CHAPTER SEVEN
His fiancée did not look amused. In fact, she looked on the verge of panic. She crammed the cookie into her mouth, bulging out her cheeks and dropping crumbs onto her blue jacket. For the most part she averted her eyes, but he caught her sneaking glances in his direction.
He was used to it. Women found his looks appealing, and some went out of their way to try and hide it while others showed their attraction quite openly. His little Phoebe was definitely the latter, which was both endearing and, well, annoying.
She had no idea how relieved he was upon seeing her for the first time. He'd noticed her car parked a few doors down and had drawn Reggie's attention to her presence. Together, they had stood at the window while Phoebe had pounded her head against the steering wheel. Although he could see her in the car, he hadn't been able to make out her features from that distance.
It wasn't until she was standing on the porch that he was able to get a good look at her. She was of average height and weight with breasts on the smaller side and an ass worthy of second and third glances. Her black hair was piled high on top of her head, and her dark brown eyes were wide yet somber. She had high cheek bones and a wide-lipped mouth that seemed permanently curved in a frown. Sadness hovered around her, which was a complete surprise to him. On the phone, her husky voice had been warm and alluring, painting the impression of a fun-loving woman.
She was pretty enough in a Black Irish sort of a way, but definitely not his usual type. He liked tall, lithe women with pale hair and pale eyes. Women ruled by passion that enjoyed having a good time.
He knew immediately that Phoebe was the exact opposite of his ideal lover. Which made her the ideal wife.
"Another cookie?" he asked sweetly. He lifted the plate and held it close to her mouth. Those sad brown eyes focused on the sugary treats, and he could tell she was thinking critically about taking another. Then she shook her head and lowered her gaze.
"I'm not a big fan of sweets," she said softly.
He shifted his weight and put the cookies down. Squinting his eyes, he planted his hands on top of the counter. "So what's your vice?"
She lifted her gaze and squinted. "Pardon?"
Cocking his head to the side, he studied her. She was neatly put together, wearing a blue jacket over a v-neck tee and floral print leggings. She smelled clean, like a bar of soap with a bit of aloe lotion. There were two gold plated studs in her ears and one of those pedometer watches on her wrist. And from what he could tell, she wore no make-up, except perhaps a bit of tinted lip gloss.
Ash slapped his palm against the marble counter. "You're vegan, right? You eat snap peas and kale chips."
From the tugging at her lips, he thought she struggled to contain a smile. "I hate snap peas, and I don't think I've ever had kale."
"It's all the rage, apparently. Kale soup. Kale salads. Kale shampoo."
This time, she laughed. "What? You're joking."
He shook his head and walked to the fridge. He grabbed the carton of milk from inside, then removed a couple of glasses from the cabinet before returning to the island. Setting them down, he looked up at her and cringed.
"You don't do animal products, right?"
She grinned, leaned across the counter, and removed the carton from his hand. She then lifted one of the glasses and poured herself some milk. With a daring glint in her eye, she swallowed a gulp of it.
"Not vegan," he said.
She placed the glass down. "Nope." Picking up the other glass, she poured milk into it, then handed it to him.
He smiled, accepted her offering, then saluted her with the glass.
"Where's Reggie?" she asked suddenly, spinning on the stool. She was about to hop from her seat when he reached out and placed his hand on top of hers. Clearly surprised by the contact, she turned back to look at him.
As he dropped his hand away, his mind registered how warm and soft her hand had felt beneath his. He placed his hand back on the counter and drummed his fingertips. "She's probably sitting on the porch. That's about as far as she goes nowadays. Well, that and the bathroom."
"How is her recovery?" she asked, pinning him with her warm brown eyes. "Has the doctor referred her to any services?"
"I think I'm going to make chocolate chip cookies tomorrow."
She shook her head. He could see the confusion darkening her features. He blinked a few times, pushing away all thoughts of her dark eyes. He smiled crookedly, hoping to disarm her with his charm. "I told you. I'm totally obsessed with cookies."
A slight wrinkle appeared in her brow. "Have they provided a treatment plan?"
His soon-to-be bride was all business.
"There will be a physical therapist," he said. "She's supposed to help Reggie increase her stamina so she can stand for longer periods of time. Her doctor mentioned making a referral for an occupational therapist who'll help her with eating, combing her hair, things like that."
