But Quinn didn’t want a commitment, and he'd said that more than once. To him, Jessie was a friend with benefits — just someone to pass the time with. But try telling her that, when her feelings so obviously went deeper.
He took a deep breath. "You know that a new space just opened up in Archer Cove, right? It's only a few blocks from Hedda's. The Dinardo Deli space."
"What?" Her jaw dropped. "Wait. Shut the front door! When did that happen?"
The store had been vacant for months, and lots of people in town had been speculating about what would fill it. Nate played apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be useful to you. Did you still want that quiet you asked for?"
"Nate, come on. Tell me about it."
He suppressed a grin. It was kind of hot when she begged for things. "I just saw a "For Rent" sign this morning." He hesitated. "Do you want to stop by, or do you need to sleep it off first?"
"Stop by, for sure! I told you, I only had three mimosas." She reached over and pinched his arm. "Jeez, aren't you supposed to have a layer of fat here? What am I supposed to pinch?"
"I'm in training. I have a marathon in the fall."
"Ugh. Running." She rolled her eyes. "Miserable."
They had known each other since high school, and in all that time, Nate had been running long distances and Jessie had been wrinkling her nose at it. He went to college on a track scholarship, and he couldn't imagine giving up running now, after all these years. It was his time alone with his thoughts. When he met with new clients, they often asked him how they were supposed to fit exercise into their busy daily schedules, and he'd explain that if they stuck with it long enough, their lives would simply make room.
"It's not that bad," he said. "You should try it. You might like it."
"What, running? The horrors. Not unless a tiger is chasing me."
"I can roar, you know. Mrs. Burgess demands it."
Jessie groaned. "I'll bet she does. Oh my gosh, you should date Mrs. Burgess. Wouldn't that be funny?"
Nate cursed silently. Sometimes he wondered if he and Jessie actually spoke the same language. If they did, he must be using it wrong, because she so clearly missed everything he thought he was saying to her.
Date Claire Burgess? In a word, no. Was she attractive? Sure. But she was also a headache and a diva, and attractive wore off quickly. And oh, by the way, he happened to be in love with the girl sitting right beside him. You know, the one he rearranged his entire schedule for because she got wasted at a Sunday morning baby shower. The one who happened to be sort-of dating his best friend, which made things just a little awkward. Okay, a lot awkward. Terrible, really. His best friend on the planet was dating the girl of Nate's dreams, and he couldn't bring himself to even think about what that actually entailed. Better not to think about them dating at all.
"Why would I date Mrs. Burgess?" He didn't mean to sound weary, but he sure felt it just then.
"You would date Mrs. Burgess," Jessie explained in her overly patient tone, "because then we could throw amazing parties. Think about it. We could do a party for every season, and in the summer we'd have an intimate gathering on her yacht. What's she call it?"
"The Magpie."
Jessie's mouth dropped. "No, she doesn't! Well, that would have to be renamed. I'm not throwing a summer solstice party on a boat called The Magpie."
"You want to talk about horrors," he deadpanned.
They were only a block from Maple Street, where Dinardo's Deli used to be. Jessie was considering her fingernails, which she'd painted a bright pink. "You know about structural things, right? I mean, you can tell me if this space is good to rent?"
"I can give you the basics."
She nodded and returned her hands to her lap, apparently satisfied with that answer. Nate liked to think he was good for something other than collecting her rent checks. Which he hated to do. It was weird to be a landlord to the girl of his dreams. He'd been all set to let Jessie live in that cottage for nothing until she'd insisted on paying him rent. It barely covered the property taxes. But he knew Jessie. Really knew her, because her life was one giant open book. He knew that she could barely rub two pennies together, between working at a little bakery and investing just about everything she made into her chocolate business. If he hadn't offered her the cottage, she never would've been able to afford to move out of the apartment above the bakery. She deserved a nicer space than that.
"And here we are!"
