“Oh. Wait. So you’re not originally from Tarburton?”
“Nope. I’m a newcomer, like you.” He gave her a wink. “We newbies have to stick together, don’t you think?”
* * *
Thirty minutes later she heard a rapping at the front door. Ezra handed her a set of keys. “Okay, that’s done.” He pointed to his toolbox. “If you want, I can take a look at that stopped-up sink you mentioned.”
“You do plumbing?”
“Just the simple stuff.”
She stood in the bathroom doorway and watched while he wiggled his upper torso beneath the bathroom vanity. “Can you get me that big monkey wrench? It’s in the bottom of the toolbox.”
Ivy handed him a wrench.
“That’s a socket wrench.”
She handed him the only other wrench-like object in the box.
Ezra grunted his approval. After some prolonged banging, and at least one muffled curse word, he extricated himself from the vanity cabinet with a curved piece of pipe in hand. “Here’s your problem,” he said. “Probably fifty years of built-up gunk.”
“Ick,” Ivy said. “Can it be fixed?”
“Sure. I’ll just rinse it out in the bathtub. Word to the wise, get yourself some drain cleaner and run it through there on the regular.”
“Awesome,” Ivy said, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Look, neighbor or no neighbor, I can’t let you do all these repairs for free.”
“You’re right,” Ezra agreed. “You got any coffee?”
“It’s just instant. My coffeemaker is on the moving truck.”
He grimaced. “Better than nothing, I guess. That’s my fee. A cup of hot coffee. I like mine with cream. And sugar. Is that a problem?”
She smiled despite herself. “I think I can handle that.”
“Cool. I’ll be done here in ten minutes.”
* * *
Ivy hummed under her breath as she brewed the coffee and set out mugs and a plate. She unwrapped Mrs. Huddleston’s cake and shuddered slightly. It was gooey and chocolatey with what looked like melted marshmallow topping. She placed a huge slice of cake on Ezra’s plate and set it on the table.
“Man, that coffee smells instant,” he announced as he walked into the kitchen.
“Sit.” Ivy pointed at the single chair pulled up to the wooden table.
“But where’ll you sit?” he asked.
“I’ll just lean against the counter and look decorative,” Ivy said.
“This doesn’t feel right,” he groused, easing onto the chair. “My mom would say she raised me better than this.”
“My house, my rules,” Ivy said lightly. She took a sip of coffee. “Thanks again for coming to my rescue. I’m afraid I haven’t been a very gracious hostess.”
Ezra looked down at the cake. “Don’t tell me you baked this in your spare time.” He shoved a forkful of it in his mouth, chewed, and grinned. “Oh my gawd,” he drawled. “This stuff is incredible.”
“Glad you like it,” she said. “It was a gift from Sally Huddleston. Do you know her?”
He took another bite of cake and washed it down with a gulp of coffee. “Never met the lady. Is there a Mr. Huddleston? If not, I might have to propose.”
“I don’t actually know if she’s single. But if you like mature women, Sally’s your gal. I’m guessing she’s in her fifties.”
“That’s cool,” Ezra said. He pointed his fork at Ivy. “You’re not having any cake?”
“I don’t really enjoy sweets,” Ivy said.
His eyes widened. “For real? Is it some kind of diet thing? I mean, not to get personal or anything, but seems to me you could stand to eat a few cheeseburgers.”
“I just don’t like sweets,” Ivy said. “Never have.”
“Not even as a kid? Like, no trick-or-treat candy? No pumpkin pie or birthday cake, or, I don’t know, Easter basket PEEPS?” He scooped up another bite of cake. “PEEPS! I freakin’ love Easter PEEPS.”
“Maybe when I was really little.” Ivy wanted to get off this topic. “So, earlier you said something about when you moved here? I somehow assumed you were a native.”
Ezra took a last bite of cake and sat back from the table. “Nope. Born and raised in a little town in South Carolina. I moved here about a year ago.”
“Why Tarburton, of all places?”
He looked down at his plate, chasing a gooey chocolate crumb around with the side of his fork. “Why does anyone move to a new place? I used to have family living in the area. I was working in banking in Charlotte. Trust me, there is nobody in Charlotte who does not work in banking. Like insurance in Hartford, or tech in California. I needed a change. Got my real estate license, and ended up here.” He took a sip of coffee and pointed at her. “Your turn.”
“Me? I got divorced. My ex and I owned the company together, and it was more than awkward, especially after I figured out his new squeeze was our biggest client.”
Ezra winced. “Superawkward.”
“Exactly. He bought out my share of the business, and our house. And then I had this bizarre urge to buy a broken-down farmhouse and fix it up. There’s probably something Freudian there. I’ll let you figure it out.”
Ezra looked longingly at the remainder of the cake on the counter. Ivy laughed, cut off another slab, and added it to his plate.
He attacked the second slice of cake with enthusiasm.
“Something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
“Not about the Christmas lights, I hope.”
“No. I’m just fascinated with the fact that you made an offer on this house, and bought it, without ever having seen it. Kind of a ballsy move.”
“And totally unlike me,” Ivy admitted. “The truth is, I’d been thinking about making a big change for months. I’d been browsing real estate listings, sort of daydreaming. But something came over me when I saw this place. It just … felt right. When you let me know there was another offer on the table, I think I came down with a bad case of FOMO.”
Ezra nodded. “Feeding frenzy. It’s a real thing. Tell me again what kind of work you do? Something creative, right?”
“Marketing and public relations.”
“What kind of marketing?” he asked.
She sighed. “The lame kind, apparently. I seem to have lost my creative mojo. I got an email this morning from my biggest client—my only client, actually—and they’re basically rejecting the campaign I’ve been working on for months and months.”
“Ouch. Who’s the client?”
“They’re a big national home builder. I have to say, I’m not surprised. My heart’s just not in it. They build these huge subdivisions with hundreds and hundreds of houses, all from the same cookie-cutter models.”
“What can you do?” Ezra asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never had a client reject my work before. I was hoping moving here might be the spark to light my creative fire, but nothing seems to be working.”