The Queensbay Series: Books 1-4: The Queensbay Box Set

by Drea Stein

  “I know that.” Phoebe closed her eyes.

  All the time they had known each other, they had never managed to both be single at the same time, so the question of getting together had never come up. But now it was out there. Dean was a great guy and, unlike Garrett and a string of others she had dated, didn’t need anything from her. But she wasn’t sure that was enough.

  After a few more words of support from Dean, she clicked off and leaned back again, closing her eyes, trying to soothe her troubles away. Could three-thousand miles really change her life? There was little for her in California. To focus on taking care of Savannah, she had even given up her apartment, putting most of her things in storage, and ever since she’d sold Savannah’s house, she’d been couch surfing. She had no house, no job, and perhaps no future.

  Savannah’s words came unbidden to her: We make our own destinies. If anyone could truly believe a saying like that, it would have been Savannah, who’d been sublime at reinventing herself. From the girl next door to an ingénue to a stately matron, Savannah had played every role and then some.

  Phoebe took a deep breath. Perhaps she was where she was supposed to be. She was free. For once in her life, she had no ties. She had money in the bank and a roof over her head. Count your blessings, Savannah’s voice whispered to Phoebe and she laughed.

  Phoebe checked the email on her phone. There was only one email from a reporter asking for a comment on the state of Savannah’s affairs. She ignored it. It would be better if that story died out.

  Right now, she needed to focus on her legacy and her future.

  Chapter 11

  The fall line was bothering him. Or it wasn’t, which was part of the problem. It was boring. North Coast Outfitters was growing fast and that was good, but perhaps there were only so many ways to make a raincoat look sexy.

  Chase slowed his steps as he headed up Main Street towards The Golden Pear. They had the best chocolate-chip cookies in town, and he had promised his staff that he would spring for a box of them at the next meeting. It was too nice a day to be cooped up inside, and he had welcomed the chance to walk up towards the restaurant. But it wasn’t the smell of cookies that had him slowing down.

  It was the sight of her. He hadn’t seen Phoebe in a few days, ever since she had literally run into him in the lobby of the hotel, though he’d done his best to keep an eye out for her. Short of walking up to Ivy House, where she had made it clear he wasn’t welcome, he hadn’t quite figured out a way to run into her again.

  But his luck, as it usually did, was holding. He could see her, but only from behind, through the large plate glass window of The Garden Cottage, Queensbay’s furniture and knickknack shop. Joan Altieri, who owned the place, was a friend of his mother’s, so it only took Chase a second to come up with a plausible reason for wandering in there. The chocolate-chip cookies would have to wait.

  A bell tinkled overhead as he pushed his way into the store. The Garden Cottage had a nice collection of stuff. Lots of things for the garden, of course, and then the usual doodads—candles, candlestick holders, dishes, glasses, plaques, centerpieces, and the like. It was the kind of place women loved and men only stepped in under duress or if they were shopping for a present. His mother’s birthday wasn’t too far away, and this time, instead of remembering at the last minute, he could kill two birds with one stone: find something for his mother and bump into the perfectly delectable Phoebe Ryan again.

  He gave a little wave and a nod to Joan, letting her know that she shouldn’t interrupt what she was doing to bother with him. Chase scanned the shelves, desperately trying to think of how his mother had decorated her new place in Florida, seeing if there was anything that she would like, all the while trying to inch closer to Phoebe.

  Phoebe hadn’t noticed his arrival yet, since she was so intent on what she was showing to Joan.

  “Barrel stitched. All hand done. I have some great seamstresses working for me. And this size is available in five different fabric options.”

  Chase moved through the wine lovers section and angled himself so he had a good view of what Phoebe was holding up. Rectangular, plump. A pillow he surmised. He watched as she dropped the pillow down on the counter and held up her phone to Joan to show her something.

  “And you said these have appeared in Pacific Living?” Joan asked, but even Chase could hear the doubt in her voice. Joan was not really a risk taker when it came to stocking her inventory. He’d often thought the store would play better with a slightly fresher sensibility. It was definitely the place to buy your mother or grandmother a gift. No man would ever think of buying his wife or girlfriend something from here.

