by Beth Andrews
“I thought you two would work out,” Maddie said, her voice gentle. “That she’d stay in town, you’d get married and have a couple of incredibly adorable kids.”
He lifted another piece of flooring. Realized he hadn’t finished nailing in the previous piece so set it down. “Yeah? Well, Sadie isn’t interested in any of that.” Wasn’t interested in him, not in the way he wanted her to be. The way he needed her to be in order to remain in her life. “It seems I’m not her type.”
No, she preferred assholes who wore leather jackets and perpetual sneers. Men who were misunderstood, brooding and antiestablishment. Hell, James was the opposite, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it. He didn’t want to change who he was, not for anyone, not even Sadie.
Maddie hugged him, and he sighed. Patted her back.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know how it feels, believe me.”
She did, too. She’d loved Neil ever since she was a kid, had gotten pregnant when she’d been a teenager only to have Neil leave her and Bree.
But Neil had come back. James doubted Sadie would. Wasn’t sure he wanted her to. Not when he was so pissed at her. Not when she’d hurt him so badly.
“I know you’re probably not ready to hear this now,” Maddie continued—she was like a damn dog with a bone, chewing it to death. “Maybe you don’t even want to hear it, but this might actually be a good thing.”
“You’re right. I don’t want to hear it.”
Maddie ignored him. She excelled at ignoring anything and everything she didn’t agree with. “The perfect woman for you is out there. And now you’re free to find her. To let yourself fall for someone you can build a life with, someone you can have a future with.”
She was killing him.
Death actually seemed preferable to finishing this conversation. “Could we please stop talking about it altogether before what’s left of my manhood curls up in a corner and dies?”
“Men. So sensitive.”
He’d gotten four more nails in when his coworker Heath stepped into the room. “There’s a woman here to see you,” he told James. He wiggled his eyebrows. “She’s a pretty thing, too. And she brought you something.”
James’s first thought, the one that had everything inside of him stilling, was that it was Sadie. But Heath had worked for them for fifteen years and had met Sadie several times. If it was her, he would have just said so or simply sent her upstairs to James.
Not Sadie, come to beg him to take her back, to give her another chance. To forgive her.
He couldn’t figure out if he was disappointed or relieved.
With a sigh, he leaned the flooring nailer against the wall and went down the back staircase to the gutted kitchen, through the dining room and into the large reception hall. As he passed the fireplace—one of five on the first floor—he heard conversation coming from the living room, then the sound of feminine laughter.
“Char,” he said, mildly surprised to find her chatting with Art. To find her there at all.
She smiled, had her dimple winking. “Hi,” she said.
Art, on scaffolding eight feet above the ground, nailed crown molding in place. Heath joined him a moment later.
James took her elbow and led her into the reception hall then slid the pocket doors shut, muting the sound. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been dying to see the inside of this place, and at your party I was talking to your mother and she said it would be all right if I stopped by sometime to look around.”
She inhaled. Well, that had been a mouthful, one she’d said in a breathless rush.
He couldn’t help but smile—the first since he’d kicked Sadie out of his life. Charlotte was cute as hell with her red hair, freckles and rapid-fire words. She was also smart and funny. Good company. But he had a million things to do, and while he didn’t mind showing off their work, doing so would put him behind schedule.
“I brought a bribe,” she added quickly, as if reading his thoughts. She peeled the lid off the square, plastic container she carried, her eyes—the same shape as her sister’s but more green than blue—sparkling with warmth and humor. “In case you need convincing. Chocolate-chip cookies.”
They smelled good. Really good. James took one, bit into it. They tasted even better.
“Sure,” he said. Schedules could always be adjusted. And being with bright, lively Char would help keep his mind off Sadie. He hoped. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Charlotte preceded James into the kitchen, glanced back oh-so-casually as if admiring the loose brick of the dining room’s fireplace. James, on the phone, was looking straight ahead.
She faced forward again, pursed her lips. Okay, not checking her out. A girl could hope, right? And, really, it wasn’t as if she was dressed to kill. On the contrary, she’d chosen the faded jeans and loose, black T-shirt because they were casual. Had kept her makeup minimal—just a hint of color on her eyes and cheeks, a glossy pink on her lips. She’d braided her hair, leaving a few tendrils loose around her face to soften the look, some brushing against her nape to show off her long neck.
All in all, it was a look that cried out: No need to fear. I’m not trying to impress, or heaven forbid, seduce anyone.
She’d known getting James on board with her plans would take time—time, effort and perhaps more than the usual amount of persuasion. She had a few things against her, the biggest one being that he thought of her almost as a little sister. Even though he already had a little sister and certainly didn’t need another one.
The other was the age difference. A man like James, someone decent and honorable and responsible, probably saw those ten years as a barrier, like a stone wall, keeping them apart. She would simply have to show him that they meant nothing to her. Convince him that it was okay for him to see her as a woman. A grown, intelligent woman. That it was more than okay for him to be attracted to her.
