ringing. It was Sandy, but Phoebe decided to ignore her. She wasn’t interested in hearing the woman try to save her own commission.
“Excuse me, sir.” Phoebe found him in the back room, the one she had already imagined would be perfect as the studio study, looking out the full wall of windows.
“Quite a view,” he said with an easy gesture, seemingly unembarrassed at having been caught roaming around the house.
“I’m sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. The house is not for sale,” Phoebe said, drawing herself up to her full height.
The man looked over at her, a lazy smile on his face. “Is that so? It’s a prime piece of property. I’ve had my eye on it for a while. The old owner never would give me the time of day, though, no matter what I offered.”
“Well, guess this isn’t your lucky day either because I have no intention of selling,” Phoebe said. It wasn’t exactly true. Last night, she’d had every intention of glancing the place over, getting a price from the real estate agent, and heading back to the city. But now…she’d already imagined sipping wine on the terrace.
She heard the ping, but before she could reach for her own phone, she saw the man take his out of a pocket. The conversation was brief, but Phoebe was almost certain Sandy, the real estate agent, was on the other end of it.
He hung up, looked at Phoebe, a sharp, appraising look.
“Well, I guess I was mistaken. But you know what they say: the harder you work, the luckier you get.”
Phoebe stiffened. The real estate agent’s meaning had been clear. Waterfront property in Queensbay was a highly sought-after commodity. There would be plenty of people who would be willing to take it off her hands, even in this economy, so there was no reason she needed to be grateful to the guy for being the first.
She drew herself up. “Ivy House is not for sale. I have no intention of being taken advantage of just because I’m not from around here.”
He only smiled again at her huffy tone, unperturbed by it.
“Trust me, I would never try to take advantage of a lady. I will be happy to offer a fair price for a fair bit of property.”
Phoebe looked into his eyes. So he was only interested in the property, not the house. She guessed he couldn’t see the house for what it was—a diamond in the rough. Did he not know? Or was he playing it cool?
He pulled something from his pocket, a white envelope, and held it out to her.
She looked at it, puzzled.
“I know I’m supposed to go through the real estate agent, but sometimes I find it easier to just deal with the other party directly.”
“What is that?” Phoebe said, trying to keep her voice level.
“A very generous and more than fair offer for the property.” He said, still holding it out towards her. She crossed her arms, feeling childish, but refusing to give in even an inch.
“I told you that Ivy House isn’t for sale.”
He cocked his head to one side and put the envelope back in his pocket, a wise move Phoebe thought.
“You keep calling this place Ivy House. I haven’t heard it being called that in years.”
“It’s what my grandmother called it,” Phoebe said. Savannah could only be persuaded to talk about Ivy House and Leland after a glass or two of wine and even then, it was a tricky subject.
His mouth dropped open and a look that Phoebe didn’t understand crossed his face.
Chapter 4
“You’re Savannah’s granddaughter,” he said, as if everything came together.
“Who did you think I was?” Phoebe asked with real curiosity. In Los Angeles, the recognition was almost immediate mostly because people there knew their celebrities, even the older ones.
“Well, I told you, you looked like someone. I didn’t realize Savannah still owned the property, that’s all. I’ve been sending offer letters to a lawyer in New York the past couple of years and getting pretty strong nos.”
“So you thought you’d take your chance with the new girl in town,” Phoebe said, wondering just how outraged she should feel.
“I always like to make newcomers feel welcome.” He had inched closer a
nd the cocky grin was back.
Warning signals chimed in Phoebe’s head. She was in no condition to have anything to do with a man like this. He was all male and obviously a huge flirt. Definitely not what she needed right now.
“Well, very thoughtful of you, but like I said, the house is not for sale and I have some work to do.”
He looked around again at the dusty floor and the empty room.
“I’m sure you do. Still, I think you should consider my offer. I’d be happy to take the house off your hands, as is. You wouldn’t have to do a thing to it. You could be back on a plane and back to your life by tomorrow.”
“Listen, Mr….” Phoebe realized that she had never gotten his name.
“Please call me Chase. All my friends do,” he said with another one of his grins. Phoebe had the feeling that Chase was the kind of guy with plenty of friends. And she had no intention of becoming one of them.
