Chapter 12 Phoebe
PHOEBE
When I was a girl, I loved horses. I read everything I could about them, and I took riding lessons.
When I hit five foot one in fifth grade, I knew I wasn’t going to be a jockey.
I grew up on the Main Line outside of Philadelphia in the shadow of the famous Devon Horse Show.
I know Ollie’s a Bigfoot shifter, but I’m going to treat him like a horse that needs to be saddle-broken.
First you get them used to the scent of you and being touched by you.
Then you increase the contact, like kissing and hugging.
The goal is to get them comfortable with you and even initiate contact with you. And then you climb on and ride.
So I’m going to start breaking Ollie with cheek kisses and light touches. Good food. Okay, I don’t want to break him. I want to build him. Build up his confidence, build up his experience, build up his desire for me, build his love for me.
Before we leave, he changes into jeans. I’m sad the gray joggers are going, but he’s way too distracting in them. I know he’s not trying to show off his goods, but he’s naturally blessed, and joggers aren’t known for their support.
“Ready to go?” he asks as he exits the bedroom. His jeans hug his muscular thighs and apple ass magnificently, so I’m not mad at them.
He helps me into my coat, and we walk outside.
“Ooh, it’s nice out!” I exclaim as we start walking down the center of the snow-covered drive toward the main road after retrieving my sunglasses and his new Devil Birds baseball cap from my car.
It’s a stretch past empty houses, most of them elevated on stilts or platforms. The snowy marshes on either side are so peaceful.
We’re walking side by side, our bare hands brushing every few steps.
After a few brushes, Ollie grasps my hand and interlaces our fingers.
It’s my uninjured hand, so I give a gentle squeeze when I look up at him.
The way his mouth quirks into a little grin when he squeezes back makes my tummy flip.
We walk hand in hand for a few minutes, not saying anything. I don’t want to ruin the moment by breaking the spell, but eventually, I can’t hold it in any longer.
I whisper, “It’s like we’re in a snow globe and we’re the only people inside. It’s magical.”
Ollie stops and turns to me. He raises our clasped hands to his hoodie-covered chest and covers my hand with his. His free hand gently rests against my face, his thumb cool as it brushes along my cheek.
“It’s like a dream come true,” he says softly.
We gaze into each other’s eyes, and I don’t see any questions or uncertainty.
I only see sincerity and calm. It could be a moment or a week that we stand there before he starts to lower his head toward mine.
Slowly, so slowly. I want to reach up and grab him by the back of his neck and drag him down to me, but I know I need to be patient.
I close my eyes as he gets closer, and his breath feathers across my face.
Honk!
We jump apart at the intrusion of a snowplow lumbering toward us.
It’s about two houses away. Ollie pulls us into the yard of the closest house to get out of the way so it can safely pass us.
The guy driving gives two short toots and a wave out the window as he passes.
I know he’s simply doing his job, but I wish he wasn’t so diligent.
It’s a dead-end road, so he’ll be coming back in a few minutes.
It's not like we can pick up where we left off.
The plow left a snowbank to climb over to get back on the road.
I give a surprised squeak when Ollie sweeps me into his arms, bridal-style, to get over the bank.
When we’re back on the road, he lowers my feet to the ground but keeps his arm around my shoulders, nestling me against him.
I snake my arm around his waist in return and hook my thumb in his belt loop.
“I’ll clear the end of the driveway when we get back to the cottage,” Ollie says. “We should be able to drive this afternoon if you want to go back to your condo. We can take Marsha, or I can stay here with her if you want space.”
“Or we both stay here,” I say. “We’re comfy, and why disturb Marsha?”
I can’t feel it through my jacket, but I hear the rasp of his thumb rubbing on my shoulder, and it comforts me. Who knew Ollie was so touchy-feely? I like it.
“You’re okay sharing the sofa bed again?” he asks.
I’m glad for my sunglasses shielding my eyes because he’d be able to see exactly how okay I am sleeping by his side again.
