Tom looked up and pushed back the ball cap on his head. She noticed his slightly shaggy hair curled around the edge of the cap, giving him a youthful, roguish appearance. Oh, boy. She had to stop noticing things like that.
“Hey yourself.” He smiled, putting the drill down on the deck floor. “Out shopping?”
“I didn’t want to hang around while the Orkin man did his thing,” she admitted. “I took the rugs to that place you recommended in Portland, and then thought I’d browse around town. I’ve been here over a week and I’ve hardly seen anything.”
He watched her carefully. “No stop at the Realtor’s?”
She shrugged. “Not much point until the renovations are completed, is there?”
He nodded briefly and sat back on his heels. “This’s my cousin Jess’s place,” he said. “Just finishing a new deck for her and putting up a pergola on that side for her to display some summer stuff. Figured I’d get it done now that your veranda is usable and while I wait for materials to start arriving for your place. Speaking of, we should go over countertop and cupboard samples for the kitchen so you can decide what you want. That stuff has to be special-ordered so the sooner the better.”
She swallowed, thinking about poring over granite and stain samples with Tom, standing close to him and smelling the spicy scent of his aftershave. Something had happened that day in the attic, something more than finding some clothes or discovering the back staircase. The air between them had crackled with attraction. Standing there looking at Tom now, his shirt damp with sweat, Abby could almost believe she’d imagined it all and more than once she’d considered that it was all one-sided. After all, Tom Arseneault was incredibly gorgeous. She’d have to be blind not to notice. He could probably crook his finger and have any woman in town. She bit down on her lip. He probably had a girlfriend. She had no business thinking about him that way, in a secret staircase or anywhere else for that matter.
She untangled her tongue and tried a smile. “We can do it whenever it fits your schedule.”
“After I finish here, I’m all yours.”
Now that was an intriguing idea. A pert comment sat on her tongue but she kept it to herself and asked, “What about Saturday? You want to come over to the house?”
He reached for a scrap of wood and tossed it on a growing pile beside the deck. “Saturday’s good, but why don’t we drive into Portland and hit the supplier’s showroom? It’s easier to decide when you can see things put together rather than trying to visualize it from a little chip, you know?”
Drive into the city together? She blinked as realization dawned. They’d be alone in her car—or his truck—together, maybe have lunch just the two of them. Like a … date, only not. The idea flustered her more than it should.
He’d stopped working and was watching her expectantly. She had no good excuse. It’s not like she could tell him what she’d been thinking.
“That would be okay,” she replied. “What time?”
“Ten? Is that too early? It could take us a while.”
“Ten sounds fine.” Ten meant that they’d be spending most of the day there. They’d definitely have lunch together.
She was totally making more of this than she needed to.
Tom stood up, tossing another scrap to the side. “Sounds good. Anyway, I’m due for a break, so come on inside and meet Jess.” He put his drill to the side but left his nail belt on. Following him into the shop, Abby couldn’t help but notice how the soft leather fit around his hips, making her mouth go dry.
There was music playing in the background of the shop, some sort of light Celtic tune with a fiddle that fit perfectly with the down-home, seaside feel to the place. Large windows overlooked the harbor, flooding the entire place with sunlight. There were shelves and tables everywhere, of varying heights and shapes, and at first glance it seemed a bit chaotic until Abby realized it was all laid out with great precision to maximize the floor space. Pigeonholes were stuffed with a rainbow of yarns while a nearby rack was host to ready-made items—scarves, shawls, socks, and a tiny clothesline that held baby booties with miniature clothespins. Knitted dishcloths filled a basket and beside that was a selection of needles, crochet hooks, and patterns.
Another area formed a children’s corner, complete with craft kits, kites, stuffed animals, puppets, and puzzles. There were soaps in every shape, color, and scent Abby could imagine, and then candles—soy, paraffin, beeswax. Tapers and pillars and tea lights and others in covered Mason jars. Cinnamon and butter pecan and banana bread and chocolate chip cookie scents, jasmine and rose garden and lily. Closer to the cash register was jewelry, and one whole wall was dedicated to quilts. Several were hung on full display, while others were folded and draped over quilting racks. Beside the quilts were supplies—piecing squares, patterns, thread, needles, and one entire shelf filled with bolts of cloth.
And in the midst of it all was the most beautiful woman Abby had ever seen. She was tall, with hair as black as Tom’s knotted at the nape of her neck in the kind of loose bun—a study in precise disarray—that made Abby envious. She’d never been able to achieve that careless bohemian, feminine look with her hair. The woman wore black leggings that ended mid-calf and a loose tunic that she’d belted around her waist. Sandals with metallic accents glittered on her feet. She was currently standing on tiptoe as she reached to put an item on a top shelf. “That’s your cousin?” she asked Tom quietly.
“Jess. She’s pretty, huh?”
“She’s gorgeous.” She smiled up at him. “Guess your side of the family missed out on those genes, huh?”
Tom laughed unexpectedly, making Jess turn her head, finally realizing they were there. “Oh, my gosh, I didn’t even hear you come in! Sorry!” She beamed at them and hurried over. “I was thinking up a new candle recipe for tomorrow’s class and totally got lost in my own head.”
“Jess, this is Abby Foster. The new—”
“Owner of the house up on Blackberry Hill!” Jess finished for him. “Oh, goodness, how are you liking it? It’s huge, isn’t it! But beautiful, I bet. Tom said he’s going to be helping you fix it up again. You made his year. He’s been in love with that house for ages.”
Abby’s lips twitched as she looked up at Tom, who appeared slightly embarrassed. “Oh, don’t be bashful,” she teased. “It’s not exactly a secret.” She looked at Jess. “He put his foot through the veranda floor when he showed up, you know.”
“And you called Bryce. We heard all about it.”
“Don’t be a brat,” Tom said to Jess.
“Well, we did.” She turned her brilliant smile on Abby. “Anyway, Tom will do a good job for you, he’s the best carpenter around. And I’m glad to meet you at last. The whole town’s been buzzing about you.”