Author: Kristan Higgins

My face went nuclear. Ah, yes. Kiki and the warning. Callahan’s expression was decidedly cold.

“Grace, your windows came yesterday afternoon. If you want, I can get started today.”

Closing my eyes, I tried to imagine this guy stealing my Victorian Santa collection. “Sure.”

“How about if I only work when you’re around?” he suggested. “That way you can keep an eye on your checkbook and family heirlooms, maybe pat me down before I go.”

“Or I can do that,” Margaret volunteered.

“Very funny,” I said. “Install the windows. Will it take long?”

“Three days. Maybe five, depending on how the old ones come out. I might need a hand with that, if your boyfriend’s around today.”

Gosh. Almost forgot about that pesky boyfriend. Margaret looked at me sharply. “Mmm. He’s working,” I said, shooting her a silent warning.

“He doesn’t seem to come around much, from what I’ve noticed.” Cal folded his big arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, he’s very busy,” I said.

“What does he do again?” Callahan asked.

“He’s a…” I really wished I’d picked something less sappy. “A pediatric surgeon,” I said.

“So noble,” Margaret murmured, smiling into her coffee cup.

Callahan’s hair was sticking up on one side, and my fingers wondered what it would feel like to run through that silky, misbehaving, adorable mess. I told my fingers to stop daydreaming.

“So, sure, okay, you can start today, Cal,” I said. “Would you like some coffee first?”

“No. Thank you,” he said. So much for my peace offering. “Where do you want me to start? And do you want to make a sweep of the room first?”

“Okay, listen. I’m sorry I told my friend you just got out of the slammer. But you are an admitted criminal, so…”

“So?” he said.

I sighed. “So you can start in here, I guess.”

“The kitchen it is.” He turned and walked down the hall toward the front door.

When he was safely outside, presumably to get my first window, Margaret leaned forward. “Are you guys fighting? And why did you tell him you have a boyfriend?” she asked. “He’s gorgeous. I’d do him in a New York minute.”

“We’re not fighting! We hardly know each other. And yes, he’s gorgeous, but that’s beside the point.”

“Why? I thought you were looking to get laid.”

“Shh! Lower your voice. I told him I was seeing someone.”

“Why’d you tell him that?” Margaret took a sip of her coffee.

I sighed. “Natalie was over last weekend, asking all these questions about Wyatt…” Margaret, the least fanciful creature on earth, never did understand the comfort of my imaginary boyfriends. “Anyway. I don’t think it’s a bad thing for him to think there’s a man who stops by occasionally. Just in case he’s casing my joint.”

“Wouldn’t mind if he cased mine.” I gave her a dirty look. “Right. Well. He’s hot. Wonder if he’s interested in an affair.”

“Margaret!”

“Relax. Just kidding.”

“Margs, speaking of dates, weren’t you going to fix me up with the blacksmith? I’m getting a little desperate here.

”

“Right, right. Metalsmith. Lester. Weird. I’ll call him.”

“Great,” I muttered. “I can’t wait.”

She took another sip of coffee. “Got anything to eat? I’m starving. Oh, and I brought some dirty laundry, hope that’s all right. I just had to get out of the house. And if Stuart calls, I don’t want to talk to him, okay?”

“Of course. Anything else, Majesty?”

“Can you pick up some skim milk? This half-and-half will kill me.” Margaret was one of those people who ate nonfat cheese and didn’t know she was missing anything.

Callahan came into the kitchen carrying a new window and leaned it against the wall.

“Are you married, good-looking neighbor?” Margs asked.

“Nope,” came his answer. “Is that a proposal?”

Margaret grinned wickedly. “Maybe,” she murmured.

“Margaret! Leave him alone.”

“How much time did you actually serve, Al Capone?” Margs asked. “God, his ass in those jeans,” she whispered to me, not taking her eyes off his backside.

“Stop it,” I whispered back.

“Nineteen months,” Cal answered. “And thanks.” He winked at Margaret. My uterus twitched in response.

“Nineteen months on three-to-five?” Margs asked.

“Yup. You’ve done your homework,” he said, smiling at my sister. My beautiful sister. Beautiful, red-haired, smart as a whip, razor-witted sister in a high-income bracket and a size four to boot.

“Well, Grace asked me to check you out, being that you’re a threat to her security.”

“Shut it, Margaret,” I said, blushing.

“Any other questions?” Cal asked mildly.

“Have you had a woman since you got out?” Margaret asked, studying her fingernails.

“God’s nightgown!” I yelped.

“You mean did I swing by the local whorehouse on my way into town?” Cal asked.

“Correct,” Margaret affirmed, ignoring my offended squeaks.

“No. No women.”

“Wow. How about in the big house? Any girlfriends?” she asked. I closed my eyes.

Callahan, however, laughed. “It wasn’t that kind of prison.”

“You must be so lonely,” Margaret said, smiling wickedly at Cal’s back.

“Are you done interrogating him?” I snapped. “He has work to do, Margaret.”

“Party pooper,” Margaret said. “But you’re right. And I have to go into the office. I’m a lawyer, Callahan, did Grace tell you? Criminal defense. Would you like my card?”

“I’m completely reformed,” he said with a grin that promised all sorts of illicit behavior.

“I know people in the parole office. Very well, in fact. I’ll be watching.”

“You do that,” he answered.

