by Lee McKenzie
Word traveled fast. “Yes. It’s a lot noisier and messier than I thought it would be.”
“Yep, that’s to be expected. No pain, no gain.” He shut off the slicer and stepped up to the counter. “What can I get for you this morning?”
The place smelled of fresh bread and sharp cheeses and spicy cold cuts. “A loaf of sourdough, please. And I’ll need some stuff to make sandwiches.”
“Well, if you’re thinking about feeding those two construction workers of yours, then I’d suggest the Black Forest ham and Swiss cheese. It’s Nick’s favorite.”
“You know what kind of sandwiches he likes?”
“I’ve been in business for forty-seven years next month. I can custom-make a sandwich for pretty near anybody in Collingwood Station. For Nick, I’d suggest the rye, though, instead of the sourdough.”
Maggie hoped he’d be impressed when she produced his favorite at lunchtime. “Okay, I’ll go with the ham and Swiss on rye. What about Brent Borden? What does he like?”
Mr. Donaldson peered over his bifocals. “That young man’ll eat anything.”
Maggie laughed. That didn’t surprise her one bit.
“And should I wrap up some of this nice Havarti for you?”
“That’s so sweet of you to remember.”
“It’s my job to remember. It was your aunt’s favorite, too. God rest her soul.” While he unwrapped a large ham and hefted it onto the slicer, Maggie studied the drinks in the cooler and tried to decide what to buy.
“Those two boys always like to have cola with their lunch,” Mr. Donaldson said over his shoulder.
Maggie grinned and grabbed the drinks. She could picture Nick and Brent perfectly, hammers in hand, tool belts riding low on their hips, tearing a wall out of her house.
Boys? I don’t think so!
She set the bottles on the counter and dug her wallet out of her bag. “How much do I owe you?”
“Let’s see. Enough food for two hungry carpenters and one pretty lady.” He tipped his head back a little so he could see the cash register keys through his bifocals. “That’ll be seven fifty.”
She handed him the cash and reached for the bag. “Thanks, Mr. Donaldson.”
“Anytime, my dear.” He banged the drawer of the cash register shut. “How long do you figure this job is going to take?”
“Nick thinks it’ll take about three weeks, but I’m hoping they finish sooner.”
“The important thing is that you’re happy with it.”
“I hope it’s what Aunt Margaret wants—would have wanted,” she added quickly.
“Your aunt was always saying that she should have some work done on that place, especially after the rest of the neighborhood got all spruced up. But it’s tough for old folks like us. We get set in our ways and we don’t want anything to upset that.”
“So you think she’d approve?”
“She thought the sun rose and set on you. She’d be so proud, knowing you were moved in and fixing up the old place.”
Maggie felt her worries float away. “Thank you, Mr. Donaldson. I needed to hear that.”
He tipped his head to the side and smiled. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulled three sticks of licorice from a glass jar near the cash register. “These are on the house. Those boys love licorice.”
* * *
“THOSE BOYS” WERE still hard at work when Maggie returned to the house. What had once been a wall was a gaping hole and what had once been a living room was a pile of plaster and boards.
Nick swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “I had to shut the power off. As soon as we disconnect this wiring, I’ll switch it back on.”
She stared at his dust-streaked T-shirt and tried to swallow. “No problem,” she croaked. “I don’t need to turn anything on.”
Nick’s mouth hinted at a smile, and she felt her face heat up.
“I’ll just go put these things away.” As she hurried through to the kitchen, she wished she was better at thinking about what she was going to say before she blurted it out.
She closed the fridge door and turned around to see a trail of plaster-dust footprints crisscrossing the kitchen floor. She’d better start using the back door. Not that she was a neat freak or anything, far from it, but this could quickly get out of hand. She grabbed the broom and was sweeping up when Nick came in.
“Turning the power back on.” He disappeared down the back stairs to the basement where the electrical panel was located.
The refrigerator started to hum and the readout on the microwave blinked. “Thanks,” she said when he reappeared. As she reset the clock, she sensed him move closer, then she could feel him standing behind her.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
She turned around, not expecting him to be as close as he was, but wishing he was even closer. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You seem withdrawn, a little spooked even.” He hesitated for a second or two. “Listen, if this is about last night—”
“No, it’s not that.” Not that she hadn’t given last night a lot of thought.
“So what is it?”
She sighed. She’d felt better about this after talking to Mr. Donaldson, but now that she was back home in the noise and the dust, she was having second thoughts again. “These changes are happening so fast. You just got started and now that wall is already gone and I’m wondering what Aunt Margaret must be thinking about all of this.”
His eyes widened a little. “How many Aunt Margarets do you have?”
“Just one.”
“And she’s dead. Right?”
“Yes, but she’s still...you know.” She waved both hands in the air.
Nick gave a nervous glance around the kitchen. “You’re telling me that your deceased aunt—Miss Meadowcroft—is here in this kitchen?”