  He came up close enough so he could peer over Phoebe’s shoulder. There were five or so pillows laid out on the glass counter and they were fun and bright. A nice pop of color against the muted palette of The Garden Cottage.

  “Well, they’re certainly bright,” Joan said. She was chewing on the end of the earpiece of her glasses and Chase knew that was never a good sign.

  “You know, I was thinking that’s exactly what my mom needs for her new place.” Chase emerged out of the shadows and was rewarded with a huge smile from Joan and a frown from Phoebe.

  “Well, they’re certainly beachy.” Joan agreed, perching her glasses on her nose and running her fingers along the fabric of an azure blue-and-white-striped pillow.

  “They’re inspired by coastal living,” Phoebe said. “West or East Coast.” She offered Joan a smile after deliberately turning her back on Chase.

  “Well, the summer season is coming up,” Joan mused.

  “And I’ll take two for my mom,” Chase said, already reaching into his pocket for his credit card.

  Joan looked flustered at that response, and Chase knew that she and Phoebe hadn’t quite talked terms.

  “Well, I’d be happy to give you the standard wholesale price,” Phoebe jumped in quickly and pushed a piece of paper towards Joan, who glanced down and smiled.

  “And perhaps,” Phoebe finished up smoothly, “you can take a few more on consignment. Showcase them for a few weeks, and when they sell, you can pay me then. You seem quite trustworthy.”

  “Oh, she is,” Chase said, putting his credit card down on the counter. “Why don’t you ring me up and I’ll pick them up on my way back from the bakery.”

  Joan flashed him a brilliant smile, and he realized he’d probably been a bit foolish not to ask the price, but hey, he was trying to impress the girl. He hazarded a glance at Phoebe, who was looking at him coolly, arms crossed, chin up slightly. Apparently becoming a customer hadn’t changed her mind about him.

  Phoebe was pleased with what she had managed to accomplish. It was a small accomplishment, of course, just a few pillows, but Joan had certainly seemed a lot friendlier towards her once Chase had appeared on the scene.

  A shadow fell across her path and she looked up. He was standing there or, rather, leaning against the front of one of the shops, waiting as if he had nothing to do but to worry about the large white box he held.

  Phoebe swallowed, not sure whether she should follow her nose, which was currently fixated on the smell emanating from the box, or focus on the smug look on Chase’s face as he looked down at her from behind his sunglasses.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, his grin turning positively cocky.

  “What for?” she said, tucking her sample book back into her bag, trying to feign indifference, though she knew exactly what she should say thank you for.

  “Are you always this unfriendly towards your customers?” he asked.

  Phoebe pursed her lips. No she wasn’t. When someone bought one of her designs, she prided herself on saying thank you. But somehow, the words were having a hard time coming where Chase was concerned.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say, turning and starting to walk. With catlike grace, Chase was up from the wall and following her. Her nose twitched and she couldn’t help but glance at the box he held.

  “T
he Golden Pear’s chocolate-chip cookies. Best on the planet,” he said, his tone sober.

  She stopped. “You’re serious?”

  “I never joke about these chocolate-chip cookies. The recipe is some old family secret and is guarded better than the gold in Fort Knox here,” he said and easily peeled open the box. The aroma of baked goods was overpowering and Phoebe swallowed her desire.

  “Try this.” Chase held out a cookie.

  “No way. That thing is huge. It’s practically the size of my head.”

  He looked down and shrugged. “Half the time they’re the size of my head. But that never stops anyone. Trust me.”

  Chase had pushed his sunglasses back up on his head and she could see the teasing look in his eyes. Good sense and fear of death by chocolate warred against the goddess of hedonism as she took the cookie.

  She took a bite, aware that Chase was watching her intently. She chewed, swallowed, and took another bite.

  “Oh, wow,” she said, around a mouthful of sinfully velvet chocolate and smooth dough. “That really is good.”

