Page 11 of This Time Around (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #3)

She spent the next hour leading him around the grand old home while a parade of cats followed behind, mewling and occasionally snarling at one another.

Jack followed along, taking notes while Allie pointed out warped spots in the myrtlewood moldings in the guest rooms and patches of sagging drywall in one of the guest baths.

Most of it was cosmetic and fairly easy to repair.

All things considered, the place wasn’t in the poor condition Jack had expected.

Several times he stopped to take measurements or poke at a loose piece of trim. Each time, Allie bent low over him. It gave him a nice glimpse down the front of the pink sweater, which was even more pleasant than the rear view she offered as she led him down hallways and up stairwells.

You agreed to be friends , he reminded himself. Friends don’t ogle friends .

A convincing argument, but not one that registered with Jack’s libido. By the time they’d reached the third floor, there wasn’t much blood left in his brain.

“Do you think you can get it up?”

Jack shook himself out of his testosterone-fueled trance and tried to figure out what the hell Allie was saying to him. “I beg your pardon?”

“The ladder.” She pointed at the ancient-looking wooden A-frame leaned up against the wall, and it occurred to him she’d probably been telling him about it while he was busy staring at her ass.

“I spent an hour this morning trying to set it up so I could see what’s in the attic, but the damn thing’s stuck. ”

Jack bent down and picked up the ladder.

It was rickety as hell, and common sense told him he probably shouldn’t attempt to climb on it even if he could get it open.

But he’d already said goodbye to common sense the second he offered to help his ex-fiancée with her home repairs, so Jack yanked a small can of WD-40 out of his tool belt.

“There,” he said as he squirted each of the hinges. “Just needed a little lube to get the legs open, that’s all.”

Hell. He didn’t mean that to sound suggestive, but maybe the pheromones had short-circuited his brain.

He saw Allie flush a bit, but she said nothing as he eased the ladder open and set it up beneath the trap door to the attic.

He tested the first couple rungs by putting a little weight on them, which convinced him the ladder was stronger than it looked.

It wasn’t that far to fall anyway, so he clambered the rest of the way up and reached for the pull on the attic door.

“You coming?” he called behind him.

“Yes,” Allie said. “Just taking my turn staring at your ass. I figure it’s only fair, since that’s what you’ve been doing to me for the last hour.”

He grinned over his shoulder at her. “Yours has aged rather nicely.”

“Same to you.”

Jack laughed and pushed open the door to the attic. Okay, so they were flirting like old friends sometimes did. Casual, easy, fun. He could do this.

He got the attic door all the way open and crawled inside, grateful he’d had the foresight to stuff a Mini Maglite in his tool belt. Not bad for the guy who’d once forgotten half the supplies on a camping trip.

“I didn’t forget condoms, though,” he said.

“What?”

“On that first camping trip,” he said. “The one we were talking about the other night? I might have forgotten bug spray and cooking stuff and matches to make fire, but I didn’t forget condoms.”

He turned around in time to see Allie rolling her eyes. “Typical eighteen-year-old guy.”

“No argument there.”

She clambered up behind him, taking the rungs one at a time. “So what the hell were we thinking planning a life together? We couldn’t even plan a camping trip.”

“We were young and dumb.” Like that explained everything. It didn’t, not even close, but Allie was nearing the top of the ladder now and Jack was too busy keeping an eye on her to elaborate.

“Careful,” he said. “A couple of the rungs near the top are a little wobbly. Here, take my hand.”

He reached out to her, expecting Allie to insist she had it under control and that she didn’t need him at all. Instead, she put her palm in his.

“I forgot how small your hands were,” he remarked as he hoisted her up.

He waited to see if she’d respond with a comment about the size of his hands. He’d seen her looking last night, so maybe things like that still registered on her radar. But Allie just righted herself on the floor of the attic and dusted her hands on her jeans.

“Thanks for the help.”

“Probably want to shut the door,” he said. “You don’t want a dozen cats climbing the ladder.”

“Good idea.”

While Allie pushed the hinged flap closed, Jack surveyed the space.

Someone had laid long pieces of plywood across the rafter beams, but they looked old and a little warped.

The space wasn’t as dim as he expected, mostly due to slatted vents and a couple small attic windows on either side.

Still, he was glad he’d remembered a flashlight.

“Careful,” he said as Allie took a tentative step onto one of the flat spans of plywood. “We don’t know how stable those are.”

She tested one out, pressing the toe of her shoe against the board. “Do you think it’s safe to walk on?”

“Maybe. Keep your weight on the rafter beams just to be safe.”

Jack pivoted, surveying the rest of the space.

He guided his flashlight beam in a slow arc, illuminating dark corners with the narrow yellow ray of light.

The room smelled like cardboard and old mothballs, and he could see dust sparkling in a sunbeam that filtered through a small window at the peak of the ceiling.

There was a seventies-era tinsel Christmas tree along one wall next to a creepy-looking dressmaker’s mannequin wearing a scuba suit.

Near that was an old steamer trunk like the one his own grandparents used to have, and he wondered how the hell someone had lugged it up a ladder. Maybe some sort of pulley system.

“Do you know if she’s had this place checked for black mold or asbestos or any other environmental hazards?” he asked.

“Not sure. Is that expensive?”

“The inspection won’t be, but dealing with any hazards could be. What is all this stuff, anyway?”

“I think Grandma mostly used it as storage space. I have no idea when she was last up here. Years, probably.”

Allie took a few cautious steps toward the wall where the mannequin and steamer trunk sat, which was smart.

The floor looked reinforced over there, so it should be safer.

Jack watched as she balanced on one of the plywood-covered beams, making her way across the dim space.

The dormer window illuminated her path, but Jack pointed his flashlight there anyway, hoping to give her a little extra help.

“Take it slow,” he called.

“I know, I know.”

He watched her take two more steps, her hand reaching out to brace her against the bare wood beam. Her hair fell over her face as she looked down at a pile of boxes stacked three high, each the size of a large microwave.

“I guess I should look inside some of these,” she said.

“Need a box cutter?”

“No, they’re not sealed.” She was already unfolding the flaps of the top box, sending little puffs of dust into the sunbeam from the window above her. Jack took a few steps closer, aiming his flashlight beam at her hands.

The instant her shoulders tensed, Jack froze.

“Holy shit.”