Second Time Around (29 page)

H
ey, there, little lady. Which way to the weight room?”

Brooke glanced up from the paint cans stacked in a neat pyramid in the foyer of Paradise Found and threw Jamie a puzzled smile. “What are you talking about?”

“Your biceps.” Jamie had draped herself across the brand-new living room sofa, which was still encased in thick swaths of plastic packaging. “You look like you could twist a crowbar into a pretzel.”

Brooke began to unstack the cans, searching for the ceiling paint. “Well, who needs the gym when you have an endless
source of backbreaking manual labor right under your own roof?”

“Not for long. You’re almost done, right?” Jamie reverted to wedding planner mode. “You have to be almost done. We have wedding guests checking in next weekend.”

“It’s purgatory; I’ll never be done. But don’t fret; the wiring, bathroom, and porch issues are finally squared away.” Brooke ticked off her to-do list on her fingers. “Now I just have to repaint the bathrooms and contend with all the linens, the furniture, and of course, the dozens of frilly freaking throw pillows I just
had
to have.”

“Somebody’s bitter,” Anna trilled from the top of the stairs. “What hath Home Depot wrought?”

Jamie grinned up at Anna, who had descended to the landing, and then resumed tormenting Brooke: “So I take it you’re no longer planning to take up quilting and hand-stitch a bedspread for every guest room?”

“Who has time for quilting?” Brooke glanced out the window at the heavy gray clouds amassing above the tree line. The first snowfall of the season was forecast for tonight. “I’m going to be spending all my time shoveling the sidewalk and clearing ice off the roof. And then, when spring rolls around, the grass is going to start growing again. Along with the weeds and the bushes and the tree branches. The deer are devouring the dormant flower beds already. Who’s going to do all the landscaping? I can’t afford to hire a gardener.”

“You’ll be making more money by the end of the winter,” Anna said in a tone of hope rather than certainty.

“Ha.” Brooke finally located the paint she needed at the very bottom of the pile. “I’ve already burned through most of my inheritance just buying this place and trying to get it
open for business. Come April, I’m going to be forced to embark on a long and wretchedly dysfunctional partnership with John Deere.”

“Wait,” Jamie said. “Don’t you get massive allergy attacks in the spring?”

“
Yes!
” Brooke cried, wondering if she could claim Claritin as a tax deduction.

“Will you stop baiting her?” Anna admonished Jamie.

“Oh, relax. I’m going to help her paint as soon as I finish my pedicure.” Jamie shook up a bottle of dark red nail polish and propped her bare feet on the coffee table in preparation.

Brooke gasped in horror. “No!”

Anna and Jamie both froze and stared at her with huge, startled eyes.

“No nail polish allowed in the living room,” Brooke decreed. “And no feet on the coffee table.”

“Are you kidding me? The couch is still covered in plastic.”

Brooke didn’t argue. She simply extended her hand and waited for Jamie to hand over the bottle.

“I thought you wanted to make people feel at home,” Jamie grumbled as she relinquished the nail polish.

“Not ‘people,’ darling—strangers. I want to make this a warm and cozy haven for strangers passing through. Close friends, on the other hand, must adhere to my draconian set of house rules.”

“All those paint fumes have finally driven you over the edge. Next thing we know, you’ll be forbidding us from making s’mores in the fireplace.”

Brooke shuddered. “Perish the thought. I just had the carpets cleaned. Oh, and as long as we’re talking housekeeping,
I should give you fair warning that you’re going to have to vacate your rooms before next weekend. I need every available bed for paying guests.”

“We’ll pay,” Anna offered. “You can charge us double our usual weekly rate.”

“Too late. I’m already booked up.”

“Then where are we supposed to sleep?” Jamie asked.

“One of you can bunk in my room with me,” Brooke said. “The other two have a choice: basement or attic. We can set up cots.”

“Cots in the basement.” Jamie shook her head. “That is so Dickensian.”

“Dibs on Brooke’s room,” Anna said. “You and Cait will have to huddle up near the furnace with your coal-smudged cheeks and your bowls of gruel.”

“Where is Cait, anyway?” Brooke asked. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

“Me, neither.” Jamie made a grab to reclaim her bottle of nail polish, but missed.

