The Man for Maggie

A huge pineapple sat in the middle of the basket, surrounded by peaches, kiwis, strawberries, oranges, a mango, even a passion fruit, all wrapped up in cellophane and tied with a giant purple bow.

The tears that puddled on her lower eyelids made everything go blurry.

“You’re not going to cry again, are you?”

She shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Yesterday, after she’d become emotional about her aunt, he’d almost certainly left thinking she was a bit of a nutcase. This morning she’d been determined to show him that she could be a conventional businesswoman with a well-thought-out business plan, and here she was getting emotional over a basket of fruit.

He finally broke the awkward silence. “It’s all organic.”

“How did you know I use organic ingredients?”

“Just a hunch.”

She finally remembered her manners. “Please come in. And thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

He stepped inside, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. He looked exactly the same as he had yesterday—white T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed work boots. Today he also had a clipboard tucked under his arm and a tape measure hooked on his belt.

She took the basket from him. “I’ll just put this in the kitchen.” Then she walked down the hallway, thinking how good Nick was going to look in a tool belt, all rugged and work-manlike.

You’re crazy, she told herself. All construction workers wear tool belts and Nick will look just like any other man on a construction site.

Not.

That’s beside the point, she told herself. You have to be professional.

She took a deep cleansing breath, closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind by picturing herself in a field of wildflowers.

It didn’t work.

Nick stood in the midst of all those flowers, still wearing the blue jeans and tool belt, but the T-shirt was gone. The contours of his bare chest and work-hardened biceps glistened with perspiration.

Her eyes popped open. No way, Maggie Meadowcroft. This has to stop. She absolutely could not let herself imagine Nick in that field, or anywhere else, wearing any less clothing.

No matter how much she wanted to.

She closed her eyes again. Okay, maybe one little peek.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Her eyes flew open.

Nick stood in the doorway, holding her sketches and looking a little puzzled about finding her standing in a trance in the middle of the kitchen.

A wave of heat flashed across her face. So much for being professional. “You weren’t interrupting anything,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

“I see.”

He didn’t say that he wondered what she’d been thinking about. He didn’t have to.

“You have sketches. They’re very good,” he said. “Did you draw them?”

“The sketches? Oh, yes. I wanted to, you know, to get an idea of what should go where and how everything will look when it’s finished and…” For heaven’s sake, Maggie. Stop babbling.

If he thought she was out of her mind, he was too nice to let on. “These are very good drawings.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Maybe you should have been an architect.”

Maggie Meadowcroft, Architect? “I don’t think so. Too many rules and regulations and building codes.”

“You don’t like rules?”

“Rules are fine but I’m not always very good at following them.”

His mouth spread into a wry smile. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“So you think you’ve already got me figured out?” she asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. But take yesterday, for example. You were wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and pearls.” His eyes now held a spark of mischief. “When everyone knows the rules of fashion dictate that rubies should be worn with tie-dye.”

She did like a man with a sense of humor. “And how do you know so much about these things?”

The flash of humor disappeared and a hint of the bitterness she’d detected yesterday crept back into his voice. “My mother has single-handedly ensured the success of the jewelry industry.”

Interesting. “Those were Aunt Margaret’s pearls that I was wearing. I’ve never had any real jewelry so I wanted to know how it felt to wear them.”

“And? How did they make you feel?”

She remembered exactly how she’d felt. “Like a princess. There’s something elegant and understated about pearls.”

“But you’re not wearing them this morning.”

“No. They don’t go with faded denim, either.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Princesses must wear blue jeans sometimes.”

She tried to strike a regal pose. “Of course we do, but we prefer to wear diamonds with denim.”

“I see. I’ll remember that.”

And she had a feeling he would. She also liked the way his smile made her feel a little light-headed. It sure made it difficult to be professional though. “You must be very busy, running a big construction company and all. Maybe we should talk about the work that has to be done on the house.”

“Sure thing.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked. “It’s herbal.”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. Do you have any coffee?”

“Sorry.” But she made a mental note to buy some and figure out how to make it.

He studied the two sketches in his hand and glanced at the others spread on the kitchen table. “You’ve drawn quite a few different floor plans. Is there one you prefer?”

“Yes. Actually, I like the two you’re holding but I can’t make up my mind which layout will work best.”

“Why don’t you explain what you want and we’ll take it from there.”

She knew exactly what she wanted. His hands were strong and tanned and rough from work. After experimenting with several essential oils and plant extracts, she had found the perfect blend for softening the skin and relaxing tired muscles.

Would he think she was too forward if she suggested a hand massage?