“Yeah,” I say. “Why wouldn’t I be? We did last night.”
“No reason,” he says quickly. “I want to make sure you’re not uncomfortable.”
Tugging on Ollie’s belt loop to get him to stop, I step in front of him and lift my sunglasses to the top of my head so he can see my eyes. “Ollie, I have always been comfortable with you. I can’t imagine being uncomfortable with you. You’re my safe place.”
Short of saying, Ollie, I love you and want to marry you and have your babies and live happily ever after, I don’t know how to be any clearer. I’ve made my plan nice and slow for a purpose—to break him into the idea of romance with me, build him up. Blurting out my true feelings will ruin it.
Ollie’s entire expression softens as he meets my eyes.
He places his strong arms around me and steps closer so we’re touching everywhere.
I rest my head against his chest, and even through his hoodie, I can hear his heartbeat, strong and steady.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, missing my sunglasses, and murmurs, “Oh, Phoebe.”
Honk!
“Motherfucking snowplow!” Ollie says through gritted teeth as, once again, it comes along to ruin what could’ve been a magical moment.
He picks me up again to get us out of the road and holds me as the plow rumbles by with a mocking “toot-toot.” We’re only three houses down from the cottage, so he carries me all the way back.
We’re both silent. I guess neither of us knows what to say.
He sets me down on the shoveled walkway and steps back.
“Go in and warm up. I’ll shovel your car out and be in shortly.”
I nod. “Okay, thanks. I can make lunch. Grilled ham and cheese and the last of the chicken noodle soup sound okay?”
He lifts his hat off his head and runs a hand through his dark hair. Maybe he’s as frustrated as I am?
“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Phoebs. I won’t be long.”
I climb the steps to the porch and unlock the door as he starts shoveling the snow.
He’s attacking the small snowbank like it personally affronted him.
I understand he’s frustrated. Not only by the plow, but by everything he’s been dealing with.
The stress of the dating show and being traded and moving.
Now he’s here taking care of me, when I’m sure he wanted to be focused on meshing with his new team.
He's such a good man. Even with all he’s been dealing with recently, he came to my aid with no hesitation and hasn’t complained once.
He’s so gentle with me and Marsha. I know he’s not a cat guy like his brother is, preferring dogs instead, but he makes sure Marsha is well cared for and gives her affection.
Ollie’s treated his brother’s cat better than most of the guys I’ve been with have treated me.
I don’t know what it says about my taste in men, but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing positive.
The door opens, and he comes in. That’s my cue to put the sandwiches on the griddle to cook.
The soup is simmering on the stove to reheat, and it smells delicious.
It’s probably a weird combination of soup and sandwich to have, but since it’s ham, cheese, and chicken in one meal, I’m calling it my homage to chicken cordon bleu.
It’s a stretch, but when people know you attended a prestigious culinary school, they let you get away with all sorts of things.
“We’re all dug out,” Ollie says from his spot on the bench, where he’s taking off his shoes. “If you want to run to the store or check out your place, we can. We should do it before it’s dark though because I don’t know this road well enough to feel comfortable driving it at night.”
I flip our sandwiches. “That’s a good idea. I can take my dirty clothes back home. I know you have some boxes here—bring them.”
He joins me in the kitchen, grabbing glasses from the cabinet and the pitcher of iced tea and putting it all on the table.
I love how we already have a routine after one day.
When we’re living together full-time, we’ll get lots of them, and that makes my heart happy.
It’s a sign we’re going to be perfect together.
“I’ll ladle the soup and carry it,” he says when he joins me at the stove. “I know you’re more mobile with your fingers, but I don’t want you carrying anything hot or putting any strain on your wrist. I’ll come back for the sandwiches when they’re done.”
“You’re spoiling me, Ollie,” I say teasingly as I turn off the burner and plate the sandwiches. Ollie grabs a knife to cut them in half and then bends to give me a quick peck on my cheek that leaves me stunned.
“That’s my job,” he says.
I don’t know when he applied for it, but he’s hired. Forever.