CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ash walked into the kitchen with his laptop in his hands. He placed it on the kitchen island, right beside the bowl of green beans that Phoebe had just rinsed off. With a dramatic flair, he flipped up the lid and turned the laptop so the monitor was visible to her.
From the corner of his eye, he watched her prepare their dinner. Her black hair was piled on top of her head in the usual messy bun. He'd ever seen it hanging loose around her shoulders, and he wondered how long it was. She was wearing an old pair of faded denim overalls with a white tank top underneath.
To his surprise, and utter delight, he enjoyed the simplicity of her style. She always seemed so fresh and clean. Totally uncomplicated when he compared her to his exes.
This woman, so unlike the women of his past, would soon be his wife. As each day passed, he found himself growing more and more comfortable with being leg-shackled. Not to just anyone, but to his dour-faced Phoebe who wanted to keep things strictly professional between them.
He should totally agree with her position. He should keep his distance and treat her more like an employee than a spouse. But he'd be damned if he would.
"You ready?" he asked, stealing a bean from the bowl. She stared into the bowl as if she was counting the remaining beans. Chuckling, he typed in the address to the Pierce County website and clicked to the application for a marriage license.
Phoebe snapped another bean in half, then tossed it into the bowl. She took the towel draped over her shoulder and wiped her hands clean.
"We apply online," she said. "Then go into the office, show them our IDs and pay the fee. Three days later, we're married."
He nodded while he entered in their information. "What's your middle name?"
"Clarice."
He swiveled his head. "Clarice? As in 'Hello, Clarice'?"
She jabbed him with her elbow. "Don't ever call me that, do you hear me? I hate that name."
"I would, too."
Placing her hand on the countertop, she squinted in his direction. "And what's your middle name?"
He simply smiled and typed in his own name.
"Wentworth," she said.
He nodded.
"Ashley Wentworth Cooper."
"Technically, it's Ashley Wentworth Philip Hughes-Cooper." He shrugged and grinned. "But there's rarely enough spaces for me to enter my full name."
Phoebe lifted her hand to her mouth, mimicking someone holding a tea cup with their pinkie finger extended. "How very aristocratic."
He braced his legs apart as he focused on his typing. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he completed the application. "You were born in Indiana, right?"
"Yep." She leaned onto his arm to see the screen. "You were born in Pennsylvania? I thought I detected a slight Southern accent?"
He inclined his head. "You'd be right. I was born in Gladwyne, a suburb of Philadelphia, but I was raised mostly in Tennessee, just outside of Nashville."
"Was your dad also in the military?"
"He was a psychiatrist and professor at Penn." He smiled sadly. "When my parents died, my sisters and I were sent to Tennessee where my mother was from."
Ash could see the sympathy lingering in Phoebe's dark eyes. Whenever he talked about his parents with a woman--and he rarely did--he usually steered the conversation away at this point. But he'd learned a little bit about her history when they'd talked over the telephone before she left for Washington. He'd learned about her dream of being a nurse and her dedication to her sister. She'd even told him that she hadn't been raised by her own mother.
"My father was from a wealthy Virginian family. My grandfather was a federal judge, and my great-grandfather was a state senator who campaigned a few times to be governor." He submitted their application, then closed the laptop. "My mother, on the other hand, was from a dirt-poor family from Appalachia. They met when my dad was completing a fellowship at the clinic in my mom's town. My dad's parents weren't too happy about their marriage, so they disowned him."
"I take it Reggie was your mother's aunt?"
He nodded. "When my parents died, my dad was survived by two brothers, a sister, and both of his parents. None of them stepped forward to take me and my sisters after the car accident. It was Reggie who took us." He placed his elbow on the counter and leaned onto it. He plucked another bean from the bowl and popped it into his mouth. "That's why it's important I take care of her now. She didn't have to take us, but she did because we're family. I could easily find a good nursing home and stash her mean ass in there, but it would be wrong. She'll stay with me as long as she needs to, whether that's until she's recovered enough to go back home or..." He didn't finish the thought.
He stepped around Phoebe and walked to the stove. He lifted the top of the sauté pan, allowing the steam to float up to his face. He inhaled deeply before flashing her a smile. "I love smothered pork chops."
"Good," she said, walking to stand beside him. She pulled the lid from his hand and placed it down onto the pan. "Gotta keep the steam in."
"What's for dessert?"
Her eyes were wide when she turned to him. Her full mouth curved into a smile, and he couldn't help responding in kind.
"You mean you're not making cookies?" she asked.
Ash groaned and shoved his hands into his jeans. "Can you believe we're out of cookie dough?"
"Really?" she asked before turning to open the fridge door. She bent down and surveyed each shelf, then closed the door and turned to him with a surprised look on her face. "You're right." An impish look caused her eyes to sparkle. "What are you going to do about it?"
He sighed and collapsed against the fridge. He raised his arm to shield his eyes in a dramatic pose. "I guess I could go buy some more."
"But?"
He dropped his arm and looked in her direction. "But that would mean getting in my car and driving to the store."
Phoebe laughed, then wiped her hands together. She walked up to him and placed those hands against his cheeks. They felt soft against his skin, and he found himself sighing with pleasure as he raised his own hands to cover hers.
"There's flour in the cabinet," she said.
"Is there?"
She nodded. "We also have eggs, sugar, and vanilla." She withdrew her hands and crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you following me?"
He most certainly had followed her. He'd followed the way her arms propped up her breasts. "I think so, but feel free to dumb it down for me."
She leaned past him and grabbed the canister of flour. She thrust it into his arms. "We have all the ingredients to make cookies from scratch."
"No, thank you," he said, dropping the canister onto the counter like it had burned him. He made to walk past her, but he felt her hand slide into the waistband of his jeans. The intimate gesture was one he'd expect from a proper wife, and here she wanted to keep things businesslike between them.
"Don't you dare go to the store."
He pivoted on his heel. "I thought you didn't care about my comings and goings."
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms again. "I don't. Not really. It's just that you're spending all that money on premade cookie dough when we could be making our own." She picked up the flour. "Homemade tastes better, plus you're not cramming all that artificial junk into your body."
He cocked his head to the side. "Are you seriously making an argument that some cookies are junkier than others?"
She slid the canister on the counter, then grabbed onto his shoulder. "Out," she said, pushing him towards the doorway. When they stood in the opening, she pointed towards Reggie's room. "Go get Reggie. Dinner's about ready."
Ash lingered in the doorway in spite of Phoebe's order. He watched silently as she removed a mixing bowl from the cabinet and placed it on the counter. Phoebe muttered beneath her breath. She didn't seem to know he lingered in the doorway, and he could hear her complaints about his store-bought cookie dough. When he realized she was making him homemade cookies, he leaned against the doorframe and studied her back.
He imagined the many days she would spend in this kitchen, cursing his name and baking him cookies. His wife-to-be. The future Mrs. Ashley Wentworth Philip Hughes-Cooper. She hadn't even been here a week, and he was eagerly planning the life they would have together.
Ash waited for the usual panic to flare. When it didn't, he spun on his heel and darted into the hallway leading to Reggie's room.