“Why are you so interested in the place?” she asked.
For the first time, she saw that he hesitated, his feet doing a little dance. “Let’s just say the property has always spoken to me.”
Phoebe looked at him. With the broad shoulders and the constant grin, Phoebe didn’t think Chase looked like the kind of guy that let anything but tall blondes speak to him, but she supposed you never could tell. But that wasn’t her problem. Ivy House had also spoken to her, and she wasn’t about to let the legacy Savannah had left her go so easily.
“Well,” he said after a moment, when he realized that Phoebe wasn’t going to say anything else, “it was nice to meet you, miss…”
It was her turn to hesitate, though she supposed it didn’t matter. All he needed was the internet. He could find out anything else he wanted to on the internet.
“Phoebe Ryan.” She couldn’t be invisible, not if she expected to spend any amount of time in Queensbay. Word was bound to get out.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you. And I’m sorry for your loss.” She gave a quick nod. It had been almost six weeks since Savannah had died, but it was the sympathy from strangers that still got her. She managed to blink away the tears that were forming.
“Here, please take the envelope. Like I said, it’s a good offer. More than fair and, well, you’ll be getting more of them, so I just want to make sure that you have mine.”
“Listen, I told you,” Phoebe started, her anger quickly replacing her tears.
“I know, Ivy House isn’t for sale,” Chase said, his face serious now. “But just in case.”
He practically shoved it into her hand and she had no choice but to accept it. She gritted her teeth as she took it, their hands brushing, and she felt an unfamiliar thrill of electricity run through her at his touch. Chase must have felt it too because he looked at her and time seemed to halt for a moment, and then Phoebe became hyperaware of everything around her. The small settling sounds of the house, the chirps of the birds outside, the gentle sway of the branches.
Then the moment broke because he picked up her hand, brought it gently to his lips, and said, “Perhaps you’ll come around. Until we meet again.”
He dropped her hand finally and brushed past her on his way out the door. She heard the fluttering sound of more plaster falling as he walked down the hallway. Reluctantly, she trailed after him and watched him as he strolled with his hands stuck in his pockets, whistling as he made his way out the front door, down the steps, out onto the path, and through the rickety gate. He turned once, gave a wave, and then kept walking. Phoebe watched him go and then found herself leaning against the wall, hearing the whisper of dust as it fell down behind her.
She had no intention of selling Ivy House, at least not anytime soon, but she couldn’t get the wild thoughts out of her head, thoughts of how it would have felt if she had stretched upwards a little farther and let her lips brush against Chase’s face and feel his perfectly-formed lips upon hers.
Chapter 5
“Hi there.” Phoebe turned to see a woman standing on her porch.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to intrude. I’m Lynn Masters. I live next door.” Lynn was shorter than Phoebe by a couple of inches, with long, wavy brown hair and dark chocolate-colored eyes. She was wearing blue hospital scrubs and had a welcoming smile on her face.
“Hi. Phoebe Ryan,” Phoebe said, stuffing Chase’s envelope into her pocket. How long she had been standing there, in the hallway, dazed, with the front door wide open, she didn’t know.
“Are you related?”
“Excuse me?” Phoebe braced herself. Her brush with anonymity was truly over, she supposed.
“Your last name. Were you really related to Savannah Ryan?” Lynn asked, excitement sparking in her eyes.
“Yes. I’m her granddaughter.” Phoebe said, stepping onto the porch. The sun was out in full force and the porch was warmer—much warmer—than the inside of the house, and Phoebe realized it felt nice.
“Wow, that is so cool. My parents moved here about two years ago. My mom was so excited when the real estate agent told her that Savannah Ryan lived here, she nearly had a cow, but of course once we moved in, she realized that it didn’t mean Savannah still lived here.”
Phoebe gave a small smile. Lynn was chatty and, apparently, a fan, or at least her mom was. Once people found out the relationship, they usually pumped Phoebe for information. Over the years, Phoebe had learned to keep quiet about the family connection with Savannah if she didn’t want total strangers asking her bizarrely private questions, like if Savannah really spent all day in pink silk pajamas.
“Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” Lynn said and Phoebe forced her attention back to her.
