Yes, even a small-town guy from Connecticut knew about Greenwich Village, and finding out that’s where she came from was no surprise.
“I love the city but now that Aunt Margaret’s gone and this house is mine, I can finally open my spa. So you see, I can’t possibly sell it.”
Right. And he now had way too much information. Never mind that the people of Collingwood Station would look down their aristocratic noses at someone doing natural makeovers. She could always sell the place and go back to the city after this crazy business scheme failed. “So, about the renovations. Do you just want the interior refinished? What about the roof and the wiring?”
The look she gave him was wide-eyed and innocent. “Since you’re a former student of Aunt Margaret’s, I’m sure I can trust you. If she thinks you’re the wrong person for the job, she’ll give me a sign.”
A sign? From old Miss Meadowcroft? For a few seconds he had a strange feeling that a bolt of lightening was about to strike him. Dead aunts didn’t have that kind of power, did they? Oh, man. He must be losing it. “Tell you what. I’ll come by first thing tomorrow, do a full inspection and give you a quote for everything that needs to be done. You can look it over and decide if you’d like to hire me and what you want me to do.”
Best to leave the dear old aunt out of the equation. Back in high school, he’d been a bad student with a bad attitude and an even badder GPA. The Miss Meadowcroft who’d made his high-school career a living hell wouldn’t have trusted him anywhere near her home. And who could blame her? But she was now among the dearly departed and he did not believe in signs from above or beyond or wherever. Business was business.
“Tomorrow will be perfect. What time—”
The screen door squeaked open, taking them both by surprise.
“Hello-o? Sorry it took me so long to get here.”
The voice was too real to belong to a spirit. It sounded more like…
No. No way.
Allison Peters. Or Allison Fontaine, if she was using her husband’s name. It hadn’t occurred to him that this was the Allison that Maggie had been talking about, since it was hard to imagine two people who had less in common.
“What did I tell you?” Maggie asked. “This is my friend Allison.”
Go figure. Who would have guessed Allison would befriend someone who wore tie-dye?
Nick watched Maggie embrace the woman from his distant past and hoped the past didn’t come back to haunt him.
“I’d like you to meet Nick Durrance,” she said. “He’s a contractor and we’ve been talking about renovating the house.”
For a minute it looked as though Allison might go along with the introduction and pretend she didn’t know him. Then she seemed to decide against it. Probably just as well, since it wouldn’t take long for Maggie and her sixth sense—with the help of the local gossips—to figure out the truth.
“Nick and I already know each other,” Allison said, although she didn’t seem to want to look at him. “Sorry I’m late. I waited until John came home from the office so he could stay with the kids.”
“How do you two know each other?” Maggie asked.
Nick cleared his throat.
Allison shot him a quick glance and looked away. God, he couldn’t believe she was blushing. After all these years…
Maggie grinned. “Ah, I see. Does John know about this?”
“How is John?” he asked, since he was pretty sure Allison would want to avoid Maggie’s question.
“Very well, thank you. The kids are fine, too. Oh, and—” she hiked up her chin “—John’s just made senior partner, but I’m sure your sister told you.”
“I guess she forgot to mention it.” Which wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t mentioned it because she never talked to him, and Allison damned well knew it. “I’m glad you managed to get your lawyer, after all.”
“John is a great husband. And father.”
“Congratulate him for me.”
She eyed him suspiciously.
“On making senior partner.”
“Oh. Of course.”
Maggie, he could see, was watching the exchange with a lot more interest than the situation merited. After all, he and Allison were ancient history. Prehistoric ancient history. She’d spent their senior year trying to make him into someone he wasn’t. When it hadn’t worked, she’d gone off to college and by Christmastime that year, she and John Fontaine were engaged.
He took a card out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to Maggie. “I’ll let you ladies get on with your makeovers. I’ll be back in the morning to start on that estimate. Meanwhile, if you think of anything else, Miss Meadowcroft, give me a call.”
He headed for the front door, uncomfortably aware of two pairs of eyes on his back.
Chapter Two
The finest-looking rear end Maggie Meadowcroft had ever seen had just walked out the front door and she hadn’t done anything to stop it.
Stop him.
Right. As if a man like him would ever be interested in a woman like her. Besides, he’d be back in the morning to give this old house a good going-over. She finally had the place and the money to make her dream come true—and now she had the world’s sexiest contractor to help her do it! She couldn’t wait to find out more about him, so it was a lucky thing Allison had shown up when she did. Who would know more than an ex-girlfriend?
“It’s great that you could come over,” Maggie said. “I know how busy you are with the kids and everything.”
“Don’t be silly. That conditioner you gave me the other day is incredible. My hair has never felt softer.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” Why was everyone always so amazed that natural products were, well, more natural?
Natural or not, Allison looked fabulous. How the woman did it, Maggie would never know. She took care of that big house, her husband and two kids and she always looked liked a cover model. Never a hair out of place. Beautiful clothes. Make that beautiful, expensive clothes.
Maggie would always remember her mother’s reaction when she’d admired a dress in the window of an exclusive shop on the Upper East Side. “Designer clothes will make anyone look good, Maggie, but they don’t change how a person feels about herself. That’s something that comes from the heart.”
She fingered the string of pearls around her neck. Her mother was a wise woman. “Come on into the kitchen,” she said to Allison. “I’m dying to have you try my new mask. It’s pure heaven.”
She seated Allison at the kitchen table and draped a plastic cape over her shoulders. It was one thing to spill this stuff on herself, but ruining Allison’s silk shirt would not be good. “So,” she said, trying to sound casual, “Nick Durrance is a friend of yours?”
“Not anymore. We dated in high school. Of course, at the time I was convinced he was ‘the one.’ I did my best to help him get his life on track but some men just can’t be changed.”
“Hmm. There’s no doubt he’d make an interesting project,” Maggie said, as much to herself as to Allison. She brushed Allison’s hair away from her face and clipped it in place.
“Trust me. Nick is way beyond help. His mother and his sister—even his grandmother—have all tried. God knows, I did. He breaks the heart of every woman who tries to reform him.”
Silly