Somebody to Love by Kristan Higgins Page B

ways,” he murmured.
    “Show me what you got. In the house, not in your pants,” she said. “Which isn’t to say I don’t remember you fondly.”
    “Okay. Harry Welles—you heard of him, right?”
    “Another Wall Street scumbag, from what I hear.”
    “Yeah. Well, he bankrupted the family, and all his daughter has left is this house. From her mother’s side of the family. Julia Harrington was her great-aunt.”
    “Wow. Millionaire to shack-owner,” she murmured as they walked toward the front door.
    “Yeah. So she needs to flip it as soon as she can.” He opened the door for Chantal, who recoiled.
    “I’ll pass on the inside for now,” she said. “I’m guessing crappy insulation, maybe four entire electrical outlets and plenty of wildlife.”
    “You’re psychic.”
    “So how much money can your client spend on it? If we put on an addition, a master suite with sliders and a deck, a big bathroom with a Jacuzzi, gourmet kitchen, build a big patio into the hillside here, outdoor fireplace…we can get a gay couple in here faster than you can say, ‘Bar Harbor is unaffordable.’” Chantal licked her red-painted lips in anticipation.
    “She has about ten grand,” James said.
    “Well, shit, then.” She sighed. “There are back taxes on this place, did you know?”
    “No,” James said. Crap. If he’d known that, he could’ve paid them off. Why Parker didn’t, he had no idea. Then again, she didn’t even remember that she owned the house.
    Chantal nudged a piece of trash with her foot. “Julia was broke, and no one in Town Hall ever had the heart to go after them while she was alive. Sorry to say, Harry’s daughter will have to pay about fifteen years’ worth of taxes. Guess it slipped through the cracks until now.”
    “What if we did a teardown?” James asked.
    Chantal shrugged, pursing her full, red lips. “Nah. Waterfront property up here isn’t worth a ton, because who the hell wants to live in Washington County, right? It’s too far from everything.”
    “Right,” James acknowledged.
    “And this is what we call a postage-stamp lot. You can get two acres of waterfront over on Mutton Chop Bay for next to nothing. Judy Phillips has been trying to sell a parcel for three years now. Not one offer.” Chantal tipped her head and folded her arms under her chest, making her breasts swell, then glanced at James to make sure he noticed. How could he not? She winked.
    “So what’s your advice, Chantal?”
    “Well, her best bet for a quick sale is to make it pretty. Strip it down, slap on some new flooring, new roof, new shingles, paint the inside. Market it as a tiny jewel of a hideaway. Maybe we can get enough to cover the back taxes and give her a little nest egg besides, little being the operative word here. The place isn’t even winterized. But curb appeal, you hear? Make it adorable. You might get a family or a retired couple looking for a cheap summer home.”
    “Okay. We’ll shoot for that. Thanks, Chantal.”
    “You’re welcome.” She gave him a sunny smile. “How’s your family? Dewey says everyone’s doing about as well as can be expected.”
    “Yep. Everyone’s fine.”
    She shaded her eyes and looked him up and down. “You turned out awfully nice, James Cahill.”
    “And you’re just as beautiful as I remember.”
    “Aw. Give me a kiss. On the cheek, now. I’m extremely faithful to my young stud of a husband.”
    “How’d he get so lucky?” James asked.
    “He knocked me up. Let me know if I can help, okay? I’ll probably see you at Dewey’s, and you have my number.”
    “You bet. Thanks for coming out, Chantal.”
    “Nice to see you again, honey,” she said. She got back in her car and backed out of the overgrown driveway. No sign of Parker, who’d been at the hardware store for a couple hours now. Or she’d fled.
    In the truck he’d borrowed from Chuck, one of his basketball buddies—who’d been more than happy to take the Lexus off his hands for