"Do you have the physical therapist's phone number? I can contact them and get visits scheduled. And, if the therapist approves it, I can do some of the passive exercises with Reggie." As if she was distracted, she reached out and grabbed another cookie. She broke it in half, and placed the other half back onto the plate. As she munched on the cookie, her gaze grew distant almost as if she'd forgotten he was there.
She ate the cookie in a totally efficient and methodical manner which impressed him. Then her little pink tongue made an appearance to flick away a sugar crystal, and he caught himself wondering what it would feel like to have that tongue flick across his nipples.
"We should probably grab your stuff," he said, feeling sweat gather under his arms.
She continued to chew with her eyes focused on a spot beyond his shoulder. He turned his head but found nothing of interest other than the coffee machine.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" he asked.
Again, she didn't speak. She didn't even acknowledge that he had spoken. For the first time in what felt like his entire life, Ash found himself not the center of a woman's thoughts.
He leaned forward and waved his hand before her eyes. "Phoebe?"
It took three passes before her eyes fluttered and she focused on his face. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to speak. Her face darkening, she grimaced and smiled crookedly.
"Sorry," she said, sliding from the stool. She lifted her hands in a placating manner. "I'm not crazy. I swear. It's just when I get tired, my mind starts shutting down."
"Does it shut down frequently?"
She smiled again. "It's been a long day. A really long drive. I should probably grab my things and take them up to my room. Is that okay?"
He nodded. "Of course. I'll help you." He walked around the island and stood in the doorway. When she hesitated beside the stool, he motioned for her to go first. "You lead, and I follow."
"Okay," she said, sliding the jacket from her shoulders. She folded it in half, then placed it on the stool. "Luckily, I don't have much stuff. Just a few boxes and an old suitcase."
He waited until she walked past him through the doorway, then he followed a few steps behind. His eyes dropped to her generous bum, and he smiled as it seemed to be the most exaggerated part of his soon-to-be wife. Then he lifted his eyes and beheld the ugliest car in existence. He nearly tripped in outrage.
"This car seriously made it from Indiana?"
Phoebe walked to her small, old hatchback and placed the key into the door's lock. "Yep," she said, opening her car door. She had to pull the door locks up, something he hadn't seen in many years. She then kneeled in the center of the driver's seat, facing towards the back. She pressed her hand against the rear door's glass and pushed open the door.
He grabbed onto the door and wrenched it open. He noticed her flinch as the door creaked loudly.
"It's old," she said, leaving the front seat. She came to stand beside him, covered her eyes from the sun, and squinted at his face. "But it's got a good engine."
"How many miles?" He grabbed the box closest to him and hoisted it in the air.
Leaning into the car, her answer was muffled.
"What was that?" he asked.
She stood to her full height, then blew at a strand of her hair. The box looked heavy, but she seemed to carry it with ease. "Over a hundred thousand."
"Double," he muttered, turning away from the car. He skipped up the steps to the house, then trotted up to the second floor. He kicked open the door to Phoebe's bedroom and placed the box on the floor.
She entered the room soon after he did and dropped a box onto the bed. She glanced around the room with an impressed look on her face.
"This is bigger than I thought." She moved to the walk-in closet, opened the door, and stepped inside. She peeked her head out and grinned at him. "I don't think I have enough clothes to fill it."
He sat down on the bed. "You'll just have to buy more clothes, I guess."
"No. I guess I'll have ample room to store my hats."
"Hats?" he repeated.
She walked from the closet, knelt down in front of the box he’d carried, and opened it. She reached inside and pulled out an assortment of hats. "My inheritance. My sister collected them and when she died, her husband was going to sell them. So I took them and now--"
"Oh, dear Jesus."
She laughed. "Some people collect shoes. Others collect dolls. My sister collected hats, specifically knit hats." She placed a particularly hideous green hat on her head and beamed with happiness. "This one was one of her favorites. When I was a kid, she used to plop it onto my head when I was in a bratty mood." She yanked the hat off and tossed it back into the box. "Sometimes I still wear it when I feel totally crappy. Unfortunately, that's been a lot lately."
"How unfortunate," he said softly, pushing off the bed.
She hopped to her full height. "Excuse me?"
He raced to the door, then turned to face her. He grinned. "I said, how awesome is that."