by Drea Stein
He waited a beat, then reached out and touched a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. She had to remind herself that they were surrounded by people, that they were not alone.
“I am doing it, so you’ll go out with me. But I know you’d say no if I said that, so why don’t we just tell ourselves we’re striking a deal to make the town a better place.”
He dropped his hand and kept her gaze as her eyes opened in surprise. She wondered why it was so hard to accept that she had feelings for him.
“Okay,” she finally said, putting her misgivings firmly away in some other part of her, telling herself she would deal with them later, much later.
“All right then,” he said and smiled, a full on, patented Jake Owen grin that had all of her misgivings rushing back.
“Here’s your coffee, now give me back my sketch. You’ll probably want to get out of here today. Come back later or, better yet, tomorrow. It’s not pretty while it’s happening, but trust me, you’ll be amazed at the end result.”
“Thank you,” she said simply, then nodded and turned to go.
“Any time,” he said.
She went around the back and down the narrow alley that divided her shop from the other building. She could smell the aroma of coffee and croissants wafting toward her and sighed. She hadn’t seen Darby again and knew that she needed to make it right. At the very least she needed to get Darby on board with the sidewalk sale, but not today. Another thing she would just push away and decide not to deal with until later. She opened the door to the back and headed down the stairs, pulling on the light cord. The basement was a single long room, the whole length of the building. Harsh, bare bulbs illuminated just about every corner. This was her storage space and her workshop. There had been shelving here already, and she had picked up some cheap ones from the home supply store. She’d ruthlessly cleaned and purged, bringing a military-like organization to the place.
The chairs she had promised to redo for Jake were there. They were a good, solid set, but definitely needed cleaning, stripping, and refinishing. They had upholstered seats, the fabric faded and grungy. She had picked out new fabric, a classic red, gold, and creamy white striped pattern and was working on the cushions. She wasn’t an expert at upholstery but luckily, seat cushions weren’t that hard. Still, she stopped and looked toward the shelves. Jake had asked her about old postcards of Queensbay, and finding them seemed like it would be a nice gesture, considering the amount of help he was giving her. She was pretty certain she knew where they were, and with all the workers upstairs, she figured now was as good a time as any to go through things.
Plus she had a few things to box and send out through the mail, the result of successful online auctions. Thank goodness Phil had set that up. Between that, her bartending, and her savings, Colleen’s money situation was slightly better than she could have forecast. At the end of the day, she wasn’t too worried about the bill Jake would hand her, and she would make sure she paid him promptly.
She had been surprised to see the sketch, but then realized she shouldn’t have been. He had been a good artist back in school, especially if he was sketching something real. No, the football player with the talent for pencil and paper hadn’t been creating underground comics. He had just enjoyed sketching things. Buildings mostly, now that she remembered. It was a shock to see his work around town. She realized that half of the houses and buildings in town had been fixed up and rejuvenated by his company. He was part and parcel of Queensbay. She listened to the sound of music, saws, and voices of the men working. Phil’s legacy to her was in good hands with Jake. She knew she’d made the right decision hiring him. The least she could do was to find him some old postcards.
She found some old shoeboxes and began pulling them off the shelves. Postcards, chairs, and then later on, she would go down and see someone at town hall about the sidewalk sale. The day pleasantly mapped out, she smiled and got to work.
Chapter 15
“I was thinking that it could be something like this,” April Worthington said, pulling a glossy picture book with pages marked by sticky tabs toward them.
He nodded, though he wasn’t really paying attention. April was a lovely woman, probably in her early fifties, and he was renovating a house for her and her husband. April was sweet and could bake morning glory muffins like nobody’s business, but on her best of days, she was a little scattered when deciding what she wanted. This had led to him redoing several days’ worth of work. Usually he didn’t mind because April’s husband adored her and pretty much gave her a blank check to do as she wished, but Kevin had finally cried uncle and told Jake that he and April needed to finalize their plans and stick to them.
