The Ivy House (A Queensbay Novel) (7 page)

Chase shrugged. He didn’t have his sunglasses on, and she could see just how blue his eyes were, the sapphire of them surrounded by little lines that fanned out from the corners.

“I guess I was waiting for the right time. Besides, it’s a bit of an awkward way to open a conversation, don’t you think?”

Phoebe didn’t say anything, so he continued. “Anyway, what does it matter?”

“Matter?” Phoebe knew her voice sounded shrill even to her own ears. “Matter. Why do you want the house? Some sort of evil vendetta?”

“Vendetta?” Chase looked puzzled. “What are you talking about? It’s a house…”

He didn’t get any further than that.

“I know what you Harpers are capable of. And if you think you can drive me out of town, make me miserable, just like you did to Savannah, you have another thing coming.”

“What…Make you miserable…Your grandmother was the home wrecker.”

“Home wrecker?” Phoebe fought for control. “She was an amazing actress, an American legend.”

“God,” Chase rolled his eyes. His nonchalant grin had been replaced by something more like annoyance. “You’re starting to sound like those crappy Hollywood tribute programs, ‘Savannah Ryan, the golden child, blah, blah…’”

“Well, at least she wasn’t some dried-up prune of a woman who hounded her ex-husband when he wouldn’t take her back.”

“Oh, please, like you would know. What is that, the Savannah Ryan Hollywood version of the story?”

They were yelling at each other full on. Phoebe realized that more than a few people had popped their heads out of boats and were looking at them with open interest.

Chase was also very close to her, so close that she could see the way the blue of his eyes was pierced by lighter flecks. They were like pools of water, great, deep, inviting pools of water, and she felt hot all of a sudden, even though the day wasn’t that warm, and she was in the shade of the boat.

Now it was Chase’s turn to point his finger and, though he kept it from touching her, it wagged annoyingly in her face.

“You might think you can come here, all high and mighty, Ms. Hollywood, but not everyone in this town wants to see that house torn down.”

“Torn down?” she said, puzzled, not quite sure where this conversation was going.

“It’s practically a piece of history, and maybe all you people from California want new and shiny and modern, but here in Queensbay, in my town…”

“Your town?”

“My town, that’s right, we believe in preserving history, not destroying it.”

“I don’t want to destroy it…” Before Phoebe was able to go any further, there was the sound of pounding feet and an anxious voice.

“Chase.” Phoebe looked over Chase’s shoulder. It was that girl again, Tory, with the caramel-colored hair.

“Not now, Tory,” Chase said without turning.

“Ahh, I think you’re going to want to come. There’s an issue down in Florida.”

“Take care of it,” Chase said, but he turned to look.

Phoebe saw that Tory was wringing her hands and looked genuinely distressed.

He turned back to Phoebe. “This,” he said, “isn’t over.” He spun around and walked up the dock, Tory talking to him urgently. The surface under Phoebe swayed a little and she leaned back into the piling. What had just happened?

<<>>

“Do people think I want to tear down Ivy House?” Phoebe asked Lynn. They were sharing a bottle of wine Lynn had brought over, along with cheese and crackers, sitting on the low stone wall that marked the border of the terrace.

“Well,” Lynn said.

“Come on, tell me.”

“I guess the thought was that you were some big Hollywood hotshot. What would you want with some big old pile like this?” Lynn trailed off.

“You look guilty,” Phoebe said. Lynn had brought along some chair cushions, but still the ledge was not the most comfortable thing in the world. There was an old garden bench tucked under a tree. It was rickety, but with a little work, it would be serviceable. Maybe that should be one of her first projects.

“Who me?” Lynn popped a cracker with a wedge of cheese on it into her mouth.

“Is that why you were so friendly to me? What, did the Historical Commission send you up to make sure I wasn’t going to tear the place down and put up some ultra-modern white box?”

Lynn shook her head. “No, of course not. Well, not exactly. But they did ask me what I thought. And I told them you didn’t plan on it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a gossip, but seriously, you do not want these old biddies on your case. Look, it’s your house and if that’s what you want to do…”

Phoebe shifted as a pointy bit of stone was jabbing her in the thing. “So why does Chase Sanders think that’s what I’m going to do?”

