A Man to Rely On. Cindi Myers
Scott said. “I’m a real estate agent. She talked to me yesterday about selling this house.”
The door opened a little wider, and Scott saw half of a pretty, young face. “Mama went downtown to look for a job,” the girl said. “I can’t let you in.”
A job? Did this mean Marisol planned to stay in Cedar Switch? Maybe she’d changed her mind about selling the house. “Do you think she’ll be back soon?” he asked. “Could I wait out here for her?”
“I think she’ll be back soon.” The door opened wider still. The girl had a beautiful, oval face, long braids and long, thin arms and legs. “You can wait if you want.”
“Thanks.” He moved over to a green metal chair at one end of the porch.
The door closed, and he heard the rattle of a chain being moved. Then it opened again and the girl came out. “My name’s Toni,” she said, and leaned against the closed door, as if ready to retreat inside at any minute.
“Hi, Toni. What do you think of Cedar Switch?”
“Not much.”
“Yeah. I guess it’s not that impressive to someone from the city.”
“Have you lived here a long time?”
“All my life.” He glanced at her. She was taller and thinner than Marisol had been, but he could see her mother in her. “I knew your mother when she was about your age. We went to school together.”
“Really?” She turned toward him, her expression eager. “What was she like then?”
How to explain the Marisol who had awed him so? “She was pretty, like you. And daring. She did things no one else would try.”
“Really? What kind of things?”
He frowned. In addition to diving naked off the bridge, when assigned to write a paper on an important historical figure Marisol had reported on Sally Rand, the infamous fan dancer and stripper. Half the football team claimed to have slept with her, but Scott couldn’t recall having seen Marisol in the company of any of them, so he suspected wishful thinking on their part. What was true was that she was frequently in trouble for mouthing off to teachers and was a familiar figure in detention hall her final year at Cedar Switch High School.
None of this was the sort of thing he could share with her daughter. “Your mother was very independent,” he said. “The kind of person others looked up to and wanted to be like.” At least, he’d felt that way.
“She never talks about growing up here,” Toni said. “It’s like it’s some big secret or something.”
“She probably doesn’t want to bore you,” Scott said. Everyone had secrets they didn’t want to share, especially not with children.
He was saved from further comment by the arrival of the red Corvette. Marisol parked in the driveway and got out. Despite the heat, she looked fresh and vibrant, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a tropical-print sleeveless dress bright against her tanned skin. “Scott,” she said. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Not long.” He held up the portfolio. “I came to discuss listing the house, if now’s a good time.”
“Now is fine. Come on in.” She walked past them and led the way inside.
“Did you get a job?” Toni asked.
“I did.” Marisol smiled. “I start tomorrow morning.”
“Where will you be working?” Scott asked.
“I’m the newest waitress at the Bluebonnet Café.”
She laughed at the obvious surprise on both their faces.
Scott had a difficult time imagining the elegant woman before him taking orders at the down-home restaurant. “Have you waited tables before?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. But I told the woman there I could learn.” She glanced at her daughter. “It’ll be an adventure. And the hours will let me be here when you get home from school.”
Toni rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I need a baby-sitter,” she said.
“I know.” She patted Toni’s shoulder. “Scott and I need to talk business for a bit, okay?”
“Okay.” She headed down the hall and in a moment Scott heard a door close.
“She’s a sweet girl,” Scott said. “She reminds me of you at that age.”
“I’m amazed you remember me. I’d better show you the house.”
He was aware of being alone with her in rooms that still held the chill of long-unoccupied space. When her hand brushed his arm as she reached past him to flip a light switch, he felt a sharp stab of arousal. Her eyes met his and he sensed she felt it too. Then she turned away and the moment passed.
He forced himself to focus on the house. There wasn’t much to see—three bedrooms, two bathrooms, formal dining and living rooms and the kitchen, where they ended the tour. “Everything seems to be in good repair,” he said. “But that wood paneling in the dining room and the black and white tiles in the kitchen and bath scream 1970s. If you’d put some money into updating the place—paint over the paneling, and install new flooring and countertops, and maybe some new appliances—you’d get a much better price.”
“I can’t afford to remodel.” She took two glasses from the kitchen cabinet. “I’m going to have some iced tea. Would you like some?”
“That would be good.” He pulled out a chair and sat at the table, enjoying the view of her curvy backside and shapely legs as she pulled the pitcher from the fridge.
“I’m guessing my kitchen cabinets aren’t what’s making you smile that way,” she said as she set the tea in front of him and joined him at the table.
Heat burned his cheeks. To cover his embarrassment at being caught ogling her, he opened the folder and shuffled through the papers. “I pulled the legal description at the courthouse, and some comparables of other sales of similar properties for you to look at. Judging by them, here’s how much I think you can get for the place.” He slid the listing agreement to her and pointed to the line for the selling price.
Her eyes scanned the paper, and she frowned. “I was hoping for a little more.”
“We can ask, but the market is in a bit of a slump now, and these smaller places tend to sell more slowly. Again, if you’d remodel…”
She shook her head, and picked up a pen. “If this is the best we can do, then we’ll do it.” She signed with a flourish, then handed the papers back to him. “How long do you think it will take to find a buyer?”
“Tough to say. The average time on the market has stretched to five months, though of course I’ll do my best to shorten that.”
“Do what you can,” she said. She looked around the kitchen. “It feels strange, being back here after so many years.”
“There are some attractive new homes on the west side of town,” he said. “Maybe after you’ve sold this place you could move to one of them.”
“No, I’m not planning on staying. There’s nothing for me here.” Her eyes met his and he felt the impact of that gaze, and a leaden ache in his stomach. He could admit, if only to himself, that he hadn’t completely set aside the fantasy of the two of them getting together. Having a relationship that went beyond agent and client. But her words made it clear she saw no possibility of that.
What did it matter, anyway, when she was so clearly out of his league? He’d trespassed in this world once before and proved he couldn’t keep up. He changed the subject. “Who did you talk to at the Bluebonnet?”
“I didn’t get her name. An older woman with braids. She was wearing overalls and an apron.”