The furrow of her brow when she concentrated was what had drawn him to her in the beginning. It could have been anyone. Narrowed eyes and the way she chewed on her bottom lip, well—that was all it took. He ached to get closer. Watching her fascinated him. He enjoyed wondering what was running through that pretty little head of hers. He liked how he could never quite figure it out. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt like a changed man. Optimistic, even. This one would not be like the rest of them. She was different. Looking at her was like looking at the sun on a bright day, dangerous and exhilarating all the same. Like a very fun game, the kind he knew he wanted to keep playing.
Chapter Four
The house on Clairmont is exactly as I imagined it, more stunning in person than the photos on MLS convey. I arrive early, just in case. Even though Dana assured me everything was ready, I want to make sure for myself—a decision I would immediately come to regret. When I agreed to handle this, I had not foreseen myself in five-inch heels and a pencil skirt, white blouse rolled up to my elbows, dragging a three-ton planter around a walkway.
The overbearing seller, Dana had neglected to mention. A woman with sad eyes and a sour scowl who would insist on micromanaging my every move and make me question ever saying yes to anything again. Why don’t we put the flyers here? Let’s put down the rugs. No, let’s take up the rugs. I think we should move that planter…
The first five tries did not get the small potted tree to a position of her liking, so I’m not sure what she thought the sixth would do. And yet there I was, sweat dripping from my brow, dragging it back to its original spot. I smile through gritted teeth as she said, Are you sure the sign is in the right place?
I had assured her several times it was perfect, only to have her go out and move it herself. Then there were the balloons, something I do for every open house. I always bring them home to the girls. They add an extra touch, and also Blair painted the bathroom wall with the last of my mascara, so I had to stop at the store anyhow.
The seller insists they’re unnecessary. Tacky is the term she used, and I watch out the front window as she cuts them loose with her teeth and they float toward the sky.
She glances back at me once over her shoulder, shakes her head, and then, to my relief, gets in her Mercedes and speeds off. My phone rings. I think of Greg and the girls at the soccer field, and suddenly I am overwhelmed with a sense of sadness. Dana’s name on the screen instead of his makes my stomach sink.
“Gosh,” she laughs before I even get the chance to say hello. “You really pissed off Mrs. Saunders.”
“It wasn’t hard.”
“No,” she says. “It never is. Sorry…I forgot to mention that she’d stop by. She doesn’t want to sell the place—but you know how divorces go.”
Movement outside catches my eye. A young couple, wearing matching smiles and immaculate attire, are making their way up the walk, hand in hand.
“Hey, I gotta go.”
“Don’t forget to make a big thing out of the appliance garage.”
“Got it.”
“And be sure to point out the fire feature.”
It’s obvious now. This sale isn’t as cut and dry as she made it out to be. “I won’t.”
“Okay, then.” Dana sighs wistfully. “Ciao.”
The rest of the open house goes as expected. There was significant interest, and I didn’t showcase the appliance garage or the fire feature, not even once. I suspect the first couple will have an offer in by evening, given that they came back a second time with one set of parents and took measurements of several rooms.
I text Greg. Leaving in ten. Need me to bring anything?
His response makes me smile. Just your beautiful self.
I gather my things. Then I go from room to room, turning off the lights. I’m halfway down the rounded staircase when the front door chimes. “Hello,” I call to a man standing in the foyer. His eyes are at floor level; he doesn’t immediately see me.
When he looks up, surprise flickers across his expression. His gaze fixes on me, and he smiles. It is a friendly smile, but it’s shrouded in something else, something not exactly happy. “I was just closing up,” I say, making my way down the stairs. “But you could always make an appointment.”
“It’s okay.” He shakes the flyer in his hand. “I won’t be long. Actually,” he says, looking up at me with shielded eyes, “I think I’ve seen enough.”
The way he looks at me makes me uneasy. I grip the banister. My knees suddenly feel wobbly, and I don’t trust that I won’t trip down the remaining stairs. He is tall, even from my vantage point. “What’s something like this cost, anyway?” he asks.
He has a rough voice and a muscular build, thick, wavy blond hair, and shiny white teeth. He doesn’t make it easy to gauge his age. “The asking price is two point four.”
“Two point four, huh?” He makes a clucking sound with his tongue and scans the room. He’s dressed well and sports a tan like he golfs a lot or has just returned from vacation. Whichever the case, he’s seen his day in the sun. “And would you say it’s worth that?”
“I don’t need to. The comps say so.”
“Mind if I look around?” he asks, taking a step toward the kitchen. “I’ll be quick.”
“Um—” I check the time on my phone. My palms are so clammy it nearly slips from my hand. I take the remaining steps slowly.
As I follow him into the formal dining room, he pivots on his heel, startling me. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
There’s a familiarity about him, but I can’t place his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“You’re not sorry yet,” he says. “But you will be.”
My head cocks, and then he laughs as though the joke is on me. “That’s funny.” He plucks my card from the stack on the granite countertop and studies it for several long beats before looking up. “Because I know exactly who you are.”
Raw panic edges up my spine. A sense of dread twists in my gut. It’s silly, I realize. I grip my phone so hard my palm hurts. He doesn’t look like a creep, but there’s something not quite right about him either. “I’m sorry,” I repeat, scooping up my things. I scoot around and past him, making a beeline for the door. He steps backward in quick strides, placing himself in front of me. Not enough to block me in completely, but enough so I understand he hasn’t finished what he wants to say.
“You’ve really matured.”
For a second, my mind flits to what could be. To who he could be. But no, I don’t think so.
He holds his hands up as I push past him. This time he fully blocks the exit. “It’s not so fun, being caged in, is it?”
“I have to go,” I tell him, wielding my phone like a weapon, knowing if what he has come for is to harm me, it won’t do me any good at this point. “My husband is waiting.”
He looks toward the front of the house. “Outside?”
I press my lips together and nod.
“Oh, Amy,” he hisses. “Amy. Amy. Amy. Now that couldn’t possibly be true, could it? Greg is across town at the soccer fields.”