Lynn considered for a moment and then a smile spread across her face.

“What is it?” Phoebe knew Lynn was onto something.

“Didn’t you say that Chase offered an obscene amount of money for the house?”

“Yeah, I thought he wanted the view,” Phoebe said.

“No way. He loves the house. Totally thinks the family connection is cool. I mean, at least that’s how I heard him talk about it at one of the Yacht Club things.”

“So he’s serious about wanting the house. He doesn’t want to tear it down as part of some sort of revenge fantasy against Savannah?”

Lynn shook her head. “No, but there is someone who benefits if you sell this place. More so if she has an eager buyer who thinks you might need a ridiculous offer to be persuaded to part with it?”

Phoebe almost smiled too. “Ahh, a little negotiating ploy by the real estate agent.” The sun was setting, sending soft rays of light out along the water. The harbor was calm, almost glasslike, which seemed to happen often at dusk. It was quiet and peaceful, and soon the lights in the houses sitting on the bluffs would start to wink on. Most of the boats were safely back in port for the night, and the only real sound was the gentle bell tolling on one of the channel markers.

“Well, both of them will be very sorry. I’m certainly not going to be tearing this place down.” Phoebe turned to look at the house behind her. She had taken Lynn up on her offer of the futon. By tomorrow night, she would have moved in enough at Ivy House to give up her room at the Osprey Arms.

“And what about Chase Sanders?” Lynn asked, taking a sip of her wine, her brown eyes twinkling above the rim.

“What about him?” Phoebe tried to forget the way his blue eyes had flashed at her, raising her body heat through the roof. “I think Queensbay is big enough for the two of us. And if I don’t intend to tear the house down, I don’t suppose the natives, including those old biddies, will have anything to complain about, will they?”

“Not likely,” Lynn said, and Phoebe decided to ignore the doubt she heard in her voice.

Chase sat in the meeting, listening to the bickering going on between the creative director, his PR director, Tory, and assorted staff. It was one of the few things he hated about running a company. Decision by committee. As North Coast Outfitters had grown, he hadn’t been able to keep a finger in every pie. Too many locations, too many moving parts. He’d had to do what he did best—be a captain and manage his crew. But right now, his crew was getting on his nerves, and he wished he could make them walk the plank, metaphorically speaking, that is.

The windows of the conference room had a good view of town. He’d been able to watch Phoebe make her way off the docks and head up the road back, he presumed, to Ivy House. She had been angry and had been yelling at him, her eyes bright, the color high in her cheeks. Phoebe had looked lovely and he had wanted to kiss her. There, he had admitted it.

But his meetings with her never quite played out the way he thought. He’d offended her at the first, had her angry at the second, almost won her back at the third, and now she was all riled up again. So what if he was Leland Harper’s grandson. The man, except for passing on some DNA, had been a blip on the screen as far as his family was concerned. At least the ones now. He knew Grandmother had never quite forgiven Savannah for stealing her husband. But that was history.

Now they tossed the story around like it was a joke, a legend, history, but of the more colorful sort. Every family had some of that, right?

Chase shook his head. He’d made the offer on Ivy House because his mother had called, saying what a shame it would be if the new owner, an out-of-towner, came and tore down a local landmark. And then Joan Altieri had clucked over the same thing, and before he knew it, Mrs. Sampson, the head of the Queensbay Historical Commission, had ambushed him on his way to get coffee and said the same thing. And then Sandy Miller, real estate agent extraordinaire, had swooped in and told him, for a price, he could have the best view in town.

So much for a done deal. Phoebe Ryan was having none of him.

He sighed and turned his attention to the pictures in front of him.

“The preview emails received a dismal click-through rate,” Tory was saying. “I just don’t think anyone was very excited about the new designs.”

“I know, I know.” His creative director looked annoyed. “Look, this is the first time we’ve ever attempted to branch out beyond our core of sailing and sporting goods. Maybe we need to start over? These designers are great with raincoats, but,” she gestured at the portfolio in front of them, “I don’t think they’re getting it.”

Even Sam Wasterstone, the PR director, the one who always had an idea on how to make something look fun or sexy or useful or all three, was shaking his head.

