The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,40

it.

“Thanks,” Phoebe managed to mumble, not sure why him being here should suddenly make her feel like a kid on the first day of school; an odd mixture of fear, anticipation, and heightened senses.

“Let me.” He held his hand out again and Phoebe followed his gaze to the light bulb she held in her hand. Wordlessly, she gave it to him, and he walked over to the fixture, reached up, and, barely standing on his toes, screwed it in.

“Old houses,” he said. “Ceilings are never that high.”

“It makes it cozy,” Phoebe said automatically, feeling the need to defend her cottage.

“Or claustrophobic.” He smiled at her. “Give it a try now.”

It took her a moment to understand what he said, lost as she was in the deep, gravelly sound of his voice. Little kid, indeed. She was more like a teenager on her first date. Or like the wallflower who gets asked to the dance by the star football player.

Phoebe shook her head as she reached for a light switch on the wall. The wallflower and the football star were the stuff of movies—Carrie, for one—and she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about men. She was supposed to be thinking about her new life.

The light blinked on and the hallway was flooded with light.

“A little too bright, but you can always switch it out with a lower-watt bulb when you’re ready,” Chase said, picking up the rusted chair and folding it. It squeaked, but collapsed under his capable hands.

“Where does this go?”

“Back in the kitchen, I suppose.” Phoebe waved in that direction. She had no intention of keeping the chair, but right now, there weren’t too many seating options available.

Chase walked down the hallway and Phoebe followed. He smelled like soap and fresh air, a hint of cologne, but nothing overpowering.

“So, what are you here for?” Phoebe didn’t feel like waiting any longer, and truth was, she’d be happy to get rid of Chase sooner rather than later.

“I think you misunderstood me last night,” he said, his dark blue eyes dancing as he looked down at her. She was wearing sneakers, and again she was aware of the height disadvantage that they put her at.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I thought your meaning was quite clear.”

He laughed. “I don’t know, what’s that they say… Sometimes, a sheet is just a sheet.”

“Somehow, I doubt that where you’re concerned,” she shot back, thinking about what Lynn had told her. Phoebe had no need to get involved with players. She had learned that lesson already.

“Well, perhaps we can address that question later?” He let that hang there and, to her surprise, Phoebe felt herself considering it, thinking about just what it might be like to find out just what kind of sheets Chase Sanders had on that boat of his. She felt warmer all over, warmer than the day warranted.

“Sit, please. I want to talk to you.” Chase’s eyes were serious now, his mood changing suddenly.

“I’m quite capable of listening while standing up.” Phoebe refused to be lured in by Chase’s physical presence. Though the chair and the table were small, tiny compared to him, he still managed to look at ease, totally, utterly at ease.

“Fine. Doesn’t matter to me. I just thought you might be interested in a business proposition.”

Phoebe felt her body tense.

“What kind of proposition?”

“Not sheets exactly,” he said, shooting her another smile. “But you had me interested enough to go and do a little research. I really liked your pillows, and my mom loved them. And so did half the staff at the store. And Joan Altieri told me the ladies of Queensbay are going crazy over the rest of your stock. I thought when you said you were a designer, you meant you went shopping with your friends and told them what to buy.”

Phoebe reared up a bit. She had built Ivy Lane up slowly over the years, spending every spare minute on it. It was not some hobby.

“Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I’m not serious.”

Chase held up a quieting hand. “Everyone starts somewhere. Believe me, North Coast Outfitters was one crappy little shop in Queensbay when I took it over. I know you’re small, but that doesn’t mean you’re not talented. Do you want to keep giving away your talent to talentless celebrities of the month, or do you want to share it with the world, on your own terms?”

Phoebe shot him a look. “How dare you come here and try and tell me my business. First