CHAPTER EIGHT
Phoebe couldn't stop looking at his large hands as he placed the last of her boxes just inside the bedroom door. With his wide shoulders and long legs, he seemed big all over. He was damn near overwhelming, and it excited her.
"Is that everything?" he asked.
Smiling to cover her brief indiscretion, she raised her head and nodded emphatically. "That's everything. My whole life is right here."
He leaned against the doorframe and shoved his hands into his jeans. A crooked smile curved his lips, and childlike glee shone in his eyes. "Could I ask you for a favor?"
She knew he was pushing the charm level to epic when he grinned broadly and fluttered his long lashes. She tried to maintain a neutral expression even though her heart thudded in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she sat on the edge of her new bed and looked him in the eye.
She would like this man. She would share funny moments with him, and she would care for his aunt just like she was her own. But there was no way she would let him worm his way into her affections. She had dealt with too much loss.
The loss of her mother. The loss of her sister. The loss of her home. She would not deal with the loss of him.
Stiffening her resolve, she rubbed her sweaty palms against her leggings. "Depends on the favor."
Ash pushed away from the door and sauntered over to her. He knelt down before her, all the while maintaining eye contact. "Reggie's not been eating much lately. I know it's because she's tired of my cooking. Like I said, I mastered some basic meals, which have been on constant rotation for the last few weeks." His smile faded and was replaced with a pleading look. "I know you just arrived after four days driving but--"
"Sure," she said, cutting him off. She slid away from the mattress to avoid his penetrating eyes. She then picked up one of her boxes and entered the closet. When there was enough distance between them, she called out, "I don't mind making dinner. I'm not a great cook, but I think I can make us something hot and fresh. First, I'm going to do a bit of unpacking. When I'm done, I'll come down and see what's available in the kitchen." She held her breath and waited for his response.
Several moments passed in silence. She slid the box onto a shelf and turned to face the door, only to find him standing there silently. There was a look of consternation on his face as he ogled her. She glanced down, checking to make sure her stomach wasn't exposed or one of her boobs wasn't hanging out.
"Food." He blinked as if coming out of some trance, then he squinted down at his feet as he rocked back on his heels. "Food."
"Yes. Food." Phoebe cocked her head and studied his features. She thought she was alone in spacing out at random times, but he was looking to be a kindred spirit. "I'll make dinner." She shrugged. "I guess we can agree that I'll make all meals from here on out."
His gaze flicked over her then darted away as he abruptly pivoted and walked from the closet. "We need food."
Now that he was gone, Phoebe rolled her eyes and left the closet. She walked to the bedroom door and watched him trot down the stairway. She could hear him chanting "food" with each step.
Phoebe stepped out of the room and quickly followed him down the stairs. She'd barely reached the bottom when he entered the kitchen, grabbed a set of keys from a hook near the back door, then made a beeline right past her.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, watching him bolt to the door.
Ash's hand landed on the doorknob before he turned and looked at her. "I just realized. We don't have food."
She shook her head in confusion. "You mean like bread, milk, and eggs?"
"And canned tuna, mayo, cheese, bacon, whatever. All that." Scowling, he started to pat his pockets, starting with his jeans then moving up to his checkered green shirt. "My wallet. Where did I put my wallet?"
Sweat beaded at his brow, and his breathing was accelerated. He looked near to having a panic attack.
"Are you okay?" she asked, stepping closer to him.
He retreated a step and leaned against the door. His eyes were wide. His tanned skin looked pale. "I should get to the store. But I need to find my wallet first." He sprung away from the door and rushed by her in the hallway.
From where she stood, she could hear him opening and closing drawers as he searched for his wallet. There was one last bang before he returned to the hallway. He was prepared to rush past her again, but she reached out and grabbed his arm.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
He stared down at her hand, then dragged his eyes up to her face. He blinked at her a few times before he turned away and slid out the door.
She heard the engine of the pickup truck sputter awake. She rushed to the window just in time to see him reverse out of the driveway and speed away. Tapping her finger against the glass, she struggled to wrap her mind around what just happened. Was it something she said? Was he struggling with his conscience?
Phoebe retreated from the window and returned to the kitchen. She went to the fridge, curious about how much food was in the house. Opening the door, she was totally surprised to find three rolls of refrigerated cookie dough, a tub of margarine, and an expired package of roasted turkey deli meat.
