Still Not Over You Excerpt
Looking around, Phoebe sized up her yard. The fire pit was crumbling and her wooden chaise lounge was rotting, its long green cushion splitting at the seams. The hedges were overgrown, weeds grew thicker than flowers and the grass hadn’t been mowed in a month. Her yard was a mess.
And then there was her sweet cottage. Well, their cottage. Ryder got to keep the Harley. Phoebe got to stay in the house, although they shared ownership. But the place was falling apart. Brown paint peeled in strips from the siding, and the white trim looked just as bad. Buckets dotted the floor of the side screen porch to catch leaks when it rained. Even Lola, the metal pink flamingo guarding the back door, needed to be spiffed up.
But Phoebe was going to fix all that. The letter had been sent.
The rumble of a Harley grew louder. Maybe the answer to her letter had just arrived. The back of her neck prickled. Time to put on her big girl pants. Crossing her legs, she jiggled a flip flop. Her ex husband had come calling. Ryder Branson could just pay up.
With a vroom, vroom, the Harley fell silent. She didn't have to glance over at the driveway to picture Ryder’s arrival. Hadn’t she watched him come home for almost two years? Her ears had been tuned for that Harley coming up the drive. He’d swing one leg over, take off his helmet and hook it on the back. Then he’d run a hand through his crazy chestnut curls and unzip the leather jacket, like that wide chest needed some air.
Give me strength. After two years, she still had to get up her gumption to face the man. The ground seemed to shake as he stormed toward her. "Phoebe Hunicutt, what are you trying to pull?”
She turned. "Hello to you too, Ryder.” Could he see her heart galloping under her pink top?
His fine head of hair was outlined against the sky. Phoebe’s fingers curled. She could almost feel those springy curls in her palm. Teasing. Exciting.
But that was past history.
Staring her down, his gray eyes hardened to stone and then traveled. When his gaze skimmed her legs, she was glad she’d shaved. Only nicked herself twice this time. But those eyes? Worked her skin like a pumice stone. Arching one foot, she brought a leg up and skimmed her calf with a toe. Her ex was too busy ogling the curves to notice the nicks. Ryder’s eyes bulged, along with another part of his body. Phoebe tried hard not laugh.
Remember Delsey Delaney.
The name froze the giggle in her throat. No one could hurt her like this man. Making her ex-husband pay for two-timing her? Always a delight.
She sat up straighter. Ryder flattened his hair with the heel of one hand. “What the hell do you think you're doing sending me a list like this?"
As he tugged the yellow sheet from his jeans, she smiled. My, oh my. This was getting better by the minute. "Just thought you'd like to know what it takes to keep this place running."
Ryder had the nerve to shake the paper in her face. “If you can’t afford to keep the cottage in good shape, you should sell. Isn’t that what I said when we divorced?” Then he turned to study their sweet cottage. Was he wondering how much the place would bring?
Bringing her legs down, she crossed her ankles. She’d seen Queen Elizabeth do that once on TV and it looked real classy. Not that she was anything like the queen. "That's not what the decree said, Ryder. The court decided that we owned the house jointly. You may remember that trade-off. I got to stay in the house until I wanted to sell in exchange for you riding away with the Harley you always said was joint property.”
Ryder’s black boots shifted. Lightning sparked in his eyes.
Looking away, she kept talking. “Time to bankroll some repairs. The roof is leaking. The paint is peeling. The garage is ready to tumble down." She paused for breath.
Folding his arms over his chest, he glared at her. “That’s all? You sure?"
“Not really.” Her chin went up––that “sweet heart-shaped chin,” as he’d once described it. "The kitchen linoleum and the cabinets desperately need replacing.”
“Desperately?” He didn’t look convinced.
But he did look hot. And how she hated that.
Can this couple reconcile?
Read more of Still Not Over You at the following stores:
Amazon
Apple
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Looking around, Phoebe sized up her yard. The fire pit was crumbling and her wooden chaise lounge was rotting, its long green cushion splitting at the seams. The hedges were overgrown, weeds grew thicker than flowers and the grass hadn’t been mowed in a month. Her yard was a mess.
And then there was her sweet cottage. Well, their cottage. Ryder got to keep the Harley. Phoebe got to stay in the house, although they shared ownership. But the place was falling apart. Brown paint peeled in strips from the siding, and the white trim looked just as bad. Buckets dotted the floor of the side screen porch to catch leaks when it rained. Even Lola, the metal pink flamingo guarding the back door, needed to be spiffed up.
But Phoebe was going to fix all that. The letter had been sent.
The rumble of a Harley grew louder. Maybe the answer to her letter had just arrived. The back of her neck prickled. Time to put on her big girl pants. Crossing her legs, she jiggled a flip flop. Her ex husband had come calling. Ryder Branson could just pay up.
With a vroom, vroom, the Harley fell silent. She didn't have to glance over at the driveway to picture Ryder’s arrival. Hadn’t she watched him come home for almost two years? Her ears had been tuned for that Harley coming up the drive. He’d swing one leg over, take off his helmet and hook it on the back. Then he’d run a hand through his crazy chestnut curls and unzip the leather jacket, like that wide chest needed some air.
Give me strength. After two years, she still had to get up her gumption to face the man. The ground seemed to shake as he stormed toward her. "Phoebe Hunicutt, what are you trying to pull?”
She turned. "Hello to you too, Ryder.” Could he see her heart galloping under her pink top?
His fine head of hair was outlined against the sky. Phoebe’s fingers curled. She could almost feel those springy curls in her palm. Teasing. Exciting.
But that was past history.
Staring her down, his gray eyes hardened to stone and then traveled. When his gaze skimmed her legs, she was glad she’d shaved. Only nicked herself twice this time. But those eyes? Worked her skin like a pumice stone. Arching one foot, she brought a leg up and skimmed her calf with a toe. Her ex was too busy ogling the curves to notice the nicks. Ryder’s eyes bulged, along with another part of his body. Phoebe tried hard not laugh.
Remember Delsey Delaney.
The name froze the giggle in her throat. No one could hurt her like this man. Making her ex-husband pay for two-timing her? Always a delight.
She sat up straighter. Ryder flattened his hair with the heel of one hand. “What the hell do you think you're doing sending me a list like this?"
As he tugged the yellow sheet from his jeans, she smiled. My, oh my. This was getting better by the minute. "Just thought you'd like to know what it takes to keep this place running."
Ryder had the nerve to shake the paper in her face. “If you can’t afford to keep the cottage in good shape, you should sell. Isn’t that what I said when we divorced?” Then he turned to study their sweet cottage. Was he wondering how much the place would bring?
Bringing her legs down, she crossed her ankles. She’d seen Queen Elizabeth do that once on TV and it looked real classy. Not that she was anything like the queen. "That's not what the decree said, Ryder. The court decided that we owned the house jointly. You may remember that trade-off. I got to stay in the house until I wanted to sell in exchange for you riding away with the Harley you always said was joint property.”
Ryder’s black boots shifted. Lightning sparked in his eyes.
Looking away, she kept talking. “Time to bankroll some repairs. The roof is leaking. The paint is peeling. The garage is ready to tumble down." She paused for breath.
Folding his arms over his chest, he glared at her. “That’s all? You sure?"
“Not really.” Her chin went up––that “sweet heart-shaped chin,” as he’d once described it. "The kitchen linoleum and the cabinets desperately need replacing.”
“Desperately?” He didn’t look convinced.
But he did look hot. And how she hated that.
Can this couple reconcile?
Read more of Still Not Over You at the following stores:
Amazon
Apple
Barnes & Noble
Kobo