  She took another couple of bites, letting the chocolate chunks sit on her tongue and melt. Phoebe was aware of something. She opened her eyes and saw Chase staring at her with a heated look. She was aware that she had let every nuance of how the cookie was affecting her show on her face. Hurriedly, she swallowed, took a deep breath, and tried to compose herself.

  “I told you so,” he said, smiling. Phoebe barely listened to him. Here she was in the middle of the street eating an entire chocolate-chip cookie. There was pretty much no way Chase was going to get this back from her.

  “Sinfully good,” she muttered, letting her tongue find another bit of chocolate to melt away in her mouth. A couple, strolling hand in hand, walked past them, the woman giving Phoebe a strange look.

  Phoebe glanced up at Chase. He was leaning in again, watching her, and there was the unmistakable air of amusement about him.

  Self-conscious, she looked down. She’d eaten more than half the cookie, which wasn’t a surprise since she’d skipped breakfast this morning. Too keyed up about the sales call, she’d only had coffee.

  “What?” she asked, feeling shy all of a sudden. It was not like her to take cookies from someone she barely knew. Especially someone she’d recently been yelling at.

  “You have a little bit of chocolate there,” he said. She licked her lips, trying to find it, and Chase straightened up, his eyes on her.

  “Not quite there,” he said. “A little farther up, towards the corner.” She found it and it was gone, but she saw that Chase’s eyes had lost their amused spark and that he was now looking at her entirely differently.

  “What?” Phoebe took another bite.

  “Just a bit there,” he said and reached in, his finger hovering near her cheek before it gently made contact. It was a feather-light touch, but it made her insides sit up and take notice. Her stomach clenched and rolled, and the two of them were frozen for a moment, looking at each other.

  “Excuse me,” a voice broke in and Chase’s hand was gone from her cheek. Phoebe’s stomach seemed to right itself, but not without leaving her feeling a bit dizzy. Too much coffee, she thought, even as the voice kept talking.

  “I was wondering from where you got that cookie.” It was the woman who had just walked past with a look of disdain on her face, and now she and her husband were standing there, looking at them, the woman’s mouth slightly open, the man sending Chase a knowing look.

  “It looks amazing,” the woman added.

  Chase recovered first. “From The Golden Pear, one block up. Make a left onto High Street.”

  “Best I’ve ever had,” Phoebe said and then wished she had kept her mouth shut.

  The couple left, and she and Chase were alone again. He had taken a step back and was no longer leaning, and his sunglasses had slipped down from his head and she could no longer see his eyes. It was hard to read him, and then his mouth quirked up in its typical smile.

  “I guess I’ll be seeing you,” he said.

  “I guess so,” Phoebe agreed, though she didn’t know why. Unless he needed more pillows. Still, she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to disagree with him.

  He backed away a few paces before he turned and walked in the direction of the harbor. Phoebe stood there, the remains of the cookie still in her hand, unabashedly enjoying Chase’s rear view.

  Head turning, he caught her looking at him and flashed her a grin. She was almost certain that he threw her a wink behind his sunglasses. And then he turned and was on his way.

  Phoebe leaned against the cool brick of the building. It was a shady and ideal place for her to just stand still. Her brain was a puddle of mud. And her stomach was flip-flopping again, probably from the giant cookie she had eaten. Right, that was it. It had nothing to do with the way Chase Sanders kept showing up when she least expected it. And doing her favors. Phoebe shook her head, trying not to get too worked up. In Los Angeles, nobody did favors for nothing. Chase’s help had to come with a price.

  Chase did his best to keep his cool as he made his way back down towards the marina and his office. He’d only meant to give Phoebe a helping hand with the pillows. He stopped, almost started back, and then thought better of it. Joan still had his credit card and his pillows, but he knew they’d be safe. He’d go by later and pick them up when he was sure that Phoebe would no longer be anywhere in the vicinity.