“Not getting it?” Chase repeated, looking at the images. Nope, they were certainly not getting it. Everything was blah, boring, and definitely not hip. They needed something fresher, lighter, younger.

Suddenly, Chase felt instinct take over. “I have an idea.” He leaned back in his chair, feeling victory within grasp. He knew just the person who could help them.

The note came the next morning with a large bunch of flowers, creamy white lilies. Looked like Chase had written the note himself, she thought. Thick black marker, simple printed letters.

I think we got off on the wrong foot. Do over? The Osprey Arms, seven o’clock, tonight.

Phoebe held the note, remembering the last time she had seen Chase, his blue eyes flashing, his legs spread apart, hands on his hip, looking for all the world like he was the captain of a ship about to face the maelstrom. Did she want to see him again? Phoebe placed the flowers on the edge of her desk, looking at them.

Of course, she wanted to see him. Her whole body was practically itching with desire at the thought of seeing him, the thought of looking into his eyes, watching his lopsided grin staring down at her, the thought of running her hands through his too-long black hair. She could pretty well imagine the silky feel of it.

Phoebe sighed deeply, inhaling the light, fresh smell of the lilies. Yes, she was going to go. There was no way she could stay away; both her interest and her curiosity were aroused. Chase Sanders, Leland Harper’s grandson. A link, however tenuous, to Savannah.

<<>>

Phoebe awoke with a start. She checked her watch. She had worked all day at the house, both on her website and on cleaning the kitchen. It was dirty, hot, and exhausting work. Another day or so and she would be ready to move in, but for now she was happy with the clean bathroom and soft bed at the Osprey Arms. It had been so inviting that when she had come back, she had intended only to close her eyes for a moment, but she’d fallen fast asleep, and now she realized with a rush of panic that she had only a half hour to get ready.

A quick shower and only a few minutes to figure out what to wear. It certainly wasn’t a date, so anything with too suggestive a neckline or too low a back was out. But would looking too casual send the wrong message?

Finally, she had decided to keep it simple, a pair of dark wash blue jeans that stretched nicely over all the right places and a purple v-neck sweater. No heels, since she was tall enough already, but a pair of ballet flats and scarf tied at her neck pulled it all together. It was her go-to outfit, she supposed, simple, with the sweater highlighting her eyes.

She felt flushed and slightly embarrassed when she entered the darkened room. It was closer to seven thirty than seven, and as a rule, she didn’t like to keep people waiting. The bar at the Osprey Arms was mildly crowded for a Thursday night. There was a couple leaning in towards one another, heads close, hands intertwined. There was also a group of older men, in khakis and sweaters, white-haired with red cheeks, so Phoebe figured they had probably come in from a round of golf.

And there he was, in the far corner, with an empty stool next to him. He saw her and one hand went up. She swallowed. She worked her way down the bar, nodding at the bartender.

Chase stood up when she turned the corner, his hand held out.

She stopped and looked at it.

“What are you doing?”

He smiled, but this time it was genuine, an almost friendly grin. “Like I said, starting over. See, I’m Chase Sanders. Nice to meet you.”

Her eyebrows arched up, but she decided to play along, “How nice to meet you, Mr. Sanders. I’m Phoebe Ryan.”

“Please call me Chase.”

“Thank you.” Phoebe let herself be guided into the high chair at the bar, the wide palm of his hand splayed across her back, creating an instant contact burn with her skin, right through the thin cashmere wool of her sweater. No flushing, she ordered herself, glad the dim lighting in the bar would offer her some camouflage for the way her body was reacting to him.

“What will you have?” Chase asked, catching the bartender’s attention.

“A white wine, please.”

Chase ordered a wine for her and a pint for himself. She was surprised at that, but decided to say nothing. At least he wasn’t pretentious in his choice of beverage.

“So…” Phoebe said during the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them after their drinks were delivered.

“To new beginnings,” he said, raising his glass in a toast. She smiled. She could agree to that.

Phoebe took a sip of her wine. It was cool and crisp and was probably from a better bottle than whatever the house wine was. She glanced at Chase again. His hand was wrapped around his pint glass and she could see the fine light-colored hair on his tan knuckles. It was not a hand that looked like it stayed inside all day pushing papers around. For a brief instant, she remembered how it had felt on her back, large, warm, almost possessive, as he had guided her onto the bar chair, and she let herself imagine just what else it might be capable of.