“What?”
“This house. It’s such a great-looking place, but the last couple of tenants were a little crazy. College kids. Threw some great parties though.”
“Oh.” Phoebe looked around, remembering the condition of the property. “Yeah, it will probably take a while to clean it up.”
“Did you know Savannah well? Oh gosh, where are my manners. I am so sorry for your loss. I just couldn’t believe it when I read about her death.”
“Thank you.” Phoebe had to smile at Lynn’s openness and lack of pretense. Lynn’s face radiated sincerity, and instead of feeling the onslaught of tears, Phoebe was able to summon up a bit of lightness.
“Well, she was well over eighty.” All the years of cigarettes and champagne had finally caught up with Savannah. And in the end, it had been time for Savannah to let go.
“Well, it’s nice to know that the house will still be in the family. Are you going to be moving here alone?” Lynn shook her head, her brown hair moving with her.
Phoebe gave a noncommittal shrug. She didn’t know what she was going to be doing. The next couple of months stretched wide open in front of her, but the truth was that except for this wreck of a house and her room at the Osprey Arms, she had nowhere else to be. But she didn’t need to explain that to anyone, did she?
“Oh. Well, like I said, it would be cool if someone young moved in. Queensbay’s pretty and all that, but it’s not exactly a big city.”
“So you live next door?” Phoebe asked, glad the subject had veered away from her family.
“Yes, I’m finishing my last year of residency. Pediatrics,” Lynn said, waving a hand to explain the scrubs, “So I’m living with my parents to save money. Plus, I’m rarely home, so it doesn’t make much sense to have my own place. And,” Lynn dropped her voice, “my mom is a great cook.”
Phoebe smiled at the conspiratorial tone.
“Which is one of the reasons why I’m here. When my mom heard that there was someone closer to my age moving in, well, she wanted to make sure I invited you over for dinner.”
As an afterthought, Lynn added, “…if you don’t mind, that is. Like I said, she’s a really good cook. And she’s not as meddling as I might have suggested.”
Phoebe was disarmed by Lynn’s friendliness. Phoebe was happy being on her own and she had envisioned a
quiet few days in a new place to get her head on straight. It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but Lynn’s open smile and friendly manner had her changing her mind.
“That would be nice,” Phoebe agreed. The thought of a home-cooked meal suddenly sounded very enticing.
“Great,” Lynn said. “I have to run out to work now, but how about six tomorrow night? My mom’s making something Italian, is that OK?
“Sounds great,” Phoebe nodded. She would bring a bottle of red, she decided, as a thank you.
Lynn stole a glance around Phoebe and into the house. “Good luck with the place. Everyone’s excited that someone’s taking an interest in it, after all these years. Not that all renters are bad, but I think it’s time this place had someone who really cared about it.” Lynn put her hand on one of the columns of the porch and, as if on cue, a part of it fell off and bounced on the porch.
“Oh, dear,” Lynn started to reach down to pick up the piece of rotted wood.
Phoebe laughed. “Don’t bother. I am sure it won’t be the last thing that falls down around here.”
“Well, I guess it’s good you have a sense of humor about the whole thing.”
They shared a laugh and Phoebe said goodbye to her new neighbor. Lynn squeezed through an opening in the bushes and a moment or two later, Phoebe saw a car drive past, with a hand waving out the window.
Not trusting the rusty chairs and wanting to enjoy the sunshine, Phoebe plopped herself down on the porch step, drawing her knees up so her chin rested on them, thinking. The house was both more and less than she had bargained for.
She remembered it from when she had been young and visited. Everything about the place and the town had seemed magical from a little kid’s perspective. But now the house seemed smaller and dingier and it needed a lot of work. Savannah, though, had loved it so—must have—to keep it all these years, without letting on that she still owned it.
Phoebe sighed. She knew why Savannah had left it to her. Phoebe’s parents had been Hollywood types too—her father an up-and-coming director, her mother a soon-to-not-be struggling actress—when they died in a car crash. Savannah had taken her in, her only living relative, but Savannah had never been the maternal type. Ivy House had been a part of Savannah’s history, her happiest times. A place where Savannah had believed that anything was possible, until it wasn’t.