“I just love how she did the living room. I was thinking we could do something like that in here.”
“You know I’m not a designer, Mrs. Worthington. I am just the builder.”
“You give yourself too little credit. I saw what you did for Adrianna Biddle and the Schumachers. Those plans were just lovely.”
He looked down at the picture in the book. It was a nice room, showing both restraint and taste, a bit grand, but April’s new house was designed to be a bit grand. Kevin had just been promoted to CEO, and he and April wanted someplace where they could “entertain” clients and friends alike.
“I can do the built-ins and the moldings, but I suggest you call in a decorator for the rest,” he said, resisting the urge to sigh.
It was a beautiful day outside, and he had several job sites to check out. Not to mention he’d managed to get a meeting with Agnes Sampson to discuss the future of the Showhouse. He was eager to keep moving forward on that project and his head was filled with ideas he wanted to put to paper.
“I love her work. Her blog is amazing, and the book, the pictures are just gorgeous. You know she grew up around here. You didn’t know her, did you?” April asked and helpfully flipped the book over and showed him the back cover.
He sighed again. It was a photo of Colleen McShane standing on a cobblestoned street with a row of shops behind her. She was dressed in jeans, boots, and a short jacket, a colorful scarf arranged stylishly around her neck. She looked beautiful, glamourous, like she had the world at her fingertips.
He didn’t really need to look at the back cover or any of the pictures in the book because he had his own copy. He had stopped reading the blog a while ago because it was torture. The same masochistic feeling had led him to buy the book, which he had read through, memorized, and buried on his bookshelf behind Tom Clancy and Principles of Construction Management.
“We went to school together. Not the same grade though,” he added, as if that made a difference.
April put her chin on one hand, her voice dreamy. “I hear she’s opening up a shop, right here in town. Said so on her blog. I can’t wait.”
He looked up, inspiration hitting him in a moment.
“She is. I’m her contractor.”
April’s mouth dropped, and she actually squealed as she hit him on the arm.
“Can I meet her, could you arrange that?” she said, sounding like a tween fan girl.
He nodded, looking like he was considering it and judging how hard it would be. “I think she said she’d be interested in taking on some design clients. How about I tell her to give you a call, and maybe the two of you can work something out.”
“That would be amazing,” April said, drawing the last word out.
This referral would be another mark in his favor if he could help Colleen get her business off the ground. April was loyal if nothing else. If she and Colleen hit it off, April would give credit where credit was due, and Colleen would have her fill of business, and he’d be off the hook with Kevin. Jake would be able to do what he was best at, which was building, not deciding on which style of couch looked best in the family room. It promised to be a win-win for everyone concerned.
Chapter 16
The beautiful spring day seemed full of promise and anticipation. Sun bright
, sky blue, clouds puffy and white. Jake felt both keenly. Colleen’s project was proceeding nicely, and on schedule. He’d solved the problem of April Worthington, and her cost overruns, and today he was going to sweet talk Mrs. Agnes Sampson, head of the historic commission, president of the Maritime Center and all around de facto ruler of Queensbay. It was too bad she scared the piss out of him.
Maybe scared was overstating it, but she had been his first grade teacher, in fact just about everyone in town’s first grade teacher until she had retired and been appointed to run the historical society and the Maritime Center. She was also on the town council, but who was counting? None of the jobs paid, but Agnes Sampson did wield an unholy amount of power among anyone who wanted to build, buy, or change any sort of structure in town. She ruled the town with the same firm hand she’d run her classroom.
Jake had set his sights on just about the biggest, most iconic building in all of Queensbay. Sweet talking wouldn’t even begin to cover what he wanted to do. He’d be lucky if he could keep the outside as a shell. Renovating the Showhouse was a huge job, and he was crazy for wanting to take it on.
