Serendipity (4 page)

“Of course I meant it.”

“Then can I tell you something that I mean in the nicest possible way? With complete love and admiration for my best friend in the whole world?”

Faith's stomach rolled at the prelude. “Umm, sure. What is it?”

“You could start by fitting in more.”

She narrowed her gaze. “I don't understand.”

Kate plucked at the sleeve of Faith's suit jacket. “Ditch the Chanel.” She fingered the chunky pearls around Faith's neck. “And the bling. And the heels, unless we're going out at night to somewhere nice. Not Joe's. I'm sorry,” she said quickly.

“Don't be.” Faith closed her eyes and shook her head. “The clothes belonged to Faith Moreland.”

“I know. Faith Harrington preferred—”

“Her cheerleading uniform?” She tried for a laugh.

Kate wasn't buying. “No. Funky jeans. Denim jackets. Anything she could get past her mother and still like for herself.”

Faith swallowed hard. “I lost myself somewhere,” she admitted.

“But you came back to find her. You told me as much. Otherwise I wouldn't have said anything, but I know this isn't
you
.”

Kate was right. Faith couldn't expect anyone in town to welcome her if she was presenting herself as someone above them. Someone who thought they were better than the average person. Someone who still lived in the house on the hill.

“Are you mad?” Kate asked.

“Not at you.” Faith pulled her friend into a long hug. She was mad at Faith, the girl she used to be, for allowing herself to change, to become someone she didn't recognize and no longer liked.

She'd told herself she was coming back to Serendipity to find herself. Apparently she'd have to dig deeper than she'd ever imagined.

 

 

Ethan sat down at his desk, one of the few pieces of furniture he'd purchased and moved into the house right away. That and a bed.
Shows where my priorities lie,
he thought wryly. He liked the dark wood paneling in this room. Besides, it was the only place in the house without oppressive ornate wallpaper crowding him and making him uncomfortable.

He kicked off his shoes and prepared to look over the government paperwork for upcoming contracts, but he couldn't concentrate on business. Couldn't see the papers in front of his face. Couldn't think or visualize anything except Faith Harrington.

She hadn't been dressed for summer, no visible skin or body parts for him to drool over, and yet he'd been drawn to her in so many ways he couldn't begin to count them all. Their brief shared past. The road not taken if she'd just said yes all those years ago. Her unexpected wit. The brief glimpses of a sadness he could relate to. And the sexual attraction that had only grown stronger over time.

Then there was the fact that he was sitting here in her old family home, which was now his empty house. He'd bought the place expecting to feel a strong sense of satisfaction when he'd moved in here. Bad boy made good or some such cliché. Instead, he'd discovered he owned an echoing mansion.

Reminding himself he'd come here for family, he thought about approaching his brothers again. Nash, a lawyer, had purchased a town house on the edge of town; and Dare, a cop, was living with Nash until he finished renovations on an old house he'd bought and was working on in his spare time. His brothers were close; he was the outsider.

Self-imposed and self-created, he knew. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone and called Nash at the office—Ethan didn't have his home number and it was unlisted. He hoped they could meet somewhere on neutral ground. Dinner, maybe.

Luckily, his brother answered the phone himself. “Nash Barron speaking.”

Ethan cleared his throat. “Nash, it's Ethan.”

“Not interested,” his brother said, ice in his voice.

Ethan gripped the phone harder. “Just give me a chance . . .”

“You had yours ten years ago,” Nash said, and hung up in his ear.

Ethan winced. No way was he calling Dare right now. Maybe tomorrow, when the rejection wasn't as fresh. He balled up a sheet of paper with old useless notes and tossed it into the trash across from the desk.

He missed.

“Make sure you pick up after yourself,” his housekeeper said, poking her head into the room.

The woman had eyes everywhere.

“And Mr. Ethan, didn't I tell you to take your shoes off before you come into the house?”

If any of his other employees had spoken to him that way, Ethan would have fired them on the spot. But something about the older woman amused instead of insulted him, and he actually looked forward to their verbal sparring.

“Are you sure you work for me and not the other way around?” he asked her.

She stepped into the office, duster in hand, and began cleaning the mostly empty bookshelves.

“I tol' you. I have to work here. I need the money and you need me. But that doesn't mean I have to like you.”

“So you've said.” He shrugged, not surprised by her bluntness.

They'd made an agreement on day one. She'd keep his house clean and he'd pay her for her services. She intended to speak her mind, and no, he could not dock her pay when she did.

“I'll win you over yet, Rosalita.”

She mumbled something in Spanish, and then, “When hell freezes over, Mr. Ethan. You a bad boy.”

“Was a bad boy,” he reminded her for the umpteenth time.

“When are you going to have furniture in this house?” she asked. “Just so many times I can clean the floors and dust.”

“There's laundry and food shopping too,” he reminded her, not wanting her to grow too complacent.

But she had a point. If he was going to make this place home, it needed to be furnished. Actually it needed to be decorated so the house reflected his taste. Not an empty shell of what the landmark used to be.

I'll be opening an interior design business in town,
Faith had told him. He needed an interior designer and maybe a connection to someone who didn't hate him quite so much. It seemed that all roads took him back to Faith Harrington.

Luck?

Good fortune?

Serendipity,
he thought, shaking his head.

Of course he had no idea if she'd agree to take him on as a client. But at least now he had a legitimate excuse to see her again that had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with necessity.

Or so he needed to believe.

Living over a bar wasn't conducive to a good night's sleep, and Faith woke up exhausted. Thanks to the music playing, she hadn't fallen asleep until after 1:00 A.M., but when choosing an apartment, she hadn't had many alternatives. Her only other viable choice would have been moving into her mother's house, and even the noisy bar was preferable to that. If she could get used to the constant honking of car horns and police sirens in New York City, she could readjust and learn to sleep over the sounds of Joe's Bar.