“Not right now. I don’t know where she is. That’s why I’m wondering if she’s okay with all of this. Mr. Donaldson has known her for years and he told me this is what she would want me to do. But what if he’s wrong? What if this isn’t what she wants? What if she wants everything left just the way it was?”
He stared at her for a few seconds, as though he wasn’t sure what to say. “You don’t really think...” Then he shook his head. “Of course you do. Come here.” He slid an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close.
She went without hesitation and tucked her head beneath his chin, reassured by his warmth and just a little turned on by his construction-worker scent. A little voice in her head warned her that this was not a good idea, that Nick was one of those men who didn’t fall in love with women like her, but in her heart she knew none of that mattered.
“Let me tell you something,” he said. “If your aunt is still hanging around and doesn’t like what I’m doing, I’d be on my way to the hospital by now.”
The idea of Aunt Margaret causing a mishap made her giggle. “So you believe me?”
“I believe you believe it, and that’s good enough for me. As for the work we’re doing, it’s going to be noisy and dusty. There’s no way around that.”
“I know. Since I won’t be able to keep experimenting with new products for the spa, I’ve decided to spend some time working on the garden. While we were at Allison’s last night, I got a few ideas about what I’d like to do here. In fact, maybe I’ll go over there right now and take another look, now that the party stuff has been cleared away.”
“Good idea,” he said. “And if you’re over there, she won’t be showing up here.”
“True.” She liked that he didn’t want Allison around. Silly to feel that way, but it was the truth.
She looked up at him and he lowered his head a little.
She tilted her face toward his and let her lips part just ever so slightly.
She hadn’t expected to kiss him so soon after last night but now that it was about to happen—
Brent cleared his throat. “Ah, boss?”
Maggie squirmed out of
Nick’s embrace. How long had Brent been watching from the doorway? Not that it should matter, but she didn’t want him to think she was the kind of woman who threw herself at every man who came along. Nick was definitely an exception.
“What’s happening?” Nick asked, calm as could be, as though they hadn’t been caught in an almost-kiss.
“Out there?” Brent asked. “Nothing. In here? Very hard to say.”
“Maggie was just telling me about her plans for the garden.”
“Right. That would have been my first guess.”
Maggie decided she didn’t want to stick around to see where this conversation was going. “I’ll head over to Allison’s right now and let you get back to work. I’ll be back at lunchtime. I hope you don’t mind sandwiches.”
“We don’t expect you to make lunch for us every day,” Nick said.
Brent loudly cleared his throat.
Nick rolled his eyes. “Let me amend that. I don’t expect you to make lunch for us.”
Brent was grinning now. “You’ll have to excuse him. Poor upbringing. Doesn’t understand that it’s bad manners to turn down an invitation to lunch.”
Maggie laughed. Brent’s goofy sense of humor offset Nick’s tendency to take things too seriously. “It’s no trouble,” she assured Nick. And it wasn’t. She had an idea that Brent could provide a lot of insight into the things that were bothering Nick.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MAGGIE RANG ALLISON’S doorbell. While she waited, she contemplated the conservative brown-stained front door and decided she would paint hers red.
She rang the bell again.
Please let Allison be home, she thought. She really wanted a break from the noise at her place.
Just as she turned to leave, the door opened.
Allison’s elegant little pale blue dress and white sandals were stunning. Her makeup was ghastly and the overdone eyeliner and thick mascara did a poor job of masking puffy, red eyes.
“Maggie, this is a nice surprise,” she said with a complete lack of enthusiasm.
“I hope I’m not bothering you. Is everything all right?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ve been crying.”
A hint of emotion flickered on Allison’s face. “I’m a little tired, that’s all. All the preparations for the party must have worn me out and I think I’m having an allergic reaction to something.”
Maybe to a newly divorced woman who has the hots for your husband? Maggie wondered, recalling Nick’s speculation about John and Candice.
“I can dash home and get some ephedra tea for you. It works wonders on allergies.” Not that she was buying the allergy excuse.
“Oh, don’t go to any trouble. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”
“I’m sure. But, where are my manners? Would you like to come in?”
Ever the perfect hostess. “Yes, thanks. I was hoping to visit for a while. The noise at my place is making me crazy, but if this is a bad time...”
“A visit would be nice. I could use some company.”
Maggie knew Allison well enough to know this despondency was uncharacteristic. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m being silly. I usually don’t overreact to things but—” She burst into tears.
Oh, dear, Maggie thought. This was not good.
But she had a hunch about what was causing the distress and she knew she could help, if Allison would let her. “Let’s go inside,” she said. “I’ll make some tea.”
“You must think I’m a complete fool,” Allison sobbed.
“Why would I think that? Something’s obviously upsetting you.”
In the kitchen she directed Allison to a chair in the breakfast nook that overlooked the deck where the bar had been set up last night. Early that morning Maggie had noticed a crew of young men hauling away the folding tables and chairs and now the yard showed no signs of the party that had been held there the night before.
“I’m so sorry. This isn’t like me.”