Jax agreed, but was too good a friend to tell him no. He felt the anticipation, readied for it, welcomed it because he knew he’d use it to his advantage. He took one last look in the mirror, decided he couldn’t do any better and grabbed his jacket and his portfolio filled with sketches and designs and headed out into the morning. He got out onto the boardwalk, took a deep breath, drawing in the sun and salt air. He looked out across the harbor at the Showhouse.
It leaned tipsily, like it wanted to slide into the harbor. What if it did? He had no idea about the condition of the place, not really. He knew that the floorboards could support approximately four hundred pounds of weight, which was about what he and Jackson were combined. He knew that while birds got in and out, he hadn’t seen that much water or wind damage. The whole place was like some great pile of dreams, and it had been his to do something with it for as long as he could remember.
He was at the point in his life where he was able to indulge in dreaming again. He’d worked hard to build a successful business, and now it was time to take a risk, to see if he couldn’t make a leap forward. He tapped his notebook with his sketches, like it was a talisman. He could sweet talk all he wanted, but he firmly believed that pictures were a lot more powerful than words. He started the walk toward the Maritime Center, which was in an old warehouse along the docks. A community center had grown up around it, with a small park with a fountain and benches where people could enjoy some ice cream and watch the sea birds.
He opened the big glass doors to the Maritime Center, which was dedicated to the history of Queensbay from its beginnings as a small settler trading post, to its history in the whaling and shipbuilding trade, then its transition to commercial fishing town, and finally to its heyday as a summer place for robber barons and artists. The historical map skipped over the declining fortunes during the last century and finished with a relatively optimistic view of current prospects for the town as a shopping and foodie destination. And, a great place to live, he reminded himself, that would need high-end apartment buildings with boat slips.
He saw Mrs. Sampson, her white hair creating a sort of halo around her head, as she stood near the glass case in the center of the floor that held a small-scale replica of how the village had looked two hundred years ago. He stopped.
Colleen was talking to Mrs. Sampson. He swallowed, couldn’t help but take a good look at her. She was wearing one of her dresses, the gauzy, flowy kind that managed to both cling to her body and flare away, reminding him of a movie star. Not Audrey Hepburn, no, more like a Grace Kelly. He suspected that image might just visit him again tonight. He hadn’t expected to see her, and he didn’t want to think that was throwing him off of his stride.
If Colleen saw him, she didn’t acknowledge his presence. The sun was coming in from the skylight, and it bathed her in a soft warm light. Her lips were red, cherry bowed and puckered in concentration as she and Mrs. Sampson looked over something together. He caught snatches of conversation, things like “great for the community … a unique event. I have some other support …” and figured that Colleen was doing her own version of sweet talking. He decided not to interrupt her but started to do a slow circuit of the building, pretending to take an intense interest in the pictures and the facts listed on the walls. He looked for photos with the Showhouse, and, as luck would have it, that placed him directly in Colleen’s line of view. He knew the moment she noticed him, because her voice trailed off, paused before she started again. He smiled, liked knowing that the sight of him was as much a distraction for her as it was for him.
Colleen tried to concentrate, but it was almost impossible with Jake lurking there. She was close to getting Agnes Sampson to bless her plan for the sidewalk sale. Sure, there would be some permits to get, but all that would be easier once everyone knew Agnes was on board. Jake was in the Maritime Center now, and she couldn’t help but notice him because that bastard had put himself directly in the line of her sight. He smiled and winked at her, behind Agnes’ back. For once she could see that he wasn’t wearing his khaki pants and polo shirt and work boots. In fact, Jake Owen was in a suit, a charcoal gray one that fit him so perfectly he must have had it custom tailored. In it his shoulders looked even broader and more powerful, his whole presence that much more commanding.
Colleen snapped her attention back to what Agnes was saying. They had bonded over Paris where it turned out Agnes and Arnie, her husband of over fifty years, had gone for their thirtieth anniversary. She had brought some lavender-scented soap, triple milled, as a small present and now they were talking about the Moulin Rouge and the can-can, which apparently caused Agnes to blush with some memories. She was pretty certain she was about to seal the deal when Agnes turned sharply. For a seventy year old, the woman had the hearing of a bat.
