The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,25

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