They came to a stop in front of the brick facade and empty storefront where Dinardo's Deli used to be. The place had been in business for decades. It was a convenient stop before tourists hit the beaches, or a quick place to grab a bite if you worked in town. He remembered standing in line here with his mom when he was a kid to buy cold cuts, or saving his allowance to buy a novelty ice cream bar from the freezer. When George Dinardo retired, he took the energy of the place with him. Now it was only an empty space with some countertops.
"I'm nervous," she whispered, clutching his forearm.
Early on, he'd learned that Jessie was the affectionate, touchy type. At first he'd allowed himself to believe it was personal and that she was attracted to him. But no, she was like that with all of her friends, and sometimes with virtual strangers. The challenge for him was figuring out where he could touch her back in a way that was friendly, considering that left to his own instincts, he'd pull her into his arms every time she brushed his shoulder or playfully wrapped an arm around his waist in a half-hug. The gentle contact that would have once thrilled him felt increasingly like a turn of the screw.
He stiffly patted her shoulder. "Buck up, buttercup. If it's not this space, another one will come along."
But they both knew that Archer Cove was pretty much built-out and that commercial space was in short supply. He'd thought of opening his own place from time to time: a gym that would allow clients to visit him rather than making so many house calls. He could get better equipment and grow his client list, maybe even hire some staff. Try finding a space that made sense and was ready to go for that purpose, though. Nate didn't exactly relish the idea of a rehab, and the spots he'd seen in Great Barrington were...yeesh. Pricey.
Locals referred to this area of Archer Cove as the "downtown," which was flat-out wishful thinking. The area was quaint, with one- and two-story buildings occupied by small-town shops. The florist. The used bookstore. The art gallery. The specialty coffee roaster, the small general store and souvenir shop. In the summer, a constant stream of beachgoers kept the shops busy, but from what he'd heard from the proprietors, business was steady year-round. Dinardo's Deli sat on the corner of Yardley Avenue like a gatekeeper to the entire area. When real estate was all about location, location, location, this was a desirable spot.
As they peered through the dust-covered windows, Jessie bounced in place on her toes and said, "There's someone in there. I wonder if it's the real estate agent. Could be someone interested in renting."
The man she'd pointed to had a small silver mustache and was dressed for the golf course in khaki pants and a red-collared shirt. Not that Nate was one to judge, since he was dressed for sitting around on the couch. And Jessie may have been cake-splattered, but she still managed to look presentable. She always looked cute.
She knocked on the glass door and waited, bobbing nervously as the man approached and cracked the door.
"Yes, can I help you?" He was carrying a clipboard and everything.
"We were wondering if we could see the space? Are you the listing agent?"
"Yes, I just finished showing the place. I'm Dean."
"Jessie." They shook hands. "And this is Nate. My...driver."
He shot her a look as he shook hands with Dean. "You're the listing agent?"
"I am, and I have to warn you, I've had a lot of interest in this space."
Of course he had, Nate thought drily. No one ever sold anything by telling a potential buyer that no one else wanted it. But Jessie wrung her hands nervously as Dean op
ened the door.
Funny how old, familiar spaces look different when they're empty. He must've been to Dinardo's several hundred times, but with the space cleared out like this, he saw it anew. It was a corner space with large windows on two walls. There was a wall and a swinging door behind the counter that led to the kitchen, but all of that could easily be removed to create an open plan. The gray tile was tired-looking, chipped in the corners or cracked. He'd never noticed before, when there was inventory and furniture to distract from flaws.
Jessie must have had a similar thought because she said, "I could clear out the counters and displays, right?"
"You'll have a lot of flexibility with the interior," Dean said. "These fixtures are going to be removed before a tenant takes the space."
Jessie craned her neck as she walked around, studying the gray tiles and running her fingertips along the drywall. "It needs some work," Nate said. "More than fresh paint."
"The tenant is responsible for the interior," Dean replied.