That she was worth climbing over that wall.
She stepped into the kitchen. It was empty. Finally. She hadn’t realized how many people were working here or that every room she and James entered they would encounter someone else, carpenters or plumbers or electricians.
The kitchen was also completely gutted. No cupboards or appliances. There weren’t even walls or a ceiling, just parallel boards and electrical wires, a few pipes. The floor had been ripped up, leaving large sheets of plywood.
As they’d toured the house, James had helpfully pointed out the changes and improvements they’d made—how they’d shored up the fireplace in the front parlor, had managed to save and refinish most of the original trim and installed all new windows. He’d explained what was on the agenda for the bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs.
She could listen to him talk forever. She loved how enthusiastic he was about his work. How much he obviously enjoyed what he did.
But for the most part, she’d had no idea what he was talking about. He’d explained what each room would look like when it was done, but all she could see was how they were now. And no way would she admit she had no idea what wainscoting was or exactly what a tongue-and-groove floor looked like—though she could guess.
Just because she wanted to be married to a carpenter didn’t mean she had to learn everything there was to know about renovating an old house. She highly doubted he knew how to start an IV or read a 12-lead ECG.
It would give them more to talk about during the year they dated—casually for the first two months, then exclusively for another eight to twelve months before he proposed.
She already had the perfect engagement ring in mind.
“Sorry about that,” he said, putting his phone away as he joined her.
“Please don’t apologize. I’m the one who interrupted your day. I really appreciate yo
u showing me around.”
“My pleasure.”
Did he mean that? She thought he did. Yes, she was sure of it.
Progress. Slow and steady, but they’d get where she wanted them to eventually.
She almost giggled. Wanted to give herself a nice pat on the back for a job well done. Okay, so maybe she’d had to stretch the truth a few times here and there. She didn’t really feel guilty about taking him from his work. And she couldn’t care less about this house. Yes, it was nice enough, and she was sure it would look great when it was done, but right now it was a mess.
Dangerous, with all those sharp power tools and loose boards, rusted nails. Unsanitary with the sawdust and plaster and possibly asbestos floating through the air.
So she’d stretched the truth a bit. All was fair in love and war. And James’s mother had told her she could stop by to look around Bradford House. No, Rose hadn’t specifically said James would give her a tour, but the only way to get what you wanted was to take chances.
Achieving goals, especially big ones, took careful consideration, planning and, most importantly, execution.
Such as giving him the cookies in a plastic container so he would either have to return it himself—the perfect scenario, just the two of them alone in her very cramped apartment—or she’d have to drop by to pick it up.
“Maybe next time I should come later in the day,” Char said casually. “That way I won’t take you away from your work. Oh,” she continued, with a thoughtful frown, “then you’d be forced to stay later.”
“You’re welcome anytime. I’m here until seven most nights, but if you stop by and I’m not around, one of the guys can take you through,” he said, dashing her dreams that he wanted her to return so he could have her all to himself. “Just don’t ask Maddie. She doesn’t give tours.”
“Really? I would’ve thought she’d love showing this place off. It is Neil Pettit’s, right? And they’re back together?”
Plenty of people in Shady Grove were interested in the restoration of Bradford House, both because it was such a historical fixture in town and because Neil Pettit was such a big deal. That he’d bought it and was paying to have it renovated into a bed-and-breakfast for his sister to run only made the gears of the old rumor mill spin that much faster.
Especially after Fay Lindemuth had attempted suicide over a month ago when her husband left her and their two young sons to run off with some minimart clerk.
“It is Neil’s house,” James said, “and yes, he and Maddie are back together.” He was such a good man. Too good to share idle gossip. “But she still hates being interrupted when she’s working.” He lowered his voice, leaned in close enough that Charlotte inhaled the spicy scent of his aftershave. “Or eating. Makes her grumpy.”
Then he grinned.
She went warm all over. Oh, goodness.
“Speaking of eating,” Char said, her voice unsteady, her heart racing. “Uh...I was thinking on Friday, after we look at the house, we could stop at Salvatores? I’ve been craving pasta.” Plus, the Italian restaurant was perfect—delicious food, great atmosphere, but casual enough that it wouldn’t freak him out or make him uncomfortable. “I could make reservations, just in case they’re busy.”
“You don’t need to do that. I’m sure you have better things to do on a Friday night than hang out with me.”
“Don’t be silly. Besides, you’re doing me a favor by looking at this house. The least I can do is make sure you have a decent meal after.” A thought occurred to her, a terrible, horrible thought. “Unless...unless you already have plans. A date.”
She was watching him so carefully she didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened as if he was clenching his teeth. What did that mean? Was he seeing someone?
“No,” he said. “No date.”
Relief made her light-headed. Or maybe that sensation was from standing so close to him.
“Great.” Though she had nowhere to be and not a damn thing to do other than a load of laundry, she glanced at her watch. “I’d better get going.” Always leave them wanting more, her mother advised. Her mom was one smart lady. “Thanks again for the tour. The house is really, really great.”
