The Ivy House (A Queensbay Novel) (6 page)

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 Dory. 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.

“The Dory’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.

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, Phoebe 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.”

Phoebe laughed. She’d only seen pictures of Kyle, but knew he had a job that kept him traveling a lot.

“Well, tell him this year, he wants to order a Phoebe Ryan original.”

“Will do. Is that your website?”

Phoebe nodded. Lynn was looking at the picture of her.

“The resemblance is really uncanny when you look like that.” Lynn was looking at the picture of her. The dress was a lot sexier than she would normally wear, and Dean had made her get her hair and makeup done before the shoot. Normally, Phoebe was a lip-gloss-only type of girl.

“I know. But luckily, I don’t wear stilettos and plunging necklines. Hard to be creative when you’re uncomfortable. At least it is for me. But,” Phoebe said, thinking maybe Lynn could help her, “I do need some help with the website. I need to put a shopping cart in and be able to accept credit cards and the like. Do you know anyone around here who could help me with that?”

Lynn looked up, lips pursed, and then she snapped her fingers. “Yeah I do. Tory. She’s some sort of computer whiz. She helped out with the website for the clinic, and she works for Chase Sanders.”

“Chase?” Phoebe said, trying to keep her voice neutral, but Lynn picked up on it immediately.

“You know him? Well, I mean, of course you know him, you must.”

“What do you mean?” Phoebe asked, a moment of panic coming to her as she thought about the cookie on the street. It had been good and she had been into it, but really, people couldn’t be drawing conclusions, could they?

“Well, you’re kind of almost related.” Lynn saw the look on Phoebe’s face and backpedaled. “Well, not really.”

“What are you talking about?”

Lynn looked at her, confused. “You mean you really don’t know who Chase Sanders is?”

“He’s some guy who wants to buy this house. And he bought pillows from me. And gave me a chocolate-chip cookie.” Which was so good, Phoebe thought, that she had to lean against a wall to catch her breath.

“And that’s all you know about him?”

“Well, he’s cocky and arrogant…” Phoebe added, remembering how Chase’s finger had brushed against her cheek in search of an errant piece of chocolate.

“And a total player.” Lynn nodded. “Pretty much everyone agrees on that score. But that’s not all.”

Phoebe shook her head in ignorance.

“Here, let me.” Lynn pulled the computer to her, typed in something, and stood back. Phoebe stared down at the image on the screen.

“Why am I looking at a picture of Savannah Ryan and Leland…” Phoebe trailed off, not believing what her eyes were telling her.

“Can you see the resemblance now?” Lynn asked.

“What…How…” Phoebe sat down on the rusted folding chair.

“Chase Sanders is Leland Harper’s grandson. You know, from his daughter from his first marriage. She married a Sanders.”

“And he lives here in Queensbay?”

“Yes…has lived here his whole life, I heard. I guess his grandmother remarried and stayed here. You mean you never saw how much he looked like Leland?”

Phoebe shook her head. “Savannah didn’t keep many pictures. At least not the ones that were out. She didn’t like to be reminded of him. Too painful.”

It took a moment for it to all sink in. Chase Sanders, he of the ridiculously high offer for Ivy House, he of the pillow buying, chocolate-chip-dispensing charm was Leland Harper’s grandson. And he had known all along.

It took about a moment for the shock of it all to wear off and be replaced by searing hot anger.

<<>>

Outrage propelled Phoebe out of the house, down the hill, and towards the marina. She brought herself up short at the top of the marina’s docks, her eyes scanning for dark hair and sunglasses.

“Can I help you, miss?” She looked up. A boy, blondish hair, an earring in one ear, and a polo shirt embroidered with the words “Queensbay Marina” was looking at her.

“Chase Sanders,” she barked.

He glanced her over, then decided that she was harmless, and pointed down to one of the long narrow docks.

“The
Windsway
, berth eighty-nine.”

“Thank you,” Phoebe managed to say.

A hand touched her arm, and Lynn pulled her around.

“Phoebe, are you sure you should be doing this?” Lynn’s brown eyes were round with concern.

“Oh, I am sure,” Phoebe said, starting down the ramp. The dock bobbed as she stepped on it, and it took a moment for her to catch her footing.

The slips were all numbered, and she walked carefully along. Lynn followed her, calling out suggestions. “You know, maybe you should phone him first.”

