Chapter Two
Jack drove up to Hampstead House, stopping briefly out front. It remained grand, to be sure, but smaller than he remembered. Sadder, too, with one shutter sagging and two others missing entirely. Time had not been kind to her—a fact that made him feel both old and oddly nostalgic.
He chuckled at his own sentimentality and pulled in, surprised to find two vehicles in the small gravel lot at the back of the house.
The silver BMW he imagined belonged to Pablo, the project manager hired by the owner to oversee the work.
The SUV looked far less fancy, but not beat up enough to belong to any worker.
Someone from the trust, perhaps. That’s who’d tracked him down and recommended him for the job in the first place.
He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror before getting out of his truck, grateful he’d taken the time to shower and tame the mass of red hair a couple weeks past due for a cut.
He reached back in for the messenger bag that held the scope of work his mom printed out for him, along with the budget he and Maggie worked up.
Both had been approved but were subject to change after he got a firsthand look at the state of things.
Not that he expected any discrepancies or pushback. He simply liked being prepared.
Since the path to the back door had been shoveled, he headed there rather than the front.
After a moment of hesitation, he entered without knocking but made enough noise stomping the snow from his boots to announce his presence.
He needn’t have bothered. The dilapidated kitchen was empty, and no one appeared when he called out a hello.
He grumbled a bit under his breath, more irritated over having to do small talk in the first place than the project manager not sitting around waiting for him to arrive. Just pretend you’re Logan.
The reminder to channel his affable sister diffused his ire. Not ire, exactly. Reticence. He loved the prospect of this job. Having to do it for and with people he didn’t know? Less so.
He adjusted the bag strap, squared his shoulders, and ventured further into the house. No sign of Pablo. No sign of anyone, actually. “Hello?”
A thump came from the closet in the foyer, followed by an “ow” and then a “fuck.”
“Sorry.” He strode over to investigate and apologize. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
A sprite of a woman—petite but with curves—emerged from the wall of the closet.
Literally, her entire torso had been buried in a two-foot hole in the wall.
Most of her face was obscured by a mask, but her hair and clothes were covered in what looked to be plaster dust. She pulled the mask away, revealing a circle of skin only slightly less pale than the alabaster dust. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Hi.”
Jack blinked a few times, feeling foolish but so startled by her presence that words proved difficult. “Hi,” he eventually managed. “I’m guessing you’re not Pablo.”
The woman laughed, and Jack had to work to ignore what a lovely sound it was. “Good guess. He’s around here somewhere, I think.”
Jack waited a beat, but she didn’t say anything else. “And you are?”
“Oh.” Her eyes got big, drawing attention to how impossibly blue they were. “I’m Ellie.” She yanked a leather work glove from her right hand and extended it.
He accepted the handshake and, again, waited for elaboration that didn’t come. “So, are you working in there or looking for treasure?”
She laughed again. “Both. I’m in charge of the plaster work and I was trying to get a sense of the state of things from behind.” She hooked a thumb at the mural now behind her.
He appreciated the commitment to preserve and restore things like delicate plaster, or at least that’s what he told himself even if the process of it seemed messy and more trouble than it was worth. “I bet.”
“Gotta get my bearings before the contractors start jockeying for position and try to shoo me out of their way.” Ellie winked.
Jack winced because that’s exactly how most contractors were, especially when jockeying with a woman doing work they considered trivial.
And maybe because he’d been guilty of that himself once or twice.
Though, to be fair, it was his sister more often than not, trying to sort the finishing touches before the guts of the house were done.
That put him squarely in the right, as far as he was concerned.
Ellie folded her arms. “Let me guess. You’re one of those contractors.”
No point denying it. “Guilty as charged.”
She gave him a long, slow once-over—the kind of assessment that walked the line between appreciation and judgment.
Oddly, it didn’t bother him. He’d take that sort of look any day over the looks he got in bars from time to time.
The kind that invited flirtation but mostly sent him running in the other direction.
Ellie lifted her chin. “Let me guess. Carpenter.”
“Electrician.”