She looked up, straight into those luscious dark eyes. Yes, he probably would.

Take it slow, Maggie, she chided herself. Once you’ve hired Nick, you’ll have all the time you need to get him to loosen up and reconnect with his feelings. “I was thinking I’d like to convert the living room into an area for doing hair and facials and set up a massage table in the dining room. What do you think?”

“You do massage?” he asked.

It was a loaded question. “Therapeutic massage. It helps people relax and improves the circulation.”

“Right.” He lowered his head and studied her drawings some more, almost as though he was seeing them for the first time.

“So what do you think?” she asked.

“About what?”

She pointed to the sketch. “About this arrangement?”

“Oh. Right. Well, it does create an open floor plan but it has a few drawbacks. Do you want a sink here?” he asked, pointing to a corner of the living room.

“Yes. I thought that would be the best place for it. Is that a problem?”

“Not really a problem. Just more expensive. The existing plumbing is at this side of the house.” He indicated the kitchen and bathroom. “It would be a lot easier to tie into that if we install the sink in the dining room.”

She hadn’t given that any thought but she could see it made sense. “Is there a big difference in cost?”

He named a figure and she sucked in a startled breath. “I see. My preference was to put the massage table in the living room, anyway, but with all those windows it’s not very private.”

He seemed to give that some thought. “We have some old stained-glass windows left over from our last renovation. The owner didn’t want them but they seemed too valuable to throw out so we put them in the warehouse. We might be able to make those work. Should give you lots of privacy and still let in plenty of light.”

“Really? I’d love that!” She sifted through a pile of papers till she found a folder of fabric swatches and color chips. “Do you remember what color they are?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t think it will matter. I plan to use lots of neutral shades—cream and beige with lots of natural wood. And I’ll use purple for the accent color. What do you think?”

“I just paint. I don’t interior decorate,” he told her. “You’ll have to get someone else’s opinion on colors.”

“No problem. I’m pretty sure Allison will help. Her home is beautifully decorated.” Although, come to think of it, there wasn’t a speck of purple anywhere.

Nick sighed. It was a small sigh but still unmistakable. “Will she be spending a lot of time here?” he asked.

Maggie glanced up and looked straight into his eyes. She was usually so good at reading people but at that moment she had no idea what Nick needed to hear.

“Yes, some,” she said, cautiously feeling her way. “I don’t know her very well but she’s been very nice to me since I moved in. She’s busy though, with her kids and her husband and—”

“I wasn’t fishing for information. I was hoping you’d say yesterday was a one-shot deal and we’d never see her again.”

“Oh.”

He set the sketches on the table. “So what did Allison tell you about me?”

Maggie hadn’t expected him to be so direct. “Not much. Nothing at all, actually. We were busy trying out the new mask and, of course, she couldn’t stay long because she had to get home and make dinner for John and the kids and, well, we didn’t really have a chance to talk about you.” Shut up, Maggie. You’re babbling again.

Nick folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. “Yeah, right. So why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“Okay, fine. She said she tried to reform you and that you broke her heart.” She’d always been a lousy liar. Unfortunately she also had a tendency to blurt the whole truth when only part of the truth was necessary.

He gave his head an exasperated shake. “My father was a lawyer and his father was a lawyer. My little sister is now a lawyer and everyone assumed I’d be a lawyer. Everyone. My parents, my grandmother, my sister. Allison.” He gave her a cynical smile. “Come to think of it, though, Miss Meadowcroft seemed to know I wasn’t destined for law school.”

That poor boy was never allowed to explore his real talents. It’s time someone gave him a chance, Maggie, my dear. Aunt Margaret’s insights were never a surprise but her unexpected presence caught Maggie off guard.

Most people believed the voices she heard were just her imagination but she knew they were real. Otherwise they wouldn’t always be right. “You’re good at what you do now, that’s what’s important. I’m sure your family is very proud of you.”

“My family is proud of its longstanding affiliation with this country’s justice system. They weren’t prepared for a son who made a living by using his hands instead of his head.”

Aunt Margaret was right.

And Nick’s makeover was about to begin.

By the time he finished renovating her house, she’d have him believing in himself. She picked up the folder of sketches and color samples, already feeling a smug sense of accomplishment. “Maybe we should get back to work.”

Two hours later they had measured and remeasured the rooms on the main floor and roughly sketched out a new floor plan. Nick went down to the basement to check the electrical panel and, finally, he listened patiently to her ideas for updating the bathroom.

“I want this room to be really special,” she said. “There’ll be a separate dressing room here, with a shower and a soaker tub at the far end.”