“Jake Owen, stop lurking in the shadows,” she demanded. “Have you taken a look at that gazebo in the park yet? We’re almost at the summer season, and the thing is falling down. You told the mayor you wouldn’t charge us for it, but that doesn’t mean you can take your own sweet time doing.”
Jake stepped forward into the light. His blue eyes danced as they lit briefly on her face, and she had to force herself not to turn away, even though his gaze had the predictable reaction on her traitorous body.
“Are you looking for my niece’s number? Seems to me she mentioned you hadn’t called her back after you took her out for dinner,” Agnes said, her voice tart.
Jake rocked back on his heels, and Colleen tried to look like she didn’t care at the mention of another woman in Jake’s life.
“This boy has quite the reputation as a ladies’ man around town and, to tell you the truth, I’ve never seen him with the same one twice,” Agnes said to Colleen, shaking her head.
Jake looked like he was about to protest, but before he could, Colleen urged Mrs. Sampson to go on. Maybe some uncomfortable truths about Jake would be just what she needed to get him out of her mind.
“Nieces, little sisters, this man has left a trail of broken hearts all over town. Someday it will come back to you, Jake Owen, when you meet the girl who won’t give you the time of day.”
“Trust me,” Jake said, his eyes drifting to Colleen, holding them. “That day seems to come every morning.”
Agnes glanced between the two of them as if she was trying to catch them doing something they shouldn’t, but Colleen kept her expression serene and didn’t meet Jake’s gaze.
Agnes snorted and shook her head and said, “I know we had an appointment, Jake, but you just go on over there while I finish up here with Colleen.”
Colleen glanced at her watch. Convincing Agnes had taken much longer than she anticipated, and she was going to have to rush to pick up Adele on time.
“That’s okay,” Colleen said. “I really must be going. But I do hope …”
Agnes interrupted her: “Seems like
a good idea if you can pull it off. You have my blessing if that’s what you’re looking for. You’ll have to head to town hall to get the permits set up and convince the rest of the shop owners that it’s a good idea, but see what you can make of it.”
“Thank you,” Colleen said, her voice full of relief and warmth. Before Agnes could rethink things, she gathered up her papers and started toward the door. Jake was holding the door for her, and she had to brush past him to find her way out.
“Wish me luck,” he said quietly.
“Maybe you should have just called her niece back,” Colleen said in the same lowered tone. She popped out into the sunshine, and chided herself for her comment but she hadn’t been able to resist. Jake needed to know she wasn’t just going to be another one in his string of conquests.
Chapter 17
Colleen stepped gingerly on the brown paper covering the refinished floors of the shop. She stopped, bent down, and pulled up a corner and nearly wept at the beauty of it. The wood gleamed, a lustrous, dark mahogany. It would be a bright, crisp contrast to the perfect shade of white she had selected for the walls.
After looking at countless swatches and asking for endless opinions from Lydia and Ellie, she had settled on what she thought of as the perfect shade of white. Not a bright, bold white, but something creamy that reminded her of rich French vanilla ice cream. Already the walls had one coat and they glowed softly in the light that filtered in from the still papered-over windows.
The shelf unit and countertop Jake had promised her was just about done. The wood was still raw, so she figured that it just needed sanding and painting. One more coat of paint on the walls, she estimated, and the shop would be finished. She would finally have her store. She turned around slowly, taking it all in.
She tried to remember how it had looked when she first opened the door after it had been sitting, alone and unloved for weeks. The store had been dusty, musty, and dark; the shelves stuffed to the rafters, and so crowded you could barely thread your way through the store without knocking something over. She’d been certain she’d heard the scurry of rodent feet. The exterminator had been her first call, and then when she had reopened the door a few days later and looked through the papers Phil had left her, the reality of the opportunity finally struck home. Here was the answer she needed, the chance to change the course of her life.
