Chasing the Dream: Dream Series, Book 3

by Isabelle Peterson

  “No place I’d rather be, mom,” he said back, his Jersey accent gone, and a hint of the southern drawl back. He held her in a soft hug. “I’m going to your appointment with you today.” With every passing moment, my heart softened toward this man. Maybe he really meant that apology in his trailer yesterday? All that drama was only yesterday? Man I was living in a crazy fast world lately.

  “You don’t have—” Shannon started.

  “I want to, and I insist.” Chase interrupted her, looked his mom square in the eyes. He was as readable as a Sunday morning comic strip. Hope and love were written all over his face.

  Chase wrapped us under each one of his arms and led us up the steps and into the house and into the living room, Shannon asking about our flight in and Chase answering simply. “You sit tight, and I’ll bring you coffee. Phoebe, can I bring you a cup, too?”

  I was stunned. Who was this guy? He looked like Chase. He sounded like Chase—sorta. He was being sweet like Chase, but it wasn’t the sweet-when-he-wanted-something-Chase… He was just being genuinely sweet.

  “Yeah, that’d be great. I can come hel—” I started to say as I stood.

  Chase stood in front of me and took my hands. “I’ve got this. Stay. Keep my mom company. Cream and sugar?”

  “Extra sugar?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he smiled.

  He turned and headed to what I assumed was the kitchen. Admittedly, I took a moment to enjoy the backside of that man. It was sinful how good he looked from any side, even his backside.

  Suddenly the front door opened, pulling me from my trapped thoughts of Chase’s ass.

  “Mornin’,” a handsome, giant of a man wearing a plaid shirt stepped into the living room. He pulled his straw cowboy hat from his head revealing a tanned face, bright blue eyes, and a thick shock of salt and pepper hair that all worked very well on him.

  Shannon got up from her chair and hugged the man.

  “Fields are tended, hon. You feeling okay this mornin’?” he said, hugging Shannon gently.

  “You are the very best brother a girl could ever have,” she said. She turned to me, still tucked under the stranger’s arm. “Tom, I’d like you to meet Phoebe Fairchild. Phoebe, this is Charlie’s uncle, Brock.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brock,” I said, standing and stepping forward. The name was familiar and I thought back. Brock. He was the guy that called. Twice. The calls that turned Chase from happy-go-lucky-because-everything-goes-my-way Chase, to quiet-pensive-and-sad-Chase… or Charlie?

  “Very nice to meet you, too, Phoebe,” he said and took the hand. “So, how is it? Workin’ for our Charlie in New York,” he asked laughing.

  “It’s good. I don’t have anything to compare it to. I’ve never been a PA before. But being on set is pretty exciting.”

  “So, where is our boy?” Brock asked.

  “He’s in the kitchen, making coffee and breakfast,” Shannon said.

  “I’ll go give him a hand, an’ let you hens have at it,” Brock smiled and headed to the kitchen.

  Shannon beamed. “For all the crap I’ve had to put up with, I’m really a lucky girl to have a brother like him. Do you have any brothers?” she asked me.

  “I have two. They’re both older. We get along all right, but I hope we get along like you and Brock seem to when we’re older.”

  “Between Brock and Charlie, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. So, Phoebe, how are things working with Charlie?”

  I shrugged. I honestly had no idea. Things with Chase—Charlie—whoever, seemed to change from hour to hour, minute to minute.

  “He’s deflecting. I’m used to it,” she continued. I looked at her and her wild green scarf on her head. She was smiling sympathetically at me and surely she saw a hint of confusion on my face, because she continued. “The accents. Whenever things get stressful for him, he morphs into a character. Like he can better cope if things are happening to his character, not to him. I know it’s not the healthiest thing, but for him it works. When his Dad died, he was suddenly British. Spoke with a British accent for about two months, except when he was auditioning and filming, of course.”

  “Like from It Must be Wednesday!” I exclaimed, Shannon chiming in at ‘Wednesday!’ We collapsed into laughter. Chase’s character on It Must Be Wednesday, where Chase played a British kid who was at an American boarding school. God, I loved that show. Almost as much as I loved James Blond,—almost—where he played a teen, British spy.

