Page 49 of Phillip

“I do not!”

The yellow door opened, and Miranda walked in. “Are you ready to move on?”

“You do too,” he whispered against her ear before pushing up from the stool. “Absolutely. Where are we off to next?” Phillip held his hand toward Ashley to help her off the stool.

He was wrong! Just because she saw things one way didn’t mean she didn’t think another way could coexist. Stiffly, Ashley moved alongside Phillip as they followed Miranda and she explained the history of the sherbet room.

“Don’t be mad at me,” he teased.

She wasn’t mad. She was annoyed, and she elbowed him to make that point clear. “I’m not.”

But annoyance wasn’t her problem either. Her stomach turned as she realized that her inflexible refusal to stray from a decision, a thought process instilled by her mother, was more prevalent than she’d even realized.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

They moved into a warmer hallway. The scent of hazelnut and vanilla now hung in the air as Phillip’s old friend led them down a darkening corridor. Gone were the bright colors transposed against stark-white walls. Now they were surrounded by wall textures and soft lighting. Deep mauves and warm, rich chocolates replaced the glossy lacquered finishes.

Ashley didn’t seem to notice the gradual transition. She stiffly walked next to him with an expression as rigid as her posture.

“You’re really not mad at me?” He risked her anger as he slid his hand across her back.

Before Ashley could answer, Miranda’s cell phone rang. She mouthed an apology as she took the call, walking away.

“No.” Ashley crossed her arms and turned to face him. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me.”

His eyebrow cocked. “Don’t do that. Come on, it’s our day of fun.” Her expression didn’t change, and guilt needled him. He wouldn’t have teased her if he’d realized she would take him so seriously. That had always been the problem between them, though. Worried that he’d misstepped like he had in the past, Phillip offered a conciliatory grin. “I promise I was joking.”

Ashley sighed. “Don’t mind me. You just hit a nerve.”

He was good at that. Phillip rested his hands on her shoulders, playfully giving her a small shake. “I was teasing. It was all in good fun.”

“Either way, you were right.”

He laughed. “I don’t hear that often, but I don’t know that I’ll take it if it comes with a frown and—”

Her shoulders stiffened as her face drew tight. “I pride myself on not being my mother.”

“Oh, shit, no.” He went up as though to block her words. “I wasn’t comparing you to your mother. Hell, I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy.”

Her smile broke, but she dryly said, “Ha ha.”

“I’m serious, Ashley. That woman, I mean your mother, is a shark-toothed people eater. No offense.”

“I can’t take offense at the truth,” she offered quietly.

Phillip’s dislike of her mother knew no bounds. There had been times that he thought he couldn’t dislike her any more. Then conversations like this happened, and he learned that there were many more levels of dislike to go. “Ashley, you are nothing like your mother.”

She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But she was a major influence in my life before…” Ashley’s eyes clouded. “At least until she wasn’t.”

Before what?Phillip had no idea what she was talking about, but he wouldn’t blame anyone for babbling incoherently when it came to Agatha Cartwright.

He wondered if there’d been a distinct pivot point that changed her mother’s influence, but he wouldn’t ask and let it drop, more concerned about Agatha Cartwright thoughts marring their celebratory day.

Miranda reappeared with perfect timing. “I’m sorry about that. Are you ready to taste again?”

“Absolutely,” he said, welcoming her interruption. A few strides later, they entered a room that made his stomach growl for more than a few spoonfuls.

Miranda walked them through a similar process, but this time with dozens of chocolates, from the milkiest milk chocolate to a coffee-bean-infused dark, bitter chocolate. Some chocolate was salted, while others were spiced. There were even chocolates that had been mixed with mind-blowing reductions, like those made from bacon and balsamic.

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