Coming Home For Christmas. Marie Ferrarella
she hadn’t made the connection. She knew Keith had moved away but assumed that his mother had, too.
Because of what Mrs. Manetti had said, she should have realized this was still the O’Connell house. She supposed it was the story that threw her. Mrs. Sommers had said the seller had grown up here, which meant it was his childhood home. If anyone had told her that her parents’ house was being sold, she would have been upset, not indifferent. And if she were forced to pack up whatever belongings she wanted to take with her, she would have had to hire a large moving van, not carelessly ask to have it all sold off to strangers.
But then, not everyone was as sentimental or attached to things as she was. And, she supposed, in a way there was a cloud over this house. Maybe that was what Keith had been thinking when he said he wanted everything sold.
The moment she looked up at Keith, that old queasy-stomach feeling came over her. She had to fight to keep it in check. This was business, Kenzie reminded herself. Her smile increased its wattage. Partially it was the saleswoman in her, and partially it was just the woman in her responding to the man.
He had only gotten better looking.
It figured. Was he married?
It had been ten years since she’d seen him. Of course he’d gotten married.
Hadn’t he?
Kenzie dealt with a great many people in her line of work, and she was accustomed to all types crossing her path. As far as looks went, Keith, with his chiseled features, somber expression and sad green eyes, was definitely in the top 3 percent. She allowed her well-organized mind to wander just a little bit.
She had to admit that if Marcy or Marilyn had wanted to set her up with someone who resembled Keith, she probably wouldn’t have turned the offer down, principles or no principles.
The next moment, Kenzie sternly upbraided herself for allowing her mind to wander this far off course, even for a split second. Even if it was Keith.
Grow up, Kenzie.
This was definitely not how she conducted business. It didn’t matter if this was Keith, just as it didn’t matter if she was dealing with a man who looked like Prince Charming or resembled a diseased frog. The only thing that mattered was whether or not she could help him sell the possessions inside his house. She could if those items were in decent condition or, barring that, if they were unique and interesting.
And even if that wasn’t the case, she could offer suggestions on the measures he needed to take to make some money on the items.
All these thoughts went racing through her head in far less time than it took for an outsider to actually review what had happened.
Showtime, Kenzie thought. She was ready. She liked to think of herself as always ready.
She handed him her card. “Mr. O’Connell?” she asked, her throat feeling remarkably dry as she formally said his name. She waited for him to recognize her.
Green eyes went up and down the length of her, taking measure of her. Her breath backed up in her lungs.
“Yes?” Keith answered. There was absolutely no recognition in his eyes.
Banking down her disappointment—reminding herself that she had done a lot of transforming since she’d been in high school—Kenzie forced a smile to her lips and extended her hand to him. “Mrs. Sommers called to tell me that you were looking for someone to help you find a new home for your things.”
The woman standing in front of him with the thousand-watt smile seemed far too youthful to be handling anything with the word estate in it. He felt as if he had just accidentally wandered into a children’s story time. The underage woman made it sound as if his mother’s things were animated with lives of their own.
Which was beyond ridiculous.
A distant, formless memory hovered about his brain, teasing it, but when he tried to capture it, to nail it down, it eluded him.
The woman on his doorstep reminded him of someone.
Who?
He pushed the thought aside.
“Technically, they’re not my things,” he informed her. “I don’t care if they find a home or not. I just need to get them out of the house. Mrs. Sommers seems to think the house will show much better—and sell better—if there are no distracting pieces of furniture scattered throughout the house, cluttering it up.”
Kenzie nodded, hurt that there was no recognition in his eyes when he spoke to her. Reminding herself that she looked quite a bit different now didn’t help.
Give it time, Kenzie.
“Okay,” she said gamely to him once she was inside the front door. “Why don’t you show me around so I can see what I’ve got to work with?”
He hadn’t been into all the rooms since he’d returned home himself. More specifically, he hadn’t seen most of the rooms since he’d left home ten years ago.
Even when he’d returned yesterday, he’d deliberately remained downstairs, sleeping on the living room sofa. When he’d woken up after a less than restful night, he’d ventured only as far as the kitchen to make himself some breakfast.
As for the rest of the house—his room, Amy’s, his mother’s bedroom, the bonus room they used for a TV room—he hadn’t gone into any of it. And he wanted to keep it that way until he felt up to viewing the other rooms—if that time came.
But saying anything of the kind to this woman felt far too personal.
Keith supposed he could just beg off, or murmur some noncommittal excuse that accomplished the same thing. But he had a feeling this woman wasn’t the type to accept no for an answer, at least not without a really good reason.
To be fair, he decided to make one attempt at accommodating her while maintaining the balance he was searching for.
“You can just find your own way through the house. I don’t mind if you poke around,” he added, thinking she probably wanted a chance to review what might sell and what just needed to be carted away.
The smile was lightning fast as she attempted to coax him into accompanying her. “I’m bound to have questions,” she told him. When he made no response, thinking she’d take the hint, she just continued. “If you come along as my guide, it’ll go faster that way. I promise.” Turning on her heel, she led the way to the staircase.
He was really beginning to regret this.
Walking ahead of him, Kenzie had just managed to climb up one step on the staircase when melodic chimes announced that there was someone on the other side of the front door.
Keith looked from the door back to the woman standing just ahead of him. He was hard-pressed to say which bothered him more—going upstairs with the woman he was still trying to place, or dealing with what had to be a prospective buyer. He wanted the house emptied almost as much as he wanted it sold. He just didn’t want to be the one dealing with either firsthand.
Looking at his expression, Kenzie could almost read his mind. It occurred to her that for a relatively uncommunicative man, Keith didn’t keep his thoughts all that well hidden.
“It’s too soon for a prospective buyer to be turning up on your doorstep, and even if there was one this fast, he or she would be coming in with Mrs. Sommers. They wouldn’t be here on their own, ringing your doorbell—I’m assuming you gave her a set of keys.”
How had he forgotten that? Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, all of this had shaken him up more than he thought it would.
“Yes, I did,” he answered.
As