"The ceiling needs to be patched and repainted," he said. "That water spot doesn't look good. It may need a new roof."
Jessie stopped in place to stare at the brownish spot on the ceiling. "The landlord will pay for that, right?"
"That may be old," Dean said. "But yes, exterior maintenance is the landlord's responsibility. That will be in the lease."
They walked through the kitchen. White tile, pretty good condition, except Dinardo's had tiled around their now-missing appliances, leaving square holes on the floor. "You'd have to retile," Nate said, though he didn't really have to.
Jessie groaned softly. "I have to retile this whole space? How much will that cost?"
"Depends who you talk to and what kind of tile you choose. I know a few people who could price out the job for you."
He was trying to be helpful — wasn't that why she'd brought him here? Her brow furrowed, and her lips did that little pouting thing they did when she was thinking about something. Adorable. "You could get a small business loan," he offered. "That could help you get established."
"Maybe." He could practically see her crunching the numbers right there. "Dean, what's the rent?"
He consulted his clipboard. Apparently it wasn't simply for show. "They're asking thirty dollars a square foot. That's annual. Plus utilities. And if property taxes increase, the tenant is responsible to pay the difference." He slipped the clipboard under his arm.
Was that what commercial properties in Archer Cove were going for these days? Nate glanced at Jessie. The blood had drained from her face. He cleared his throat. "Thirty dollars a square foot? You'll never rent this space for that much."
It was obvious that all the scoffing in the world wasn't going to move Dean, who shrugged and said, "It's not negotiable, I'm afraid."
Jessie looked up at Nate, her blue eyes enormous. And devastated. It hit him square in the gut. "Let's think about it, okay, Jess? I don't like those spots on the ceiling or that kitchen. That other place we looked at was much more reasonable."
He wrapped an arm lightly around her shoulders and attempted to lead her out the door. She shuffled along reluctantly. "What other space?" she said.
"You know, that other space," Nate said as he squeezed her upper arm, hoping she'd play along. He was trying to make himself useful here, damn it.
"Oh, right. That space." Jessie nodded. "That was great. Much less expensive, too," she added loudly.
Dean shrugged. "It sounds like you have your heart set on the other location." He shut the door behind them and locked it. "You'll keep me posted if you change your mind."
Nate managed to get Jessie across the road and out of earshot before she shrieked, "Thirty dollars a square foot? Is that even legal to charge that much?"
"Hey. Don't get discouraged. Some other space will open up. You just have to keep looking until it does. This is just the first try."
She nodded silently, and they walked to the car without talking. There was no need. He'd seen the look on her face, and he was racking his brain, trying to figure out how to make it better. If he could somehow fix this for her, then maybe she'd be happier. If he could ask around in Great Barrington, maybe one of his clients —
"It would've been so perfect." She swiped her fingers across her cheeks as they reached the car. "The kitchen was exactly right. But I guess it's just not meant to be."
They climbed into the blue Civic and continued down the road to Jessie's place in silence. When he pulled the car in front of her cottage, Jessie hesitated before exiting the car. "I shouldn't have made you drive me to look at a storefront. I'm not even ready to open my own place. Blame it on the mimosas."
"Those must have been some mimosas."
"I can't believe I just looked at a space like this. Look at me!" She covered her face with her hands. "My God. Does my breath smell like alcohol?"
She leaned across the console, her lips parted, her breath tickling his cheek. Nate swallowed and turned away. "It doesn't," he said.
It was the truth. She smelled like flowers, not booze.
"Thank goodness." She grabbed her bag and opened the door. "Thanks for the ride. Oh! Is that the dress?" She reached into the backseat and found a white zippered garment bag. "My maid of honor dress, for Wren's wedding. She must've put it in here after the shower. Anyway, I feel like I should give you a ride home. I mean, in a few hours."
"It's only a short walk." He handed her the keys. "Promise me you're staying here for a while."
"Promise."