“You haven’t heard?” Anna said. “Cait’s in Florida. With Gavin.”

Jamie did a double take. “What the hell?”

“That’s exactly what I said. She told me she’d be back Monday and hung up before I could ask any more questions.” Anna patted Jamie’s platinum hair. “I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it during your sleepover in the basement.”

“I’m the wedding planner,” Jamie crossed her arms under her substantial bosom. “No way am I bunking in the basement.”

“Throw yourself on the mercy of the bride,” Anna suggested. “Maybe she can hook you up with a guest room at the president’s house.”

“It’s the least President Tait can do,” Brooke agreed. “After all, you are coordinating the happiest day of his life.” She broke off when she saw Jamie’s lips go white. “What is that face about?”

Before Jamie could reply, Anna’s Counting Crows ringtone blared through the room. Anna dug the phone out of her pocket, muttered, “Here we go again,” and then answered with artificial cheeriness. “Hi, honey, how are you? … I thought you said you’d be staying there for at least another month. … Oh really? What happened?”

Brooke started backing out of the room to allow Anna some privacy, but Anna stopped her with a stern look.

“Well, I can’t go anywhere right now, because I’ve committed myself to an important long-term project.” Anna remained outwardly blasé, but Brooke knew from experience that this was a warning sign. “I’m baking for two now. … It’s a long story, but I’ll be here at least through the holidays. … We’ll see. Maybe I can make it back to Albany for a day or two, but I’ll have to check my schedule.” She ended the call abruptly and put away the phone.

Jamie and Brooke waited. Anna ignored them.

Finally, Brooke couldn’t stand it any longer. “Mr. Move-In Condition resurfaces?”

“His business trip was cut short,” Anna said. “He’s coming back to the States next week.” She shrugged. “Nothing juicy.”

“You know, it’s okay to express an emotion now and then,” Jamie said. “We won’t hold it against you. Unless, of course, you get nail polish on the couch.”

“What’s to get emotional about?” Anna sat down on the sofa and tucked her feet underneath her. “The man expects me to drop everything and pick him up at the airport and make everything at home all cozy for him. He thinks we’re
going to just pick up where we left off, like nothing happened. First he wanted me to, quote, ‘distract’ myself from all the infertility insanity with my, quote, ‘hobby,’ which I did, and now he wants me to come trotting dutifully back home. Well. I don’t think so.”

“So what are you going to do?” Brooke asked.

“I’m going to keep baking and helping Trish and waiting for the Bug to be born safe and sound.”

“No, I mean about Jonas.”

Anna tapped her fingers on the cherry wood console table flanking the sofa. “Let him eat cake.” She started sorting through the day’s mail, which was strewn across the table, and plucked out a magazine. “Who is this for?”

“Me!” Brooke snatched up the periodical. “Oh goody, now I’ve got something to read in the bathtub tonight.”

“Is this for real?” Jamie peered over the couch. “I can’t believe it. Up is down and black is white. Brooke Asplind subscribes to
Popular Mechanics
?”

“So?” Brooke scanned the list of feature stories on the magazine’s cover. “It’s cheaper than paying full price at the bookstore. Don’t look so shocked. I
am
a product of one of the finest liberal arts schools in the country, you know. So well rounded.” She grabbed the gallon of ceiling paint and started back toward the hallway. “Time to get back to work. Oh, and Jame—got your tickets?”

“For what?”

Brooke pushed up her shirtsleeve, lifted the paint can, and flexed for all she was worth. “For the gun show, baby.”

W
hen the doorbell rang just before dinner, Brooke assumed the furniture warehouse deliverymen had
arrived with the new bedroom sets. She took a final swipe at the ceiling with her paint roller and yelled, “I’ll get it.”

She didn’t even glance in the hallway mirror before she opened the door, but she knew her face was covered in perspiration and paint, and the earbuds dangling around her neck were blasting Duran Duran. She was completely unprepared to come face-to-face with the hot guy from the hardware store.

Everett stood under the porch light, holding a red metal toolbox in one hand and what appeared to be a folded strap of blue leather in the other. He was bundled up in a green wool coat, and he looked rangy and handsome and acutely self-conscious. His thick, unruly hair had gotten slightly shaggy since she’d last seen him, and his broad shoulders were dusted with the flurry of snow starting to come down.