  One glance of her eating that cookie had been enough. The cookies were famous enough around Queensbay. Heck, even Noah swore by them when he needed to get out of the doghouse, but Chase wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone, well, a woman, get so much pleasure out of a cookie. It was like…no, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—go there. Already he was having too much trouble concentrating without any more thoughts of Phoebe Ryan breaking into his head.

  Chapter 12

  Phoebe retreated to Ivy House. She had discarded the rest of the cookie and was now eating an apple while she doodled. The internet had been set up in the house, and Lynn had let her borrow a couple of sawhorses and a large piece of plywood from her father’s garage. It was serving as a temporary desk and that was just what Phoebe needed.

  Joan Altieri had called just after lunch, while Phoebe was busy scrubbing kitchen cabinets. A customer had seen the pillows Chase had bought and wanted some just like it. Did she have more?

  Phoebe took a deep breath, lied, and said yes. There was no way she was going to say no to another sale. As soon as she got off the phone with Joan, she called up her workshop in California.

  Angela, the manager there, was nice, but always fretting, and Phoebe had to stop herself from screaming with frustration. That would only make Angela fret more and delay the process of her getting any more pillows. Finally, Angela admitted that they did have some stock in the warehouse space that Phoebe rented from them, and that she could send out some pillows by tomorrow morning.

  Triumphant, Phoebe fist-pumped and got off the phone before Angela could change her mind. Walking over to her computer, she tapped on the keyboard until her website came up. She sighed. It was a piece of crap. Well, not exactly. It looked good, with beautiful pictures of her designs and even a pretty good headshot of her on it, one that she had bartered for. A duvet cover captured her in a slightly sexy, somewhat just-woke-up kind of look. Phoebe’s only quibble was that her resemblance to Savannah was too evident. Dean had suggested that she mention her relationship to Savannah in her bio, but Phoebe had balked. She wanted people to buy her products because they liked the design, not because she was related to someone famous. Dean had smiled at her and shook his head at her naiveté.

  But Phoebe wasn’t being naive. She knew that putting the Savannah relationship out there could only help her, but it still didn’t sit well with her. Savannah too had thought her silly not to make use of her fame, but Phoebe knew that she had also admired her determination to make it based on talent.

  Nope, the problem with the site, Phoe
be thought, was that it was hard for people to order something from it. Sure, they could email her with inquiries, but there was no way for people to add things to a shopping cart, pay with a credit card, all of that stuff everyone else seemed to have. Something would have to be done about it.

  “You look like you’re on cloud nine,” Lynn said, appearing in her doorway. “I did knock, but you didn’t hear me.”

  “Sorry.” Phoebe stood up and stretched. Work and pillows had been a nice distraction from Chase Sanders and his chocolate-chip cookie. “I was on the phone.”

  “No problem. So you got the internet up?” Lynn asked, nodding at her computer, and before Phoebe could say anything else, she continued. “By the way, my futon from college is just sitting in the basement. It’s not much, but my mom wants to lend it to you if you’d like, until you get a real bed. That’s if you’re serious about not wanting to stay at the Osprey Arms. She also told me to tell you that you’re more than welcome to the guest bedroom.”

  Phoebe looked up. “That would be great. The futon, I mean. I don’t suppose we could move it ourselves.”

  Lynn smiled and her dark ponytail bounced as she held up her arms, muscle-man style. “With these guns, we can move anything we want.”

  Phoebe laughed, but she knew Lynn was serious. She’d already received a lecture from Lynn on the importance of weight training and been subjected to a rundown of just how much Lynn could bench press.

  “Well, sounds good.” Phoebe would be happy to move out of the Osprey Arms. The view at Ivy House was better and it was, for the moment, free.

  “Whatcha looking at?” Lynn said, coming around to the computer.

  “Oh,” Phoebe said, her mind going back to the morning with Chase. “I sold some of my pillows to The Garden Cottage. You know, that shop in town.”

  Lynn nodded. “Sure do, my mom loves that place. My brother calls the owner around Mother’s Day, gives her a spending limit, and tells her to pick something out and wrap it up. Looks like a champ every year.”