Chapter 15 – Jordie
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Silly Sprinklepants
Jordie
Driving through Phoenix Hale’s neighborhood on Friday evening, I consider turning around and going home to change. Into a damn ballgown or something.
“Lord have mercy, these houses are bougie,” I mutter to myself, my eyes darting from one side of the perfectly maintained street to the other.
Because I don’t own a ballgown, I continue driving until I’m in front of his house.
It’s as huge as the others, but it’s somehow cozier with white Austin stone and a wraparound porch that makes me think of drinking sweet tea and watching the sunsets on Dad’s back porch.
Though you could fit ten of Dad’s entire house onto this one.
There’s a pristine, white concrete driveway leading to a five-car garage, so I park there.
My old truck would probably get towed from this neighborhood if I left it on the street.
Getting out of the car, I look down at my purple Dragons polo and black shorts and sigh.
I’m so out of place here. I imagine Phoenix inside in his bespoke suit and tie with his wife or partner in an elegant cocktail dress as they sip apéritifs before their five-course meal is served on an exquisitely appointed dining table.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The first indication is when I ring the doorbell and hear Forrest Gump’s unmistakable voice saying, “Your doorbell is ringing. You might want to answer it. It might be your mama.”
A snort escapes me, and I shake my head. I guess that’s kind of on-brand for Phoenix Hale and his ever-present smile.
The second indication that the inside of the home isn’t as I pictured occurs when the door swings open. I let out a yelp of surprise when I’m faced with a tall man wearing a fuzzy pink onesie and with something green smeared all over his face.
“Oh!” I shriek, taking an involuntary step back. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I think—”
“Jordie?”
My eyes widen. That’s Phoenix’s voice coming from the… whatever this is. I blink. Then blink again, harder this time to make sure my vision isn’t deceiving me.
Upon closer inspection, I realize this is indeed the man I’m here to see. Phoenix has some sort of mud mask on his face. And pink bunny pajamas. And a floral terrycloth headband holding his hair back.
What the actual fuck is going on here?
“Phoenix?” I reply, just to make certain.
“Yeah, hey. What are you doing here?” he asks, completely unconcerned about his bizarre appearance.
Stumbling over my words, I say, “I—you—didn’t you say to come here Friday at seven? The whole contract thing?” I point at my tote bag for emphasis, even though he can’t see inside it.
His eyebrows raise, causing the mud to crack on his forehead. “I sent you a text later that night to change it to Saturday. I realized I had plans for tonight.”
Footie pajamas and face masks? Weirdest plans ever, if you ask me, but whatever. I pull out my phone and scroll down to his name, finding—yep—a text message changing our meeting to Saturday night at the same time.
“Crap. My family group chat was blowing up that day about a birthday party, and I guess yours got buried. I’m so sorry.” I take another step back. “I can just come back tomorrow because you’re obviously busy with all… this.” I wave a hand up and down his tall, pink, fuzzy form.
“Daddy, who’s at the door?”
I look down to see a tiny person in yellow, also with green mud on her face, squeeze past Phoenix. She’s in footie pajamas as well—obviously a duck—and a matching headband to hold back her dark-brown curls. Phoenix’s hand immediately goes to her head in a protective and affectionate stroke.
“Reece, I’ll be back inside in a minute, honey.”
Reece? This is Reece? The person I thought was his spouse or girlfriend? Well don’t I feel like an idiot for jumping to conclusions.
But the little girl doesn’t go back into the massive home because she’s staring up at me with the roundest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Eyes that perfectly match… her daddy’s?
“Oh. My. Stars!” she exclaims, her voice pitching into a squeak as she attempts to climb her father’s leg. He scoops her up with a fuzzy pink arm and places her easily on his hip while she continues to gape at me. “Jordie McNamara! Daddy, you got Jordie McNamara to come to our spa night?”
This kid is freaking adorable. And wait… how does she know me?
“Reecie,” Phoenix hedges, his eyes darting between me and his daughter. “I, ummmm…”
But she doesn’t let him finish, instead throwing her tiny arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely. “This is the best surprise ever, Daddy. Jordie’s my favorite Dragon. I love you so muchly for inviting her.”
His mud-covered face goes mushy and sweet, and my heart feels like a boa constrictor has wrapped itself around the organ. I’m pretty sure he’s blushing beneath all the green crusty stuff.