Nick was shaking his head. “Except for one problem. Your sketch isn’t to scale. The only soaker tub that’ll fit in here will be about the size of your kitchen sink.”

She looked at her drawing, then at the bathroom, then back at the drawing. Disappointment set in. “You see? This is why I can’t be an architect.”

He laughed. “What are your plans for the den?”

“I’d like to use it as an office.”

“If we move this wall, you’ll still have a small office and there’ll be enough space to do the bathroom reno the way you want it.”

“You can do that? Just move the wall?”

“Well, there’s a little more to it than that. We’ll actually have to tear out this wall and build a new one, but it’ll only take a day or two.”

He said it as though he had no idea how amazing that was. “Let’s do it! I only need enough room in the office for a desk and filing cabinet and I really, really, really want this bathroom.”

He glanced at his notes and her sketches and took a few more measurements. “I think that’s it. I’ll redraw these plans to scale and have the estimate ready by tomorrow afternoon.”

“When will you be able to start?”

“If you decide to go ahead, I can get some of the materials delivered this week and we should be able to begin on Monday.”

“Perfect.” She had complete confidence that he’d quote a fair price and she’d already made up her mind to hire him. After all, he needed her as much as she needed him. But it would look more professional if she waited till she saw the estimate before she offered him the job.

She gathered her papers and glanced up at the hall clock. The morning had flown by. Nick had patiently listened to all her ideas and made suggestions when he thought something else would work better. Such as his suggestion for expanding the bathroom. And best of all, he didn’t seem to think she was completely crazy for doing this.

“Would you like to stay for lunch? I have stuff for sandwiches and there’s lots of fruit for dessert.”

He glanced at his watch and at the notes on his clipboard and she fully expected him to say no. Then he looked at her and smiled that heartbreaker smile of his. “Sure. Why not?”

NICK RAN WATER into the ancient pedestal sink in the bathroom and picked up a bar of purple soap. Obviously one of Maggie’s creations. He sniffed it suspiciously. Too flowery for his liking but it was all he could find.

Staying for lunch was probably a bad idea, he thought as he dried his hands on a bright red towel. Mixing business with pleasure always seemed to land him in a tight spot.

On the other hand, why shouldn’t he stay? Maggie’s refreshingly off-the-wall conversation made him laugh, and God knew he didn’t usually do a lot of that. She was easy on the eyes and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had lunch with a beautiful woman who wasn’t trying to use her looks to get her hooks into him.

He’d also lost count of the number of women who thought he had access to the Durrance fortunes, and who quickly hit the road when they found he didn’t. Either Maggie didn’t care about the money or she didn’t know about it. For now, either option worked.

He found her standing at the kitchen counter, assembling two enormous sandwiches. “Can I help?”

“Sure. There’s a pitcher of lemonade in the fridge and glasses in the far cupboard.”

He grabbed the glasses and opened the fridge. One shelf was completely filled with labeled plastic containers.

Oatmeal Cleanser.

Banana-Honey Anti-Aging Mask.

Cream of Wheat Body Scrub.

Cream of Wheat? Oh, man. She really was something.

He closed the fridge door, his amusement tempered by pangs of guilt. Ten years ago this neighborhood had been filled with run-down old houses like this one. Thanks to the town council’s ambitious program to attract tourists, most of the houses had been restored to their original elegance. Many were still private residences but others had been converted into antique shops, art galleries and cafés. Renovating an old house in this posh neighborhood was a good investment but no matter how he looked at it, converting it into a food-based beauty parlor was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

It’s none of your business, Durrance. She’s an adult and she can do whatever she wants with her money. He hated having anyone meddle in his life and he wasn’t about to meddle in anyone else’s. Although, he was curious how she thought she could make a living at this. And asking a few questions didn’t make him a busybody.

He poured the lemonade into the two glasses. “Have you ever heard of one these kinds of spas before? I mean, one that uses fruit and stuff to make…you know…stuff?”

“I’ve seen them in the city, but I knew Collingwood Station didn’t have one. That’s what makes it such a good idea.”

Interesting logic. “So you really think a natural spa will work here?”

“I’m sure of it,” she said, adding sliced tomatoes and carrot sticks to each plate. “Everyone likes to be pampered and to feel they’re doing something good for their bodies.”

“You’re probably right.” And if she wasn’t, well, it was no concern of his.

“Besides, I have a way with people. I think this town is a perfect place for the kind of makeovers I do.” She set the plates on the table.

After she sat, he took a seat and he raised his glass of lemonade. “Here’s to a prosperous business venture.”

She clinked her glass against his and smiled like Mona Lisa. “And to a successful makeover. I mean, renovation.”

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