“First off, I was sincere when I offered my condolences about your grandmother. Whatever else she was, she was certainly a talented actress,” he said.

Phoebe scanned his face, trying to see if there was a hint of sarcasm. She saw none, so she smiled. “Thank you. But did you know, from the first meeting, who I was?” Phoebe asked, curious.

He shook his head. “No, not until you said something. I mean, I was sincere too. You did look familiar. Of course, I realize that it was the family resemblance that had me thinking you were someone.”

“Thank you, I guess.”

Chase smiled, showing a set of nice, straight white teeth. She felt her skin warm under his gaze. “You’re welcome. It was a compliment, however backward it might have seemed.”

“It’s just I was hoping to be somewhat anonymous, you know, here. Thought it might be possible. To just be myself.”

“Yes, of course,” he raised his glass again. “Though I think your cover might be blown. The real estate agent is pretty much buzzing with excitement. Apparently she was a big fan.”

Phoebe smiled. “There aren’t many who weren’t. I’m told it makes the house more valuable.”

Chase gave her that cocky grin, and she felt her heart bump against her ribcage. “So I would have gathered. Though some may say that it didn’t play host to the happiest of couples.”

Phoebe smiled. “Happy is probably too mild a word. They were wild for each other, a burning passion. And then it all went downhill. Is that why you’re interested in the house, because your grandfather lived there?”

“Leland Harper wasn’t my grandfather,” Chase said. Phoebe was about to disagree when he continued. “At least not in any way that mattered. When he left, my grandmother apparently never spoke his name again. She remarried Sal, who ran the marina here, and she was very happy. Happier than she was with Leland. So happy she waited her ex and Savannah out, and Queensbay was her town until she died about ten years ago.”

Phoebe did the math. Savannah had been much younger than Leland, so the timing made sense. “So, no hard feelings?” Phoebe asked, curiously.

“Do you want me to blame you for something your grandmother did? I assume you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Phoebe shook her head. “No. Savannah did what Savannah wanted.”

Chase laughed. “I gathered that. Supposedly, Leland was a bit like that too. Perhaps the two of them were perfect for each other.”

She liked the way he laughed and had to look down into her wine to fight the warm clench in her stomach.

“And the house?”

“Always loved it. There always seemed to be some sort of mystery about it, but of course, no one in my family would ever talk about it. It took me a while to figure out the history behind it and then I just kept my interest in it to myself.”

“It is a great house,” Phoebe agreed, thinking of the vision she’d had earlier, it perfectly restored, filled with light and laughter. The feeling of happiness had been so real.

“So you don’t want to tear it down?”

“No.” Chase looked truly shocked by the idea. There was a pause and then he asked, “You?”

“No. Savannah said it was a magical place. I just didn’t know it was such a dump. Or how much work it would take to restore it. I’m not about to tear it down.”

“Does that mean you’re going to fix it up, live in it?” Chase asked.

Phoebe smiled, hoping she wasn’t giving too much away. “I’m definitely going to fix it up. As you mentioned, I’m not from around here, and I’m not quite sure I’m up for the East Coast winters.”

He shrugged, grinned. “They can have their charm, when the harbor’s rimmed with ice and the trees sparkle against the winter sky.”

“You sound like a poet.”

“I’m a sailor. I notice the weather.” There was a pause while they studied each other, and then Chase said, “If fixing it up becomes too much or you get too cold, you know the house would be safe with me.”

Phoebe shuddered. “You’ll probably want to put in a black leather couch and a giant TV.”

Chase laughed. “And what’s so wrong with a TV?”

“Fine if it’s for screening black-and-white classics. But if it’s for watching every game being played, then you might as well be in some place where you’re not paying for the view.”

“Noted. I’ll make sure the couch isn’t black.”

Then, because her senses were raised and she was aware that she had been feeling too much at ease, too much under the spell of his charm, she asked, “It’s awfully presumptuous of you to think you might get a crack at decorating it. Do you always get what you want?”

He looked at her, his eyes dark, smoky in the dim light. There wasn’t a hint of a smile as he answered. “Always.”