  “Lawd! He drank tea, asked for crumpets and scones for a month. Then when his step-dad left, Charlie decided to perfect the differences between the British accents and even a couple of Irish accents. Southern—Georgia southern—is his real voice. When he’s sporting the southern drawl, you know he’s being real.”

  Interesting, I thought. I’ve heard the southern drawl. More than once. And the sudden jolt into the Jersey accent earlier when Shannon mentioned she was ‘the sick one.’ I smiled when I realized that he was from Georgia, and that the southern accent was the true Charlie. That every other accent, including the one that everyone thought he had, the ‘no accent’, was as fake as the British and Australian characters.

  “So, things between you and Charlie?” Shannon asked, tightening the knot on the scarf on her head.

  Shaking that thought off, I considered her question about Charlie and me. Hoping that she was referring to the business side of things, not the personal, I took that road. “Like I told Brock, I don’t really have anything to compare this job to. It’s exciting.”

  “I’m talking about the … oh, let’s call it a crush… that Charlie obviously has on you.”

  Okay, wow, she got right to the point. “To be honest, I have no idea. I actually just got out of a messy relationship, and I’m not really looking to get tied down again.”

  “That’s a shame,” she sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Charlie talk about a girl the way he talks about you.”

  “He talks about me?”

  “Sure. We had a really long chat Sunday night. I hope he took my advice and cut the crap with you. He said he was an ass to you on Friday before he headed to L.A. Did he apologize? Make amends?”

  My mouth went dry. He’d been talking to his mother about me? And he said he had been an ass? On the one hand, I was embarrassed as hell, but on the other, I was… flattered? And if I had a third hand, I would have been scared shitless on that one.

  Just then, Chase walked in carrying two mugs of steaming coffee. The smell was heavenly and I couldn’t wait to suck down the sweet nectar. Taking the bright yellow sunflower sculpted mug, I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic and took a careful sip.

  “Mmmmm” I moaned. It really tasted amazing.

  “Good?” Chase—Charlie asked?

  “Best coffee I’ve ever had,” I said. I looked at him and saw everything his mother had just revealed. He was crushing on me. And maybe he really did feel badly about how things had played out. My heart swelled, painfully. I was in—deep. But with him being who he was and in the business he was, could we work?

  “French press. Mom’s favorite. So much better than automatic drip, don’t you think?”

  “I agree.”

  “Good, well, I gotta get back and turn some pancakes. Breakfast in five,” he said, walking back to the kitchen.

  Shannon and I sat back sipping on our coffee. “I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped,” she said.

  “Not at all,” I reassured her.

  “It’s just that I want him to be happy. He pretends, a lot, and he’s a good actor, but a mother always knows. The way he talked about you…and now seeing you together…you make Charlie happy.”

  Unease winning out, I went for a change of subject. “So, Chase’s real name is Charlie? I didn’t know that.”

  “Charles Dillinger Smith. Chase Smythe is his stage name. It was recommended by his first manager.” At the mention of his first manager, Shannon’s face became a little hard, and the tabloid stories
of Chase’s—Charlie’s—step-dad running off with her, came to mind. “Then when the shit hit the fan, Charlie was eleven, and it was really too late to change his name back. He’d already had two series under his belt, and three movies, so I let it ride. Besides, it afforded me a little anonymity. Charles is for his Dad, my first husband. Dillinger was in honor of…” she thought for a second then continued, “good friends of the family.”

  “I think it’s sweet that his name reflects so much. My mom liked the alliteration of Phoebe Fairchild, but not having the repeated Fs,” I laughed. Even if I did get teased with the nickname ‘P.F. Changs’ in middle school. “And I can understand the whole anonymity thing.” I wished that I was anonymous with me popping up all over Twitter.

  “Breakfast!” Charlie called from the kitchen.

  “You’re in for a treat!” Shannon said standing. “Charlie makes the best pancakes in the world.”

  We stepped into the kitchen that was host to a world of delicious smells: sweet pancakes, smokey bacon, and heavenly coffee. The three of us sat around a well-worn farm table that was piled high with food, including a big bowl of bright strawberries. Brock was still at the stove cooking.

