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maybe dormers. Course, the restaurant comes first. I'm thinking out loud here— don't mind me. Here's the stuff I mentioned.”
    She could understand now how the antiques had been overlooked all this time. The attic was crammed with boxes and trunks, piles of old magazines, and racks of old clothes. Most of the junk was worthless. Obviously no one had musteredthe fortitude necessary to clean out the mess in search of any potential treasures. Until Nick Leone had, she thought, as he rooted through a pile looking for more.
    She was beginning to form the impression that Nick was a whirlwind of activity. He'd been in the building a matter of hours but had done more for it than anyone had in years. Since she'd come in, his body had either been moving or poised to move. He never seemed completely still.
    “Where are you from, Mr. Leone?” she asked as she examined a display case of men's shirt collars from the turn of the century.
    “Jersey. Call me Nick. You been here long?”
    “All my life. What made you choose Briarwood?”
    “I drove through here once a year or so ago and fell in love with the place. I'd always wanted to start a restaurant in a small town, so when I got the money together, I called a real estate agent, and here I am.”
    He made it sound as if it were the most logical thing in the world. Keeping an eye out for mice, Katie raised the lid on an old hatbox, uncovering a wonderful black bowler. “Why would you cometo a small town in Virginia to start an Italian restaurant?”
    “How many other Italian restaurants have you got here?” he asked, lifting a gaudy gold- fringed drape off a pile of old button- hook shoes.
    “Good point.”
    “If I started a restaurant back home, it would have to be similar to everybody else's Italian restaurant. I'd have people all over me—’Nicky, why aren't you using my aunt Marie's cacciatore recipe? Nicky, why don’ you have red- checked tablecloths? Your mama's taste isn't good enough for you, or what?’ “ Katie laughed as he thickened his accent for the impersonations. “ ‘Nicky, why don’ you hire my nephew Joey? He's a little slow, but he's a good worker.’ “ He made a comic face and raised his hands to his throat, pretending to choke himself.
    For a moment he stood back and watched Katie laugh at his antics. Lord, she was lovely, he thought. Her face positively lit up when she laughed. When her laughter faded away, he cleared his throat and went on with his explanation. “Here I can do things my own way.”
    “No red- checked tablecloths,” she said with asweet smile, wondering if he was such a soft touch that he would have given in to all those ridiculous requests. He didn't look like anyone's patsy. Or anyone's secret agent, she added, mentally shaking her head at Maggie's wild imagination.
    Nick combed his hair back with his fingers and shrugged. “So what do you think of all this garbage?”
    Hands on her hips, Katie sighed as she looked over what he'd found so far. “Most of this is from Aldeen's. It was a men's shop in this building from 1865 to 1917. A haberdashery.”
    Nick smiled at the way she drawled the long word. He could get used to her smooth, sweet voice. It appealed to him, especially because it was lower pitched than anyone would have guessed by looking at her.
    His smile was growing on her much too quickly, Katie tried to warn herself. That wouldn't do at all. It was one thing to like him. Feeling her stomach flutter at the sight of his mouth hitching up on one side was altogether something else.
    “Is it any good?” he asked, moving toward her. He wondered what the very proper Miss Quaid would think if he kissed her.
    “Oh, yes,” she said, watching him advance in her direction. “This could all work very nicely to create a unique atmosphere. Of course,” she added, picking up a top hat and blowing the dust off in his face, effectively making him back away, “it would have to be cleaned first.”
    As Nick coughed Katie