Her smile stirred something inside of him. A warmth followed by a singe of frustration, because sometimes he wondered why he wasted his time thinking about the girl who was dating his best friend. He should reevaluate his life, too. Maybe move on from Jessie Mallory, once and for all.
Yeah, fat chance.
But on the walk home, wandering beside the pastel-colored picket fences, he thought about the run-down Dinardo space, and how if he could just knock down some of those walls, he'd be able to fit plenty of athletic equipment, and how the windows on the sides could be opened for ventilation. Yes, the space could be perfect for a gym. Not at that price, but prices could be negotiated. Even when someone said they couldn't.
The more he thought about it, the more his resolve strengthened. It was time for him to make some changes in his life, too. Time to do something to give him a chance to succeed, to show that he wasn't just some rudderless guy enjoying an extended adolescence. Jessie responded to success — look at how much she adored Quinn.
His pace quickened. Maybe he was a has-been in some ways. A former track star, a failed professional runner. But that didn't mean he couldn't really make something of himself. He needed some focus, that was all.
Jessie could be that focus. It was time for him to show her who he was. He opened up his cell phone and dialed the number for George Dinardo. When the call went to voicemail, he took a deep breath. "Mr. Dinardo? This is Nate Lancaster. I want to talk with you about that space you have for rent."
Chapter 3
T he cottage was small but cheerful, with three large windows that faced the ocean and wispy white curtains that billowed gently against any breeze that passed through. The furnishings were simple: her sitting area consisted of a sofa, an easy chair, and a small oval coffee table — none of which matched, giving the home a cozy, unpretentious feel. When she had someone over, Jessie pulled out the small table and chair set that were normally pushed against the wall. Otherwise, Jessie ate her meals while standing at the kitchen counter or reading on the couch. She didn't see the need to set a table for one. Most of the walls were painted beige, which really bummed her out because...beige. Who wanted to stare at beige walls? She'd asked Nate if she could paint them a tasteful shade of purple, and he'd nearly choked at the suggestion. If he saw a few samples, he might come around. In the meantime, she hoped he wouldn't go into the bathroom, which she'd painted a lovely periwinkle a few weeks ago on her day off. She had eight hundred square feet of living space.
She might as well have a little color.
She took a nap on the sofa and felt much better after that. Then she spent the afternoon tidying up. The weeks got so busy, and the cottage didn't have room enough to forgive clutter. She'd just finished when she glanced at the clock. Time to get ready.
Archer Cove was a little haven in Connecticut, nestled in close proximity to New York but feeling worlds away. In short, it was not the place in which one expected to find a high-powered law firm, but Emerson & Parker came pretty darn close to just that. With large offices in Boston, New York, and Washington, DC, Emerson & Parker was developing a strong regional presence, and rumor had it that the partnership had national ambitions. All of which only served to make Jessie's palms clammy as she thought about rubbing elbows with Quinn's colleagues and bosses that evening.
At least Jessie's cocktail dress still fit, even if it was a little more snug around the waist than she'd like. Her mother's voice rang in her ears: Thank heavens for small mercies. Her mother was always thanking heaven for something or other, which was weird since she'd always been a little vague about her actual religious beliefs.
The fabric of the dress was chartreuse and slightly elastic. She pulled at it and hoped the fibers would relax just a little to give her some breathing room. After a minute or so of progressively violent tugging, Jessie conceded defeat. Also, this shade of green had looked nicer on the mannequin. Hopefully it was the lighting.
"What do you think, Travis?" she said, glancing over her shoulder. "I'm taking risks with my wardrobe, and color is in this spring."
Now she was talking to herself again. That seemed to be the natural progression of things: live alone, toil in solitude, and end up talking to yourself a lot. "I get out sometimes, Travis. I just saw Nate. Quinn's friend. You know, the runner? I swear I'm not saying that to make you feel bad, poor thing. I know your feet are glued in place."
A Sweet Possibility (Archer Cove Series Book 2) Page 3