“I love you so muchly too, sweetie, but Jordie is here for…” His eyes turn pleadingly toward me before looking at his little girl with a mixture of love and panic. “She just stopped by for…”
He’s struggling to get the words out, and there’s no way I’m letting him disappoint his daughter. It seems like it would destroy him.
So, on a whim, I wave cheerily with both hands and say, “I just stopped by for spa night! Your dad told me it’s super fun.”
My eardrums vibrate and almost burst with her delighted squeal, and Phoenix shoots me a look filled with gratitude. Then he turns to Reece, his voice gentle but firm.
“Can you please properly introduce yourself instead of just screaming at our guest?”
She giggles as he sets her down, and I take her small hand when she holds it up to me. “So nice to meet you. I’m Reece Annette Hale.”
Dammit, she is freaking cute. Shaking, I reply. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too. I’m Jordan Ann McNamara, but I prefer being called Jordie.”
Her little body wiggles in excitement. “Our middle names are almost the same! That is the coolest.” Then she steps back and swings her arm in a welcoming gesture. “Please come inside. Can I get you a juice box? We have apple and grape.”
The boa constrictor in my chest squeezes even tighter at her sweet manners. “Apple would be great.”
“That’s my favorite too,” she yells, running off toward what I assume is the kitchen, her pajama-clad feet making soft thumps as she goes.
I step into the grand foyer. The parquet floor is a warm, blonde wood, and the walls are painted in a soft, textured peach color that’s soothing to the eye.
“Thank you so much for this, Jordie,” Phoenix says in a low voice. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with us tonight.”
“Pshhh,” I scoff. “It sounds like fun. Juliette used to organize stuff like this for me when I was little, but we haven’t had a spa night in years.”
“And what about going to a real spa?” he asks, guiding me into a high-ceilinged living room with beautiful furnishings that are also somehow cozy. “When’s the last time you did that?”
“I’ve never been to a real spa,” I admit. “I grew up in a small town where the closest thing to a spa was the local hair salon, Chic Cuts. But I’ve never actually been there. My sister always trims my hair for me.”
Reece returns holding a small box of organic apple juice. “Okay, do you want me to put your straw in for you, Jordie? I just washed my hands.”
Hiding my laugh with a fake cough, I say, “That would be nice. Thank you, Reece. You’re an excellent hostess.”
“Thank you. Daddy and Nana taught me.”
“Nana is my mother,” Phoenix explains as I rub my hands up and down my arms. It’s freaking freezing in here. “Sorry, we keep it cold on spa night because Reece insists we have to wear fuzzy PJs.”
“Jordie needs jammies too, Daddy,” Reece informs him in an almost scolding tone. “You can help her find some, and I’ll get the blankets ready.”
The little girl takes my juice box and sets it beside two others on a side table before lifting the lid of the rectangular wooden coffee table to reveal stacks of blankets. Phoenix rolls his eyes good-naturedly at being bossed around by this pint-sized princess.
“Come on up here,” he directs. “You can wear something of mine. I’ve gathered quite a diverse selection of fuzzy pajamas at this point.” His words are wry and self-deprecating as I follow him up a curved staircase with a smooth wooden banister.
When we reach the top of the stairs, we turn right.
The walls up here are dove-gray and covered with pictures of Reece from birth to her current age, which appears to be about four or five.
At the end of the hallway, Phoenix pushes open a set of wooden double doors that lead into a bedroom that could double as a parking lot.
“Dang, what size is that bed?” I blurt before clamping my lips shut in embarrassment. But Phoenix is unfazed by my outburst.
“It’s a Texas King. At ninety-eight inches long, it’s great for tall people.”
The bed is innately masculine, with black and bourbon-brown bedding, and I have to suppress a giggle when I imagine the pink-PJ-wearing man beside me propped up against the black padded headboard.
I follow him through an open barn door that leads to his bathroom.
It’s ginormous as well and smells clean, like soap and fresh laundry.
To the right is an arched doorway that reveals his carpeted closet.
It looks more like a men’s clothing store with suits on one side and casual clothing on the other.
A padded bench in the center sits beside a glass-topped structure that resembles a jewelry case.
Peeking inside, I see ties of every color, many of them polka-dotted, as well as a variety of watches and cufflinks.
Phoenix gestures to a section of clothing on the right where at least two dozen sets of pajamas hang. “And here,” he says in a mock-formal tone, “we have a selection of the finest spa wear for persons of the most… how should we say it? Ah, yes, of the most discerning taste.”