For a moment Brooke stood motionless with her hand clamped around the antique cut-crystal doorknob. Faint refrains of “Rio” drifted into the still night air.

“Hi.” He wiped his feet on the welcome mat and cleared his throat. “I came to help you run your wiring.”

“Oh.” Brooke’s breath emerged in wispy white puffs. A blast of Arctic wind chilled the sweat on her face and back. As her mp3 player segued from “Rio” to “Hungry Like the Wolf,” she turned off the music and addressed him with a detached cordiality that would do Anna proud. “I must say, this is very unexpected.”

“I know.” He flinched at her tone but held his ground. “I’m sorry about what happened last time you were in the store.”

“Don’t give it a second thought.” She kept the smile fixed on her lips, but her voice was now chillier than the falling snow. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He reached out and braced one hand against the doorjamb. “I wanted to call you. I should have.”

“Hmm.” Brooke glanced away, determined to harden her heart and ignore the hopeful, pleading look in his eyes. “Well, I appreciate your making the trip over here to clear that up.” She brushed her palms against the hem of her paint-spattered Thurwell T-shirt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Wait. I know I’m late getting into the game here, and you have every right to be angry.”

“I’m not angry, exactly.” She sighed and let the door swing open another few inches. “Everett, what are you doing here? Why now?”

“I’m ready to make up for lost time. I want to help you with your wiring project.”

She nodded toward his shiny metal toolbox. “Is that new?”

“This?” He ducked his head. “No, I’ve had it for years.”

She noticed a price tag still stuck to the bottom corner of the metal container but didn’t comment.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He handed her the folded strip of leather. “This is for you.”

She accepted his offering with some misgivings, then unfolded it to discover a streamlined baby blue tool belt scaled to fit a woman’s waist. “I never thought I’d use this word in reference to hardware accessories, but this is fabulous! I had no idea they made these.”

“I special-ordered it.” Perhaps it was a trick of the light on the porch, but it almost looked like Everett was
blushing
beneath his five o’clock shadow. “Most of the ones we stock in the store looked way too big for you.”

“And the color!” She couldn’t help gushing a little. “It’s so girly. I love it!”

“I picked blue because it matches your eyes.” No doubt about it—he was definitely blushing.

Brooke felt the last of her reserve melt away. “That is so
nice
.”

“Close the door!” Jamie hollered from somewhere down the hall. “It’s freezing out there!”

“Won’t you come in?” Brooke smoothed her hair and stepped back from the threshold. “I apologize, I’m not dressed for company.”

“You look great. You also look like you’re right in the middle of something, so I won’t hold you up. Just set me up with the wiring cable and I’ll take it from there.”

“Well, actually, I’ve already finished replacing all the wiring. But the insurance inspector is coming back on Friday, and there are a bunch of last-minute projects I’m trying to jam in. If you could replace the old outlet in the powder room with a GFCI outlet, I’d be eternally grateful.”

He paused. “You’re finished with all the knob-and-tube wiring replacement already? That was quick.”

“Yep. You get off easy with a GFCI.”

“Great.” He threw back his shoulders. “No problem.”

“Oh, but I should warn you: Be careful not to tear the gasket. Some of the upstairs outlets gave me a devil of a time.”

“Roger that. Watch out for the gaskets.”

“Oh, and Everett, I know this is appallingly rude, but may I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

She bit her bottom lip. “How old are you?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Twenty-eight.”

“Well?” She waited. “Aren’t you going to ask me the same question?”

He laughed. “Just give me your word that you’re over twenty-one and I won’t check your ID.”

“Handsome
and
tactful. A devastating combination.” She looked at him. He looked at her. “Isn’t there anything you want to know about me?”

“I want to know everything about you. But first”—he took off his coat and hoisted up his toolbox—“I’ve got to make the acquaintance of your electrical system.”

D
o you smell that?” Anna put down her book on Civil War cooking and wrinkled her nose at Brooke. “Is something burning?”

Brooke sniffed, but all she could smell was paint fumes. “I told Jamie thousands of times not to smoke in the house. If she gets ash on my clean carpets—”