  “I thought you made the pancakes,” I challenged Chase.

  “I did,” he said casually.

  “I wanted eggs,” Brock called from the stove, “but I didn’t want Shans to wait any longer to eat. Y’all go ahead. Eat while they’re hot.”

  Smelling the incredible spread before me, I couldn’t wait. After I’d assembled my plate and was just about to dig in, Brock returned to the table. Shannon had set up a couple of pancakes and bacon for him, and he slid his fried, sunny-side up eggs right on top. Initially, the sight set my stomach slightly off, recalling my mother’s breakfast at the Atlantic Grill. I had one bite down, when Brock poked at the egg, sending the bright yellow yolk to gush all over his stack, I lost it. I nearly puked right then.

  “Excuse me,” I muttered, and ran upstairs to the only bathroom I knew of in the house.

  I had barely finished puking up the one bite and half a cup of coffee when there was a knock at the door. “Phoebs?” Chase’s voice came through the door. “Are you okay? Can I come in?” he asked.

  “I’ll be out in just a minute,” I called with a shaky voice.

  Quickly I washed my hands and rinsed my mouth with water, wishing I’d left my toothbrush in here. I stepped into the hallway, hoping Chase had gone back down, but came face-to-face with the blue eyes that I always seemed to get lost in.

  “I’ve never gotten that reaction to my cooking before.”

  “The pancakes were amazing. I don’t know what happened. Brock’s eggs just…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence, another wave of nausea hitting me in the back of my throat.

  “I was going to go to my mom’s doctor’s appointment, but if you—”

  “Don’t be silly, Chase. This was nothing. I don’t know why the eggs—” I swallowed the fear of vomiting again bubbling up. “I’m fine. Go with your mom. You came here to be with her. I’m just gonna brush my teeth, and I’ll be right down to finish your incredible culinary skills.”

  He smiled sweetly at me and took ahold of my hands. I looked down admiring how perfectly my hands fit in his. He rubbed his thumbs across the backs of my knuckles. “If you’re sure. I’m just worried about you, that’s all. This is the second time you’ve puked in two days.” I didn’t argue with him, nor did I tell him it was more than just these past couple of days.

  “It’s nothing. I’m fine,” I assured him. “Go.”

  Chase pulled me into him for a hug. The feel of his arms around me, had me bubbling over with emotion, and my eyes welled with tears. I make him happy? I thought, reflecting on his mom’s words. My heart beat wildly in my chest as I let his touch seep deep into my soul. It was a very comfortable place to be, and it felt so right. I didn’t feel as though anything were forced or for show. It felt natural. I ran my hands over his back, memorizing how he felt, suddenly hungry for bare skin, not the t-shirt he wore. He pulled back and kissed my forehead, then the tip of my nose.

  “I’ll wait to kiss your lips—until after you brushed your teeth. Sorry,” he smiled.

  “I look forward to it.”

  Chase groaned and then kissed the tip of my nose again. “See you downstairs?”

  “Two minutes,” I smiled back.

  In the guest room I grabbed my toothbrush, the pharmacy bag in my suitcase peeking out at me. I was going to have to take that test today. This had gone on for too long already.

  CHAPTER 26

  Chase and I stood on the front porch, his mom in a large, white Chevy Suburban in the driveway. “Are you sure don’t wanna come along? My mom really likes your company.” Was Chase speaking with a southern drawl?

  “I’m sure. I’m just going to take a walk around the lake. And maybe, if your mom wouldn’t mind, I’ll bake something? What’s her favorite desert?”

  “Honey,” he said, the word definitely dripping with southern charm, “You’re in Georgia. Peaches and or pecans, and you’re golden. But you could make anythin’ and we’d love it just the same. There’s a farm stand just at the end of the driveway. Sander’s Farm Stand. Best peaches in the county. Jacob’s usually runnin’ the stand. Tell ‘im Charlie says ‘Hey.’ Have him add what ya get to ma’s tab. You’ll find pecans in the freezer. But don’t wear yourself out, got it? Get some rest, too. Okay? Brock’s around, his cell number is on the fridge,” his face was full of concern and tenderness.