She nodded slowly. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He bristled, though her comment most likely had more to do with the state of the house than his skill set. “Looks like you do, too.”
Ellie grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Jack scrambled for something clever to say in return and came up blank. They were teetering on the edge of banter, and he didn’t do banter. He sure as hell didn’t do it with pretty women on job sites. The oddly unbothered feeling evaporated, leaving him wishing for the buffer of one of his sisters.
“I take it you don’t agree.”
She’d read his awkward silence as disagreement. Great. He coughed. “I mean, I don’t mind a challenge.”
Her eyes narrowed, like she was searching for subtext.
Jack resisted rolling his. Why were women always looking for everything to mean something? “Do you know where Pablo is?”
Ellie’s body language changed. Subtle, but somehow glaringly obvious.
A closing off. A step back without actually moving.
Jack didn’t find himself on the receiving end of that very often.
If anything, he was the one who backed away in social situations.
It struck him—too late to do him any good—that his attempt to change the subject came off as rude or, worse, dismissive.
“I have a meeting with him.” He glanced at his watch. “Now.”
“I think he took a call in the study.” Ellie pointed to a set of French doors to the right of the main entry.
Jack nodded, annoyed with the situation and with himself. “Thanks.”
Before he could decide his next move, the study doors swung open. A man in skinny gray pants and a snug black sweater emerged. He thrust a well-manicured hand in Jack’s direction. “You must be Jack. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Jack accepted the handshake and mustered a smile. “No worries. I got here just a few minutes ago.”
Pablo waved a hand back toward the kitchen. “Let’s head to the basement. No point going over the fine details until you confirm the overall assessment and plan is accurate.”
He nodded again, glad for the efficient, straightforward approach. “Works for me.”
Pablo led the way. Jack followed but not without a final glance at Ellie. She regarded him with an arched brow and a smirk playful enough to make him wonder if he’d imagined the tension a moment before. “Good luck,” she said, barely above a whisper.
He could feel his face morph into a bewildered expression.
What was that supposed to mean? Was she insulting him?
Giving him some kind of warning? Or was she trying to get under his skin?
Ugh. Women. “Thanks,” he mumbled, figuring he could get the last word if nothing else, before striding after Pablo.
* * *
Ellie waited for the sound of Pablo and Jack on the basement stairs before stepping back into the closet.
She stood still for a second, then leapt out and thrust her arms wide.
Because even a happily out gay girl could appreciate the symbolism.
After chuckling at her own silent declaration, she went back in for real and positioned her mask back in place.
She adjusted the work light, angling her head this way and that to assess what she’d uncovered so far.
All in all, it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected.
Despite the temperature and humidity fluctuations throughout the years the house sat vacant, the insulation in the outer walls had been upgraded at some point in the twentieth century, which prevented the plaster from disintegrating completely.
If the state of the foyer was anything to go on, she’d be able to patch and reinforce the murals from behind and keep most of them intact.
She stuck her head back into the hole, along with her arm and trusty moisture meter, taking readings that would confirm whether her instincts were correct.
It all went swimmingly until she got within a foot of the ancient radiator pipe that ran from the basement to the second floor, directly behind the far left side of the wall.
She barely touched it, and the plaster crumbled in her hand.
Ellie walked her fingers up the back of the lathe as far as her arm could go before extricating herself from the spot.
At least the radiator wasn’t—and wouldn’t be—on.
As much as she didn’t love what forced air heat did to plaster in the long term, the prospect of working next to pipes full of scalding water was even worse. Especially in close quarters.
Wouldn’t mind being in close quarters with Jack.
The thought snuck up on her—hot, heavy, and completely unbidden. It also included a shockingly clear visual for a guy she’d spent all of three minutes with.
Maybe it was time to get some air. Or water. Hydration was important. And distracting.
She stepped out of the closet just in time to run into Pablo and Jack coming down the stairs and immediately regretted her choices.
“You look like an albino chimney sweep,” Pablo said after one look at her.
Jack made that face people did when they were trying to suppress a laugh.