her daughter?”
Phoebe nodded. He was still safely miles away from Sarah and questions about her, so she’d take the trade-off. “Yeah I am.”
God, his eyes… It didn’t seem fair they could have such a mystical hold on her. She waited for the questions about Cybil, about her childhood, the usual when people found out she had a famous parent.
“Dinner looks cooked,” Jonathon said instead, as he flaked a piece of meat off one of the sticks and tested it. “Could use some salt, but not bad.”
He extended the other spike to her. She reached out, determined to look brave despite the revolting meal. She pinched off a tiny bit of the flesh and sniffed it, finding it held the aroma of woody smoke from the campfire. Jonathon munched through his, and Phoebe tried again to imagine she was only eating fish. He watched her curiously, picking up on her hesitance. Phoebe took a deep breath and shoved a bite in her mouth, swallowing as quickly as she could. The dried out meat lodged in her throat, and she coughed while grabbing a bottle of water nearby. She guzzled it down.
Jonathon chuckled. “That’s usually the reaction I get with my cooking, so no hard feelings.” He winked.
Luckily, this time she didn’t feel a blush creep into her cheeks from his playful gesture. Not when facing a needed meal she’d have to choke down—literally.
“Do you have a problem with snakes?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. Yes! “No,” she lied.
She had a big problem with them. The creepy, slithering monsters could sneak into someone’s sleeping bag and that someone wouldn’t know until the damn thing had wrapped around their legs. She shuddered at the memory and decided to imagine the luckily harmless king snake that’d given her the phobia was the one Jonathon had roasted. Jonathon didn’t look like he entirely believed her as she stuffed bite after horrible, eye watering, stomach churning bite in her mouth until the last of their deplorable food was gone.
With protein in her belly she felt more optimistic as a heavy overcast sky settled over them. Fat raindrops plopped down, heralding the coming rainstorm. Phoebe sighed and crawled into the hut. Jonathon joined her and she scooted as far to her corner as possible. They watched in silence as the campfire fought a brave battle against the greater power of the storm. It finally sizzled and spat in defiance then drowned.
A chill settled over her, and goose pimples covered her skin as long hours stretched before them. She felt miserable again. Miserable with cold, miserable with waning anger over the condoms, miserable with missing her child, and miserable with the damned longing she felt for the man next to her.
“Can you sing like your mother?” Jonathon’s unsettling gaze eased some of the cold inside the shelter, and she did her best to ignore the warmth flushing her skin.
“God no.” How many times in her life had she been asked that? “I sound like one of the seagulls outside. My father was one of my mother’s backup singers and dancers, and still the gene skipped me.”
He laughed, a rich, throaty sound which hardened her nipples. She hugged her arms tighter around her middle.
“Are you close to him?” he asked.
The question stung the old wound as she forced a neutral tone to her voice. “No, he’s English. They had a brief affair. How was it growing up in a large family?” she asked, wanting to detour the questioning.
His smile slipped, he was seeing inside of her again. Down to the parts she especially wanted to keep hidden from his prying eyes. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before he looked away, releasing her.
“It was great, actually. Big holiday dinners, extravagant birthday parties, all the things you’d expect. I love my sisters, and my mom. My dad makes me pull my hair out at times, but I’m lucky to have all of them. Sometimes I think it’d be nice not to have so many noses in my personal life. ‘Jonathon, when are you
Phoebe nodded. He was still safely miles away from Sarah and questions about her, so she’d take the trade-off. “Yeah I am.”
God, his eyes… It didn’t seem fair they could have such a mystical hold on her. She waited for the questions about Cybil, about her childhood, the usual when people found out she had a famous parent.
“Dinner looks cooked,” Jonathon said instead, as he flaked a piece of meat off one of the sticks and tested it. “Could use some salt, but not bad.”
He extended the other spike to her. She reached out, determined to look brave despite the revolting meal. She pinched off a tiny bit of the flesh and sniffed it, finding it held the aroma of woody smoke from the campfire. Jonathon munched through his, and Phoebe tried again to imagine she was only eating fish. He watched her curiously, picking up on her hesitance. Phoebe took a deep breath and shoved a bite in her mouth, swallowing as quickly as she could. The dried out meat lodged in her throat, and she coughed while grabbing a bottle of water nearby. She guzzled it down.
Jonathon chuckled. “That’s usually the reaction I get with my cooking, so no hard feelings.” He winked.
Luckily, this time she didn’t feel a blush creep into her cheeks from his playful gesture. Not when facing a needed meal she’d have to choke down—literally.
“Do you have a problem with snakes?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. Yes! “No,” she lied.
She had a big problem with them. The creepy, slithering monsters could sneak into someone’s sleeping bag and that someone wouldn’t know until the damn thing had wrapped around their legs. She shuddered at the memory and decided to imagine the luckily harmless king snake that’d given her the phobia was the one Jonathon had roasted. Jonathon didn’t look like he entirely believed her as she stuffed bite after horrible, eye watering, stomach churning bite in her mouth until the last of their deplorable food was gone.
With protein in her belly she felt more optimistic as a heavy overcast sky settled over them. Fat raindrops plopped down, heralding the coming rainstorm. Phoebe sighed and crawled into the hut. Jonathon joined her and she scooted as far to her corner as possible. They watched in silence as the campfire fought a brave battle against the greater power of the storm. It finally sizzled and spat in defiance then drowned.
A chill settled over her, and goose pimples covered her skin as long hours stretched before them. She felt miserable again. Miserable with cold, miserable with waning anger over the condoms, miserable with missing her child, and miserable with the damned longing she felt for the man next to her.
“Can you sing like your mother?” Jonathon’s unsettling gaze eased some of the cold inside the shelter, and she did her best to ignore the warmth flushing her skin.
“God no.” How many times in her life had she been asked that? “I sound like one of the seagulls outside. My father was one of my mother’s backup singers and dancers, and still the gene skipped me.”
He laughed, a rich, throaty sound which hardened her nipples. She hugged her arms tighter around her middle.
“Are you close to him?” he asked.
The question stung the old wound as she forced a neutral tone to her voice. “No, he’s English. They had a brief affair. How was it growing up in a large family?” she asked, wanting to detour the questioning.
His smile slipped, he was seeing inside of her again. Down to the parts she especially wanted to keep hidden from his prying eyes. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before he looked away, releasing her.
“It was great, actually. Big holiday dinners, extravagant birthday parties, all the things you’d expect. I love my sisters, and my mom. My dad makes me pull my hair out at times, but I’m lucky to have all of them. Sometimes I think it’d be nice not to have so many noses in my personal life. ‘Jonathon, when are you
Similar Books