“I’ll help you get settled,” I offered, hauling Margaret out of her chair and grabbing her suitcase. “You can’t have an affair with him,” I hissed once we were upstairs. “You will not cheat on Stuart. He’s wonderful, Margaret. And he’s heartbroken. I saw him at school the other day, and he looked like a kicked puppy.”

“Good. At least he’s noticing me now.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. You’re so spoiled.”

“I have to go to the office,” she said, ignoring my last comment. “I’ll see you for dinner, okay? Feel like cooking?”

“Oh.” I took a deep breath. “I won’t be here.”

“Why? Date with Wyatt?” she asked, raising a silken eyebrow.

I reached up to smooth my difficult hair. “Um, no. Well, yes. We’re going to Nat’s for dinner. Double date.”

“Holy Mary the Eternal Virgin, Grace,” my sister muttered.

“I know, I know. Wyatt will end up in emergency surgery, bless his talented heart.”

“You’re an idiot. Hey, thanks for letting me crash here,” Margs said at the door to the guest room, vaguely remembering that she should be grateful.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Leave Callahan alone.”

For the next few minutes, I found things to do upstairs, away from my neighbor. Took a shower. As the warm water streamed over me, I wondered what would happen if Callahan O’ Shea walked in. Tugged his shirt over his head, unbuckled his belt, slid out of those faded jeans and stepped in here with me, enfolding me in his brawny arms, his mouth hot and demanding, his—I blinked hard, turned the water to cold and finished up.

Margaret headed into her office, calling out a cheerful goodbye to Callahan and me, seeming rather depressingly chipper about leaving her husband. I wrote up a quiz on the Reconstruction for my seniors, using my laptop and not the larger computer downstairs. Corrected essays from my sophomores on the FDR administration. Downstairs, the whine of the saw and thump of the hammer and the offhanded, tuneless whistle of Callahan O’ Shea blended into a pleasant cacophony.

Angus, though he still growled occasionally, gave up trying to tunnel under my bedroom door and lay on his back in a puddle of sunlight, his crooked bottom teeth showing most adorably. I concentrated on my students’ work, writing notes in the margins, comments at the end, praising them lavishly for moments of clarity, pointing out areas that could’ve used some work.

I went downstairs a while later. Four of the eight downstairs windows were already in. Cal glanced in my direction. “I don’t think I’ll have to replace those sills. If the windows upstairs are as easy as the ones downstairs, I’ll be done Monday or Tuesday.”

“Oh. Okay,” I said. “They look great.”

“Glad you like them.”

He looked at me, unsmiling, unmoving. I looked back. And looked. And looked some more. His was a rugged face, and yes, handsome, but it was his eyes that got me. Callahan O’ Shea had a story in those eyes.

The air seemed to thicken between us, and I could feel my face—and other parts—growing warm.

“I’d better get back to work,” he said, and, turning his back on me, he did just that.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE SECOND I OPENED THE DOOR, I knew that Natalie and Andrew were living together. Natalie’s apartment had his smell, that baby shampoo sweetness, and it hit me in a slap of undeniable recognition. “Hello!” I said, hugging my sister, stroking her sleek hair.

“Hi! Oh, it’s so good to see you!” Nat hugged me tight, then pulled back. “Where’s Wyatt?”

“Hey, Grace!” Andrew called from the kitchen.

My stomach clenched. Andrew at Natalie’s. So cozy.

“Hi, Andrew,” I called back. “Wyatt got stuck at the hospital, so he’ll be a little late.” My voice was smooth and controlled. Bully for me.

“But he is coming?” Nat said, her brows puckering in concern.

“Oh, sure. He’ll just be a while yet.”

“I made this fabulous cream tart for dessert,” Nat grinned. “Definitely wanted to make a good impression, you know?”

Natalie’s apartment was in the Ninth Square section of New Haven, a rescued part of the city not far from the downtown firm where she worked. I’d been here, of course, helped her move in, gave her that iron horse statue for a housewarming gift. But things were different now. How long had Nat and Andrew been together? A month?

Six weeks? Yet already his things were scattered here and there…a jacket on the coatrack, his running shoes by the door, the New York Law Journal by the fireplace. If he wasn’t living here, he was staying over. A lot.

“Hey, there,” Andrew said, coming out of the kitchen. He gave me a quick hug, and I could feel his familiar sharp angles. Angles that felt repugnant today.

“Hi,” I said, stretching the old mouth in a grin. “How are you?”

“Great! How about a drink? A vodka gimlet? Appletini? White Russian?” Andrew’s merry green eyes smiled behind his glasses. He’d always been proud of having bartended his way through law school.

“I’d love some wine,” I said, just to deny him the exhibitionistic pleasure of making me a cocktail.

“White or red? We have a nice cabernet sauvignon open.”

“White, please,” I answered. My smile felt tight. “Wyatt likes cabernet, though.”

At this moment, I was incredibly grateful to young Wyatt Dunn, M.D. This night would’ve been awful without him, even if he didn’t exist in the corporeal world. I drifted over to the couch, Natalie chattering away about how she couldn’t find tilapia anywhere today and had to go to Fair Haven to a little fish market down by the Quinnipiac River. I had to stifle a sigh at the picture of Natalie, a study of elegant beauty, riding her bike down to the Italian market, where, no doubt, the owner fussed over her and threw in a few biscotti, since she was so pretty. Natalie with the perfect hair and fabulous job. Natalie with the lovely apartment and Natalie with the beautiful furniture.