“What, and give him a chance to come up with some story?” Phoebe said. They were at slip eighty, and she practically jogged the rest of the way to his boat, drawing up short when she came to it. Now that she was here, she wasn’t quite sure what to do next. She could hear voices coming from inside the boat. It was a sailboat—long, sleek, with a white hull and a blue sunshade over half of the cockpit. The chrome gleamed and the wood shone. Lines were neatly coiled around cleats and winches.

There was the sound of laughter, high, girlish, and then a lower, deeper, answering chuckle.

She hadn’t expected him to have company.

Lynn came up beside Phoebe and looked at her. Phoebe knew there was no turning back.

“Chase Sanders.”

“Try again,” Lynn suggested. “Louder. Let him know how riled up you are.”

Lynn seemed to be enjoying this way too much.

“Chase Sanders, I need to talk to you.” Phoebe called and this time her voice was loud and true.

There were sounds of rustling and then a head popped up, one with long, light brown hair, the color of caramel, followed by eyes of the same color, and then came the rest of the body, goldenly tanned, dressed in a pink polo shirt and straight-leg khakis.

The girl, who looked like she could have been a college student, swung her eyes between Lynn and Phoebe, gave a nod to Lynn, and then stuck her head down from where she had come.

“Chase, there’s someone here to see you.”

Another bit of rustling and Chase appeared.

“What?” His hair was mussed, and he had a finger in his mouth, as if he’d hurt it.

“Oh, thank God, a doctor,” he said when he saw Lynn. He pulled his hand up and they saw blood flowing freely.

Lynn went into doctor mode, and Phoebe was left on the sidelines.

After a brief examination, during which Lynn told the other girl to get the first aid kit, Lynn pronounced Chase fine.

“Just keep it clean and a bandage on it for a day.”

“I don’t need a tetanus shot?” Chase asked. He was sitting in the cockpit, looking like he was used to women hovering about him. Phoebe had stayed on the dock, arms crossed, kicking at it harmlessly with her toe.

“I don’t know,” Lynn said, cleaning up the supplies from the medical kit and handing it back to the girl. “When was the last time you had one?”

“Not a clue.”

Lynn snorted. “How rusty a nail?”

The other girl rolled her head. “It was a paper cut. Chase was pushing papers and I was trying to calibrate his radar system.”

“I think it was a splinter.” Chase said, his eyes turning puppy-dog round, but Lynn was unmoved.

“A paper cut is more likely.”

Phoebe looked up and caught Chase gazing at her, his blue eyes filled with interest. She turned and paced another length of the boat.

“Look, I gotta get back to the office, Chase. I have a call with the West Coast over online promotions.”

“Great, Tory, thanks for trying to fix the radar system.”

“Trying?” the girl, Tory, Phoebe supposed it was, tossed her caramel-color hair as she easily landed on the dock. “It’s fixed. You can bring me a mocchachino later. See you, Lynn.”

The girl shot a smile at Chase and Lynn, gave a nod and a wave to Phoebe, and walked back towards land without another look.

Lynn glanced uneasily between Chase and Phoebe. “I think the clinic just buzzed me. I’ll catch you later.”

She too jumped lightly on the dock and made a discreet “call me” gesture before leaving.

Phoebe drew up near the little step stool that Chase had set up to make it easier to get on board the boat.

“Glad you came by. Tory’s a genius with computers, but I think the sight of blood makes her faint.” Chase smiled at her, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Phoebe said nothing, trying to fight the trembling that had come over her.

“You know you’re supposed to ask permission to come aboard?” Chase said, the know-it-all grin back.

“I don’t think I need to ask anything of you,” Phoebe said. Her tone almost wiped the smirk off Chase’s face.

“How dare you?” she began and found that she was trembling.

“Whoa, what did I do?” He stood up and the boat moved with him. Phoebe thought better about climbing aboard as he crossed the space of the cockpit and was now standing at the railing looking over her. She didn’t need to be in a confined space with him.

“It’s more like what you didn’t do.”

“What are you talking about?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“How could you have not told me?” Phoebe found that she had gone from angry to upset and her voice showed it. If Savannah had been here, she would have known how to play to the scene. But she wasn’t. Instead, Phoebe was facing Chase Sanders, Leland Harper’s grandson.

“Told you…You mean you didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t know. You’re Leland Harper’s grandson.”

“So?” Chase said, and he jumped lightly onto the dock. It moved gently underneath them, and a seagull that had been posed on a piling took flight into the warm blue sky.

He was there, right in front of her, standing too close to her. She took a step back and found that her way was blocked, that there was something, a large pole, behind her. To step around would make it obvious that she was trying to get away from him, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Don’t you think you might have mentioned it?”