  While I took in all his ‘instructions,’ I couldn’t help myself and ran my fingers through his hair. “You bet. Thank you,” I said back.

  Chase wrapped his arms around me and pulled my body into his. He kissed me softly at first, then ran kisses down my jaw to my neck, pressing his obvious arousal into me. “Chase,” I warned. “Your mom is watching.”

  “So?” he asks.

  Yeah, so? I asked myself, wishing he wasn’t going with his mother to the doctor’s appointment. I wished that he was staying back with me, and he’d take a walk with me, and maybe some row boating, and some skinny dipping, and maybe we’d have another go around of mind blowing make-up sex like we’d had back in the trailer. But of course Chase had to go to the doctor’s with his mom. And I really wanted to bake something. And I had another matter to attend to all together.

  “She’s waiting to go to the doctors. I’ll be here when you get back. And the place will smell yummy.”

  “You smell yummy. Maybe I’ll stay…”

  “Should I call the office and reschedule?” Chase’s mother called, having stepped out of the Suburban.

  Chase sighed. “I’m a comin’!” he called over his shoulder. “See you in a few hours,” he said softly to me.

  One last tender kiss, one laced with promise and hope, and Chase ran down the steps, hopped in the driver’s seat and drove off with his mom.

  Two and half hours later, I pulled a perfectly baked peach cobbler out of the oven. I’d found a great recipe online with my phone that used pecans in the crumble topping. I covered the cobbler with a clean kitchen towel, and headed upstairs for the task I’d been dreading all day.

  In the quiet of the guest room I was staying in, I pulled out the pharmacy bag with the purple box that contained two pregnancy tests. Cautiously, I opened the box and looked at the sticks. Setting them aside like they were made of dynamite, I next read the instructions carefully. Then re-read them. I read the parts that professed the accuracy of the test. I read all the FAQs. Then I re-read the instructions again. I glanced at the clock and saw that Chase was probably due back home with his mom in the next fifteen minutes or so. I had to get this done now.

  I went to the bathroom, did what I was supposed to do, then returned to my room. I set the stick on a pillow of toilet paper on the side table then, set the timer on my phone to sound in five minutes. I sat in the rocking chair with my iPad mini to find a book to read on my Kindle app, however, the rocking
chair was way too symbolic of what I didn’t want the next few minutes to reveal. Curling up on the bed, I tried again to find a book to read. But after flipping through the small collection of stories, I tossed my iPad aside, and simply went to stand by the open window while I waited for—checking my cell phone in my pocket—another three minutes to pass.

  Man! Time sure can crawl at the worst times!

  Looking out the open window and enjoying the gentle Georgia afternoon breeze, I did everything I could to keep my mind off of the test waiting to be read. I looked at the gazebo where Chase and I sat just this morning. I thought about the wishing that he and his mom did on the morning glories. I wondered what Chase had wished for. I looked at the lake and I imagined Chase and I out rowing and relaxing. I imagined the lake late at night, and the two of us skinny dipping. Flashbacks of Chase’s naked, hard body… the way our bodies moved together with the ferocious passion that was there between us…the near cosmic and blissful combination of chemistry and physics that existed when we were together… Like just a few hours ago, on the front porch. And he didn’t care that his mother was witness. I knew I was flushed from thought, and my heart pounded as I thought of all these things.

  My cell phone gave out its hip, jazzy tune signaling that the end of the five minutes had arrived. Taking a deep breath and letting it out forcefully, I stood straight and went over to the side table to see my fate.

  I was sitting on the front porch, looking out over the peaceful lake, waiting for… Hell, I didn’t know what I was waiting for. I think it was for Chase to come home, but why would I want that? What good would it do me? I wanted to call my mom, but what would I say? What would she say? I had actually nearly dialed her several times over the past half hour, but chickened out every time. This was the type of news best delivered in person, even though I wasn’t exactly sure what the “news” was that I would be delivering. My roommate Lucy was in Africa, giving people clean water. My friends from high school, well, we’d grown distant over the past year. Jenny, she was too new a friend to spring this on.