Page 30 of Where It All Began
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Elvira said, straightening. “If I am, feel free to shove me right back out the door,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.
Phoebe finally found her voice. “Uh, no. Of course not. Not at all. You’re not interrupting. We were just… talking… about the party.” And now she sounded like a teenager lying to her parents.
“Perfect timing on my part then,” Elvira congratulated herself and hefted the gigantic tote bag on her shoulder. “Thought I’d come over and help you plan for the party Sunday.”
She headed down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. “Got any wine?”
“Sure.” Phoebe hustled along behind her and blew out a breath when she realized John and his impressive wood had escaped. She watched Elvira open and close cabinets in a quest for a glass. She found one and the wine and poured herself a healthy portion.
Phoebe mentally shook herself.Get it together, dummy.
She plastered a smile on her face. “Exactly how many people are coming Sunday?” Phoebe asked brightly.
Elvira made a humming noise. “About forty I think. Depends on if the Karlinskis are around or not.
“How many of them are there?” Phoebe asked.
“Twelve or thirteen,” Elvira said, righting the chair that John had knocked over without comment. She sat and pulled a notebook out of her hemp tote.
“Twelve orthirteen?” Phoebe gasped, officially distracted from the revving engine her body had become at John’s touch.
“Big family,” Elvira shrugged. “The oldest two don’t live at home anymore though. Cumulus joined the Peace Corps, and Raindrop works on Wall Street.”
Phoebe decided it would just be easier not to comment on the “uniqueness” of the names. “Hmmm,” she said instead.
All business, Elvira swiped the tip of her pencil over her tongue. “Now, I’m thinking burgers and hot dogs for the main course. That won’t break the bank, and I know John has a grill. We’ll spread the word and have everyone else bring a side dish or a dessert so the only other thing you two will need to worry about are beverages.”
“Beverages,” Phoebe repeated.
The side door to the kitchen swung open, sending Murdock into another frenzy until he recognized John. Satisfied there was no threat, the dog plopped down on the floor and promptly began licking his own ass.
Phoebe’s gaze tracked to John’s shorts, and she was relieved and maybe the tiniest bit disappointed that all evidence of their near combustion was gone.
Well, not all evidence. There was nothing cool about those gray eyes now, she noted. There was a silent inferno burning between the two of them that Elvira seemed blissfully oblivious to. Their gazes held, and her breath caught. There was tension, thick and solid between them. The pull of a secret.
He didn’t look angry, more annoyed. And Phoebe bet money that he was more annoyed with her than Elvira’s poorly timed entrance. There’d be no going back, she decided. Not after how that almost-kiss felt. She would find a way into John Pierce’s bed before the end of the summer whether he deemed it a good idea or not.
“There you are!” Elvira chirped. “Phoebe and I are working on the menu for Sunday. You’re probably going to need to stock up on a few non-food related items,” she warned him.
John dragged his eyes away from Phoebe and gave his attention to Elvira. “Like what?”
“Toilet paper. Don’t pull an antisocial bachelor move and not have enough toilet paper for forty guests.”
“Forty?” John sputtered. “What did you do? Invite the whole town? I only have one bathroom.”
“We’ll make do,” Elvira said, waving away his concerns. “No one knows how to party like Blue Moon.”
John stomped out of the kitchen muttering under his breath. “I hope it fucking rains.”
Chapter Thirteen
The damn woman kept sending him smoldering looks, which John only picked up on because he couldn’t stop looking at her. Even now as they mucked Melanie’s stall, he couldn’t stop himself from looking at her.
He’d come within a heartbeat of making a mistake and had been rescued by Elvira’s fortuitous arrival. And with all his resolve and his internal pep talks, John was no longer confident that he wouldn’t be pushed into that mistake eventually.
All Phoebe had to do was walk out of the bathroom in a towel and it would be over. Or forget a bra again. Or lean too close to him when she asked him to pass the salt.
“You could use a haircut,” Phoebe mused, startling John back to the present.
