CHAPTER 29
Evander
Twelve? She’s been crazy for me since she was twelve?
I’m speechless.
Phoebe was absolutely invisible to me at that time. We didn’t have the same friends. We weren’t in the same grades, since she’s quite a bit younger.
It’s not like she came up to me back then and confessed she was crushing on me, only to have me laugh in her face and tell her to get lost. I never even spoke to Phoebe back then. I barely knew she existed.
Which makes perfect sense, for a dude as self-centered as I was back in high school.
I was focused on becoming a SEAL, like Cal.
I was determined to get a spot on the all-state football roster, often in competition with several of Phoebe’s brothers.
Most of all, I was busy vanquishing the cheerleader population.
I paid no attention to the little girl from the next ranch over.
And now she’s sitting here telling me that she wrote poems about me. Dreamed about me at night and daydreamed her way through the rest of the day with me in the starring role. She never forgot me, she says, even when she moved away to college and worked out of state.
Even during the three long-term relationships she’s had, including her most recent one, with some doctor dude named Rick, who wanted to marry her.
Phoebe’s body language reveals that sharing this is difficult. She’s leaning against the couch arm with her legs curled and her arms gripping the blankets tight across her front. Phoebe’s gaze has been mostly downturned, but when she does look at me, her face is twisted with embarrassment.
“You’ve carried this around a long time.”
“I have,” she says.
“You’re… steadfast.”
That gets a weak smile out of her. “A pit bull with a porkchop, as my dad would say. About me in general, not about how I feel about you. He doesn’t know about that, or at least I don’t think he does.”
“I’ve always liked your dad.”
She looks away. Something hit wrong with my comment, but she recovers. “Thank you. I’ll tell him you said that.”
I throw another log on the fire and scoot closer to the couch. “But…”
Phoebe frowns. “But?”
“You were about to tell me that reality doesn’t match up with the fantasy. That I’m not the guy you put on that pedestal so long ago.”
She gives me a quizzical look and scrunches up her freckled nose. “Do you remember that night at Carla’s Creamy Cone?”
“Whoa. I haven’t heard anyone mention that place in years. The ice cream stand across from the school complex, right?”
“Right. Do you remember the incident?”
I shake my head no.
“It marked the start of all my complicated feelings for you. The night my steadfast crush was born.”
I think this is one of those times that I should keep my mouth shut and just let her speak. So that’s what I do. However, I brace myself to take responsibility for whatever dumbass incident I was responsible for on the night in question.
I watch her fingernail pick at the fraying edge of the blanket.
She tips up that pretty chin of hers and takes a deep breath before she begins.
“I was with a bunch of my friends at an outdoor table. Sixth grade. It was one of those hot nights when the sound of air conditioners drowned out the crickets.”
I smile.
“You were at a table at the other end of the patio area with a bunch of your friends—all the prettiest girls and the most popular jocks—except for my brothers, since they wanted nothing to do with you.”
At least it’s mutual.
“So your group is really loud and you’re talking and everyone is focused on you.
Hanging on your every word. Even the kids at my table are staring at you because—I didn’t know the word for it then—but you were just plain charismatic.
You’d cut your hair super short, almost like you were in dress rehearsal for the Navy. ”
That’s pretty spot on.
“I don’t remember exactly what led to this—maybe I volunteered to get more napkins for my friends or something—but I slid out from the bench with a double-scoop sugar cone in my hand. I took a couple steps and tripped, just face-planted right there in front of everyone. The ice cream went flying.”
Wait. I actually do remember some of this.
“Everyone was laughing at me. I was chest-down on the blacktop, ice cream in my hair, and my knee all scraped up. I remember turning my head to see all the kids at your table howling and hooting and calling me a loser or spazz or stupid. Except for you.”
I nod.
“You jumped up, rushed over to me, helped me to stand, and then went to the front window for napkins. You hovered over me, so much taller than I was, and all the sudden, the laughing stopped.”
“Ah, shit, Phoebe. Yeah. I remember.”
“You lifted my chin and used the napkins to clean the ice cream from my hair and then the blood from my knee. The whole time, you were telling me some dumb story about one of your goats or your barn cats or something, but your eyes—I couldn’t look away from them.
Your eyes, your smile, and the calm way you spoke distracted me enough that the tears stopped.
You asked if I was okay and volunteered to drive me home. ”
As she’s speaking, it hits me that I love the sound of her voice.