Phoebe swallowed, wondering how one simple word could have her hot, her body tingling with excitement down to her core.

She didn’t know what to say next, the art of small talk escaping her as she tried to get her emotions under control, since his closeness was making her feel too hot, too aware of everything going on around her.

“So what brings you to Queensbay? Besides a free house?” Chase asked. He said it casually, his eyes actually on the flat screen showing a baseball game, but she sensed he was deeply curious about the answer.

“You said it yourself,” Phoebe replied.

“I did?” He looked at her now, and she felt the force of his presence wash over her. He had, she decided, a very commanding one.

“New beginnings. It seems like it’s the perfect time in my life to start over to make a change. I don’t have any family, anyone waiting for me in Los Angeles, so I thought it might be time for a change. Savannah claimed the house was magical.”

“Magical?” Chase asked, and she looked closely to see if she was making fun of her.

“Well, perhaps not magical, as in witchy magic. But I think for the first time in her life, Sarah Jane Ryan felt like she belonged.”

“Sarah Jane?”

“Her given birth name. Legally changed it to Savannah when she was of age. I never did find out why. But Savannah grew up in a small town, in the middle of nowhere, where no one believed in dreams. And to her, Ivy House was the embodiment of every dream she’d ever had, even if it only lasted for a while. Ivy House meant that your dreams could come true.”

Chase nodded, but he didn’t say anything and was watching her intently. She felt a surge of heat wash over her under his scrutiny.

“It’s just a house,” he said, a faint trace of amusement evident in the way his lip curled up.

“It wasn’t for Savannah and Leland.”

At that, Chase tossed his head back and laughed; then he lowered it and looked down at her. “I don’t think there was anything magical about them.”

Phoebe let the hint of a smile ghost across her face. “Well maybe you only heard one side of the story. Savannah always said Leland was the love of her life and they were happiest here. They were out of the limelight; they could be themselves.”

“Savannah was an actress. Was she never not acting?”

Phoebe could feel herself smiling at the memories. Chase had a point. Savannah never did anything by halves. Even sitting by the pool was a production. She would be in a sexy two-piece, with some gauzy swim dress thrown on, with a huge hat and big glasses to hide her face and keep it sun-free. Still, there were times, like when she made a big bowl of popcorn and they sat down to watch a movie, that Savannah had been herself. Just a woman, almost a grandmother. There was something sublime in it, to be in the presence of a legend, yet have her be relatively down-to-earth.

“Savannah knew that most of the time, there was someone watching her. And she was right. Makes it hard to be yourself. But she could sometimes be just herself with me. And that’s when you could get the real story.”

“Didn’t stop her from hooking up with just about everyone under the sun,” Chase pointed out.

“Well, she always said you couldn’t kiss a ghost.”

Chase smiled at that, a genuine smile, and Phoebe felt her stomach do a quick flip-flop. She was finding it very easy to forget that this was a guy who admitted he wanted something from her.

“Guess there’s something to that,” he said, taking another long sip of his beer.

Two menus had appeared in front of them, but Phoebe didn’t touch hers. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to stick around with him. She was pretty certain that Chase Sanders didn’t do things just to be a nice guy. He wanted something from her.

“So when are you most like yourself?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When you’re not being the ice queen?”

“Ice queen?” Phoebe realized her mouth was set in a firm line.

Relax,
she told herself,
don’t let him get to you.

“Yeah, when you’re not all pissed about someone trying to buy your house. Or being possibly, sort of related to you. What do you like to do for fun?” Chase stood there, a big grin on his face as he watched her try to make sense of that.

“I thought you said we were trying to start over?” Phoebe stammered.

“We are. I want to get to know you. I want to get to know what makes Phoebe Ryan tick.” He leaned in as he said it and casually brushed her cheek with his hand as he tucked a strand of hair that had fallen out of place back behind her ear. His touch was electric and Phoebe felt her skin burning. She looked up at Chase, who was no longer smiling at her, but looking at her speculatively.

She leaned back in her chair, aware that all of a sudden the taproom of the Osprey Arms was feeling crowded and warm. Chase gave her another smile, this one wolfish, as he looked at her with interest.