"You've gotta be shitting me," she said, stepping to the cupboards. She was relieved to find a better supply of canned soups, jars of spaghetti sauce, and baked beans, but there wasn't much variety. "I guess that might explain the panic." She furrowed her brow and pushed the door closed. "I guess."
Biting her lip, she leaned against the kitchen island and thought about her present situation. Here she was, only hours into her new life, and she had no clue what she'd gotten herself into.
Ash's house was nice. His kitchen was open and expansive with stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and ceramic tile flooring. It was a kitchen more suited to someone who spent a lot of time cooking, surrounding themselves with practical yet durable elements. And from her own brief exploration of the house, she knew the rest of the house was equally charming.
"Where's Ash going?"
Phoebe leapt in surprise and turned to greet Reggie. "It's a nice day, ain't it?"
Reggie stood in the entrance to the kitchen with a scowl on her face. She gripped the handle of her cane, while most of her weight shifted onto her strong leg. There was an ornery glint in her eyes. Almost calculating.
"Would you help me to one of those stools?" She held out her arm, waiting for Phoebe to assist her.
Phoebe stepped closer to Reggie. She was about to take the older woman's arm when she looked at Reggie's unstable gait and then the height of the stool.
"One second," Phoebe said, lifting a finger in the air. She shuffled into the dining table and grabbed one of the chairs. She carried it back to the island and set it down. "Here you go."
Reggie looked down at the chair and shook her head. "I said the stool."
Phoebe rested her hands against the back of the dining chair and rocked forward. "Yes, I know. It's just the seat is a bit higher than this chair, and it might be a wee bit difficult to climb onto."
"That's my choice to make."
"You're right. It is your choice." Phoebe knew she was being tested. This wasn't the first time she'd dealt with a difficult client. Reggie was trying to set her up for failure; if Phoebe helped her onto the stool and she fell off, then it would be Phoebe's fault. If Ash came home and found Reggie on the floor, crying that she couldn't get up, then Phoebe's belongings would be packed right back up, and she'd be ushered out the door. But by declining Reggie's request, she was setting herself up as the villain. Someone who wasn't willing to accommodate her client's wishes. She didn't mind being the villain, if it meant she'd able to keep Reggie safe.
Phoebe stepped away from Reggie and pulled the dining room chair with her. She nodded her head towards the stool. "Well then, you don't need my help getting onto the stool."
Reggie struck her cane against the floor. "I need your help."
"So I can help you into the chair, which is much easier for you to sit in, or you can climb onto the stool and assume your own risk. Really, it's your choice."
If Reggie's eyes were flames, Phoebe would be incinerated. The other woman lifted her chin, stiffened her jaw, and tucked in her lips.
Phoebe leaned against the dining room chair and smiled. She didn't challenge Reggie's gaze. She simply waited for her next move.
For what felt like forever, they remained like that. But then Phoebe noticed a slight tremor in Reggie's hand. A slight buckling of her strong leg.
Thankfully, Ash's timing was impeccable. She heard the rumbling of his truck as he pulled into the driveway. She struck her hand against the chair, then took a couple of steps backward. "While you make up your mind, I'm going to help Ashley with the groceries."
Phoebe left the kitchen, hoping Reggie took the third option available to her. One that she purposefully chose not to vocalize.
She walked through the house, stepped out onto the porch, then trotted down the stairs. Ash was at the passenger side, grabbing grocery bags from the seat. When he noticed her approach, he held out a couple of bags, which she happily accepted.
"I hope there's more than cookie dough and soup in these bags?"
Grabbing two bags per hand, he smiled crookedly. "There might be."
Phoebe watched as he entered the house. She waited a few seconds, listening closely for any shouts of dismay. When none came, she felt it was safe enough for her to return to the kitchen.
What greeted her was one big step forward. There, sitting in the dining chair, was Reggie with a triumphant look on her face. It was what Phoebe had secretly hoped would happen. Stifling a grin, she joined Ash at the fridge where she began unloading the groceries.
In spite of Reggie's testiness and Ash's strangeness, she was happy. Not only was this a situation she knew she could handle, she also hadn't been murdered.