It’s got a little bit of a scratchy overlay to it, which makes it adorable and sexy at the same time.
I’ve never known a woman with so many seemingly contradictory traits.
Cute and carnal. Sweet and snarky. Benevolent and ball-busting, but only when I deserve it.
I’ve severely underestimated Phoebe. She’s not what I assumed. She’s a hell of a lot more.
“That night, you showed me who you were, Evander. And listen, I know that as a grown man you’re full of twists and turns, and there’s a lot going on below the surface, but you’re still that guy. I have to say, I think the reality is better than any fantasy.”
“It’s not.” I shake my head with enthusiasm.
“Let me finish, please. It’s important to me.” Phoebe swings her legs in front of her and leans forward. She’s got her eyes locked right on mine.
“You drove me home that night. You kept me laughing the whole way. And when we got to Travis Ranch, my brothers went nuclear on you, thinking you did something to me, that the blood on my knee was your doing. You walked right up our front porch steps and told them all to go fuck themselves, pardon my French.”
She’s so cute.
“I thought it was going to be a bloodbath until my dad came outside and put an end to all your teenage boy bullshit, pardon my French again.”
“Right.” It’s coming back to me.
“I’m not saying you’re the same swoon-worthy boy I wrote poems about or that you’re a perfect man.
Of course, you’re not. No one is perfect.
Listen, I’ve been around you enough to know that you can be snippy and blunt.
You’re so grumpy sometimes that I just want to shake you and yell at you to pay attention to all the good that’s around you! ”
“Fair enough.”
“And you’re way too focused on your suits.”
“Hey, now…”
“And you’re stubborn. Closed off. Persnickety.”
“Say what?”
“My gramma used to use that word. Fussy. Hard to please. Maybe a little stuck up.”
“It’s quite the catch-all term.”
“My point is that none of that takes away from what I know about you.”
I tilt my head. “Which is…?”
“That you are the best man I’ve ever known, Evander MacLaine. And, like you, I have a weak spot for the best.”
She smiles down on me. It’s warm. It’s so open and trusting that I almost look away. She’s too good for me. I should tell her that. But she has more to say.
“When this is over, and we’re back home, I won’t ask anything of you. I really mean that. You owe me nothing. I won’t be expecting you to ask me out and I won’t be laying claim to you or anything. You have my word. As the saying goes, what happens in a blizzard, stays in a blizzard.”
“I’m not familiar with—”
“You know what I mean.”
“But what if—?”
“This storm is terrifying and dangerous, but it’s given me a chance to get to know you, and for that, I’m truly grateful.”
I’m back to speechless.
“There’s one last thing you need to know,” Phoebe says.
“Okay.”
“So, remember Rick? My most recent relationship I told you about? The one I tried to keep going long distance after I left Arizona?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Rick came out here a couple of months ago and we met in Tahoe for a romantic weekend.”
Why is she telling me this? Why are my hands curling into fists and why am I imagining the satisfying crack! of my knuckles on the good doctor’s nose?
“Sounds nice,” I say.
“It was awful. This was October and I hadn’t seen you in months, but there I was with Rick in this nice chalet, and I couldn’t shake… I couldn’t let go of…”
Phoebe looks down and sighs, like she’s gathering the courage to continue. I take the opportunity to scoot closer to her. When she looks up once more, she’s surprised to see me just inches away.
“What happened, Phoebe?”
“I broke it off.”
Rick’s not such a bad dude, really.
“He asked me if there was another man. I told him no, not technically, but that it wouldn’t be fair to continue with him because my heart wasn’t in it.”
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t available.”
“Why?”
Her eyes sparkle with tears. “Because I’d put it away for safekeeping. You know, just in case.”
She pulls a hand from her blanket cocoon and holds it out, palm up. I reach out and cradle that delicate hand in both of mine. The bones of her wrist and fingers are petite. Her skin is so warm and soft.
“In case what, Phoebe?”
A single tear falls down her freckled cheek.
Oh, man. I’m a goner. I’m deceased. This girl has flattened me. “I’ll answer my own question,” I tell her. “You meant just in case the day ever comes that I pull my head out of my ass long enough to see you.”
“Something like that.”
I lower my lips to the top of her hand and deposit a soft kiss. I look up into those steadfast eyes.
“Today’s the day, Phoebe.”