After a quick shower, she looked into her closet so she could decide what to wear for the day and found herself surrounded by silk blouses and camisoles, designer-emblazoned jeans, shorts, and skirts, along with high-heeled shoes, most with the telltale red bottoms of Christian Louboutin. She had enough of those expensive babies to make Carrie Bradshaw proud.

But not Faith Harrington.

Not anymore.

She'd grown up with wealthy parents and she hadn't wanted for anything from basic necessities to frivolous things she just plain desired. Back in high school she'd dressed like a typical teen, wanting to fit in with her friends. In college, she'd begun to carve out her own style, finding her likes and dislikes. Then she'd met Carter. He'd been a dominating presence and she'd let him lead her, succumbing to his not-so-subtle suggestions on how she should dress and behave as the wife of a powerhouse New York City attorney. She'd been drawn back into dressing to please others. Of course it helped that she'd had her father's beaming approval as well. And since her college friends had either gone on to graduate school or work, something Carter insisted she didn't need to do, she'd lost touch with people her own age she liked and really enjoyed.

It wasn't until after her divorce, when she'd had to decide what to do with her life, that she discovered Faith Moreland had no skills, no likes or dislikes, apart from her husband's. And it had taken Kate's prodding for her to face the harder truth. Her divorce wasn't enough to change who she'd become. Neither was her desire to open her own interior design business. Faith had more work to do. Not just from the inside out but also from the outside in.

Her new business needed clients and Faith needed friends. To acquire either, she had to be approachable. Beginning with how she presented herself. It was embarrassing to admit she had a closet full of clothes she wore but didn't like. Clothes that put people off and said
I'm better than you
. Faith might still be figuring out the deeper aspects of who
she
was, but Kate was right. These clothes weren't her.

And Faith resented them just like she resented herself for getting caught up in the charade.

She still had boxes in the corner of the living room left over from the move and she pulled one out now and began placing items of clothing inside. Overly elegant gowns, day dresses she'd never have use for here, the silkier blouses she used to hate when her mom wore them, all went into a box.

As she sorted through her closet, Faith came to another painful realization. Her clothes both emulated and represented what she'd always disdained in her own mother—the useless country club lifestyle that killed time and probably brain cells. Determined to put that life behind her, Faith placed a select few things into a shopping bag that she could carry with her, and when she was finished, she headed out the door.

Consign or Design was a quaint shop on a side street behind Main with only two other stores in the strip, one a bakery, the other one empty.

Faith stepped inside and the sound of bells welcomed her as did the décor. Minimalist and simple, mint green walls surrounded her along with hardwood floor and racks of clothing for sale.

“I'll be right out,” a female voice called.

“Take your time!” Faith continued to browse, noting that the farther back into the shop she walked, the more unique the clothing and the more individual the pieces on display.

“Can I help you?” A woman stepped out of the back of the store, a tiny Yorkshire terrier puppy at her heels.

Drawn by the tiny animal, Faith bent down to pet the top of the dog's head. “He's adorable!”

“Thank you.”

Faith rose, glancing at the other woman for the first time. She was a redhead, not a natural one, judging by the vibrant color, and her clothes were funky and pure fun. A denim vest with distinct emblems sewn on over a white tank top and ruffled skirt.

Faith realized she was staring and cleared her throat. “I have some clothes here. I wanted to know whether you could sell these items for me. There's plenty more where these came from. I just thought I'd start with the few I could carry.”

The other woman's eyes lit up. “Let's see what you've got.” She took the bag and walked to the counter, laying out Faith's pieces to view. “Ohh, look at this Chanel!” She eyed the jacket Faith had worn the day she'd run into Ethan.

“What do you think?” Faith asked hopefully. If she was going to shop for new clothes, even less expensive ones, she hoped she could defray the cost by unloading what she already owned. “Is there a market for these kinds of things?”

The woman shook her head. “Not here, honey. I'd have to put these up on the Internet. I'd get you a better price there. Around here those who can afford designer clothes wouldn't be caught dead in someone else's. Even items as gently worn as these. And my regular customers need their money for more important things like paying the rent or the mortgage.”

Faith eyed the other woman warily, unsure if she was being patronized, but decided to take her words at face value. They were true, after all. “Internet is fine.”

“Good. If it would make it easier for you, I can drive around back of Joe's after work and help you load things into my trunk.”

Faith raised an eyebrow in surprise at the offer. “So you know who I am?” The redhead hadn't given her a clue.

“And you know me.” She smiled warmly. “I'm April Mancini. I wanted to see if you realized it on your own, but it's been a long time and I had a head's up: I'd heard you were back in town.”

As soon as she said her name, Faith's memory clicked in. “Nick's older sister!” April was four years older than Nick and she'd had long dark hair the last time Faith had seen her.

“That's me. Now give me a hug, will you?” April pulled Faith into an embrace that made her feel welcome by someone other than Kate for the first time since her return. Not even her own mother had been as happy to see her as Nick's sister.

Faith swallowed over the lump in her throat as she pulled back and studied the other woman. “I love your hair! The color is so rich and vibrant.”

“Thank you!” April made a show of primping her style. “I love change, so I experiment as the mood suits me. Today it's red.”

“Well, I think you should keep it. It definitely flatters your coloring. So, this place is yours?” Faith gestured around Consign or Design.

April nodded. “The consign part is so I can make money while I indulge my real love of design.”

“Did you design these?” Faith pointed to the more unique pieces of clothing she'd admired earlier.