Testing them both, she gave him a hug, kept the contact light, just a quick, friendly squeeze. One he returned without resistance.
Yes!
“I’ll see you Friday,” she said, stepping back.
Unable to stop the self-satisfied smile she knew was lighting her face, she slipped out the door, walked around the house, stepping carefully across the uneven yard. She had things to do after all. First on the agenda, buy the perfect outfit for Friday night, one guaranteed to finally get a few second looks from James Montesano.
* * *
STANDING ON THE brand-new porch of Bradford House, Sadie opened the front door only enough to stick her head in. Noise hit her: country music, the buzz and whine of power tools, the pounding of hammers and the occasional male laugh or good-natured shout.
She stepped back and closed the door.
Her heart raced, her palms were damp. She shifted the bakery box to her other hand. Though it only held two dozen cupcakes, it felt like it weighed twenty pounds.
She was nervous. She rolled her eyes. Please. Nervous? She was scared out of her mind.
What if James was still angry with her?
No. He couldn’t be. James didn’t stay mad. He’d been embarrassed the other day. Understandable. But they were friends; they could get past this. They’d made a mistake by sleeping together, had let the physical attraction that had always simmered underneath their friendship take over. She was partly to blame, she realized. She’d been upset about having to return to town and feeling low about herself.
And, yes, maybe she had wondered what it would be like, the two of them together.
But knowing wasn’t worth losing James over.
He’d confused his feelings for her, that’s all. Now that he’d had a few days to think about it, to calm down, he’d realize that. He’d realize it and he’d want her back in his life. He had to.
She missed him.
She always missed him, of course. When she was away, she thought about him often and fondly, but being in Shady Grove somehow made it worse. Knowing he was within reach, literally, but didn’t want to be around her, didn’t want to see her, hurt. It hurt a lot. The idea of never repairing their relationship, of losing him for good?
Unfathomable.
She had to get him back.
It might not be as easy as she’d like, not when she couldn’t stop thinking about their night together, how it’d felt to have him touch her. Kiss her. Make love to her.
She frowned. He didn’t have to be so damned good at it, did he? If he’d been boring in bed or fumbling and bumbling, she wouldn’t keep reliving it. Wouldn’t still want him. But that was just physical. Sexual. It had no bearing on why she was here or why she wanted him to forgive her. She couldn’t have romantic feelings for him, couldn’t let this physical attraction to him overtake her senses.
Sex had only complicated things between them. Threatened to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to her.
She opened the door and forced herself to step inside. Blinked. Wow. She’d seen the outside of Bradford House, of course, had driven or walked past it hundreds of times over the years, had always liked the look of it with its pitched roofs and narrow windows. There was history here, and the Montesanos were obviously trying to preserve it, to bring the house into the twenty-first century while keeping its integrity and charm.
There was still a long way to go, but she could see the care that had gone into the place so far. Ornate moldings along the ceiling and wall, wooden floors, arched doorways. And she could clearly imagine what it would look like with furnishings, paint and wallpaper designs. Could envision what was
needed to bring the house alive, to give it warmth and charm and make people want to stay here, to come back.
She did a quick tour, stopping to chat with Art and Heath, who were used to her coming and going on James’s job sites. He must not have told them they’d had a disagreement because the guys greeted her with grins and jokes. Pointed to the stairs when she’d asked where James was.
The top of the stairs ended in a wide hallway. She followed the sound of power tools and voices to the left, glanced into a bathroom, almost getting run over by someone—a plumber?—in white coveralls carrying a huge wrench. She’d just passed a large, empty room when she heard it. James, the deep rumble of his voice, low and familiar.
It brought a long, warm tug to her belly.
Happiness to hear him again, she assured herself. Nothing else.
Pasting on a smile, she knocked on the door frame and then walked in. “Here you...are,” she said lamely because, obviously he was here, standing tall and broad in front of the window, the afternoon sun reflecting off his dark hair.
She kept that damn smile in place when James frowned and averted his gaze.
Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped. Too bad. She really did so much better when things came to her easily.
But James was worth a bit of work.
“Hi, Maddie,” she managed to say, stepping toward her, intending to give her a hug. Maddie crossed her arms and Sadie stumbled to a stop. “Uh...how...how’s Bree?”
“She’s fine. What are you doing here?”
Ouch. There wasn’t a trace of warmth or welcoming in Maddie’s voice. Sadie had considered the other woman a friend. They usually got together when Sadie was in town, went out for dinner or a drink.
She glanced at James. He’d told his sister what had happened. He met her gaze equably, as if he had any and all right to share the personal facts of their relationship with anyone he damned well pleased.
Okay, so he did, she thought grudgingly. But not if it meant getting people mad at Sadie.
People didn’t get mad at her. They didn’t dislike her. She was Sadie Nixon, for God’s sake. A ray of freaking sunshine. Just ask anyone.