Page 8 of The Maine Attraction

While she’s dancing with her pickle, another cabinet door falls off the wall. She freezes in place, raising an eyebrow.

“This place should be condemned,” she complains. “Call a contractor.”

I run a hand through my hair. “Fine. Is Corbin and Sons still the go-to spot for contract work?”

“Yes, but…” Her voice trails off.

I look at her quizzically. “Yes, but… what?”

“Well, you and Charley never really got along.”

“So? What’s that got to do with her father’s contracting business? Oh… does she work in the office or something?”

She nods slowly. “She works there.”

I sigh. “Figures. Maybe I’ll just have Fernando set everything up. May as well give him something to do.” Fernando is my part-time personal assistant. He hasn’t had much to do for the past year or so, but I continue to pay him.

She frowns. “Don’t you think it’s time to let Fernado go? He lives more than a thousand miles away. Besides, I talk to Charley almost every day. I can set everything up for you.”

“Really?” I eye her quizzically. There’s a mischievous glint in her eye that I know all too well.

“Really,” she says, a grin stretching across her face. “Just leave it to me.”

Chapter 6

Luke

Beauty and I are once again on the porch, basking in the morning sun and listening to the waves crash against the shore. I’m crocheting a pair of pants for Lindy that has pickle spears in the pattern. It’s by far the ugliest thing I’ve ever made, but I know she’ll adore the pants.

Beauty barks.

“What’s up, girl?” Then I hear it, too. A car is driving down the road to our house. I glance at my watch. Lindy should be at work by now. So, who could this be?

A truck with aCorbin and Sonsscrawled across the side pulls into view.

Hastily, I shove the pickle pants, balls of yarn, and my crochet hook into a nearby empty pot. Lindy had said she’d arrange for a in-person consultation, but she hadn’t told me she’d made an appointment.

I rise from my chair to greet the contractor. I’m fully expecting to see old man Corbin or one of his sons. Instead, a curvy womanwith long, wavy hair steps out of the truck. She shoves her sunglasses onto her head and turns toward me.

My knees buckle beneath me, and I stumble to regain my balance. Beauty, always unsteady on her own three feet, chooses this precise moment to lie down in front of me. I try to quickly maneuver, jumping out of the way to avoid trampling on my poor, old dog, and faceplant in front in front of my childhood nemesis.

“Bum knee,” I mutter, blaming my hockey injury, as I scramble back to my feet.

Charley nods, cool as a cucumber. “I heard about that.” She kneels to pet Beauty. Her voice transforms into something melodic, evensweet, as she coos, “And who’s this pretty girl?”

“Beauty,” I say gruffly.

She scratches behind Beauty’s ears. “Good girl, Beauty. Way to throw that big, bad man to the ground. He needs to be taken down a peg or two from time to time.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “We haven’t seen each other in fifteen years and you’re already launching insults?”

She shrugs. “Sorry. Old habits die hard.”

“Why are you here?” I demand.

Her eyebrows raise in surprise. “Didn’t Lindy tell you I was coming to examine the property? I need to inspect everything before I can give you an estimate.”

“She said she’d schedule an appointment. She didn’t tell me one had already been made, and she definitely didn’t tell meyou’dbe the person coming to visit.”

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