“Sit down,” she said when Allison protested. She picked up a box of tissues off the counter and slid it across the table. While Allison dabbed at her eyes and gently blew her nose, Maggie filled the kettle and plugged it in. She kept up a steady stream of conversation, hoping to distract Allison from her problems until they could sit and talk about them face-to-face.
“Do you know Nick’s friend Brent? They’ve made amazing progress this morning. They’ve already taken down one wall and started on the new bathroom. Can you believe it?”
She chose a package of chamomile tea from the pantry, found a couple of china cups and saucers and set them on the table.
“I didn’t know I’d find the noise and commotion so overwhelming, though. I mean, you’d think after living my whole life in New York that I’d be used to noise, but construction is different.”
She rinsed a teapot with hot water and popped a couple of tea bags into it.
“There. Now, where was I? Oh, right. The noise. I had to get out of the house this morning so I walked over to the deli and bought everything I needed to make sandwiches for lunch. That’ll be fun, I think. Brent is such a character. Do you know if he and Nick have been friends for a long time?”
Allison wiped her eyes with a fresh tissue. “Practically forever.”
How she managed to mop up the tears without smudging all that makeup, Maggie would never know.
The kettle whistled and after she filled the pot, Maggie set it on a trivet next to the cups on the table. “It must be wonderful to have grown up with a best friend like that,” she said as she took a seat.
“These days kids call them BFFs.”
“Best friends...”
“Forever.”
“Oh, I love that!” Maggie said. “I’ve had a few good friends over the years but people in the city tend to move around a lot, so I’ve never had a BFF.”
She gave the pot a gentle swirl before she filled the cups. Her sixth sense was telling her that Allison’s emotional turmoil involved Candice and John, which meant the talk about best friends was a perfect segue into getting her to talk about was bugging her. “What about you? Who were your best friends?”
Allison gazed into her tea, as though looking for the answer. “I had two,” she said finally. “Candice and Leslie, although these days I’m not so sure about Candice.”
Bingo.
Maggie reached for Allison’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You know what I think? I think John is one of your best friends, too. He’s obviously crazy about you, and last night I could tell he was so proud of the way you arranged everything for the barbecue.”
Allison plucked another tissue from the box, which suggested more tears were on the way. “You must have seen him with Candice. She was all over him.”
The admission surprised Maggie. There was the difference between the polished and poised wife of a successful lawyer that Allison wanted the world to see, and the vulnerable young woman she was inside, filled with doubts and insecurity.
“I noticed.” While Maggie was sure there was nothing going on between John and Candice, she did have the uneasy feeling that he could be tempted. “Did you talk to John about it?”
She shook her head and blew her nose again.
“Well, what I noticed was that he wasn’t ‘all over’ her. I think he was just trying to be a gentleman and not embarrass her, but I’m sure he didn’t mean to upset you.”
Allison brightened a little. “You think so?”
“I do. And I think you should talk to him about it.”
“I don’t know. What if he tells me—” But Allison couldn’t seem to bring herself to say whatever it was that she thought her husband might say.
“You really think John’s interested in her when he has you, two great kids and this beautiful home?” She gestured with both hands.
“I’m not sure what I think anymore.”
“Do you still think Candice is o
ne of your best friends?”
“Maybe not,” she answered cautiously.
“How many times has she been married?”
“Three.”
How was it, Maggie wondered, that some women found so many marriageable men when she’d never been able to find one? “She doesn’t seem very happy for a woman who’s so popular with men.” Not to mention filthy rich.
“She was devastated after her first divorce. Leslie and I felt terrible for her and we rallied around and did what we could to cheer her up. But in less than a year she was married again.”
“How long did that one last?”
“About a year and a half. By then we were starting to think maybe the husbands weren’t the problem.”
No kidding. “How long have you and John been married?”
“Eight years.”
“That’s wonderful! Plus you have two great kids and a beautiful home. What makes you think he’d throw all this away for someone who goes through husbands faster than most of us wear out a pair of shoes?”
Allison smiled at that, then went serious again. “Lately, John and I seem to have gone our separate ways. He works late several nights a week. I’m busy with the kids’ school and other activities. We don’t spend much time together anymore.”
“But there must be things you like to do as a family. And just the two of you.”
She nodded. “We used to take the kids on picnics or to the zoo, but now we’re always too busy.”
Too busy to save your marriage? Maggie wondered. “I think you should tell John that you and the kids would like to spend more time with him.”
“I don’t know.”
“I guarantee you it’ll work like a charm.”
“Speaking of charms, you’ve done wonders with Nick.”
Hmm. “I don’t have the faintest idea what you mean.”
“Last week you said he’d make an interesting project. Remember? Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”
Even to her own ears, her high-pitched laugh sounded nervous. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I think he’s fine the way he is.”
Allison set her cup on the table and leaned toward her. “Nick’s definitely changed.” Her voice sounded conspiratorial. “Like I said, whatever you’ve done—”
