by Ines Saint
“Two weeks?” He looked down at her. The houses were almost ready, but he could see it now. Two weeks spelled whirlwind planning and loose ends. “It’s a great idea, Cass, but you’re plowing into it again. A month is doable. Two weeks is madness.”
“Again?” She gritted her teeth. “We agreed. You don’t know me anymore. I calm down now. I think,” she said, looking anything but calm and thoughtful. But she surprised him by clearing the glare from her face, blowing out a breath, and saying, “Three weeks. It’s totally doable.”
Sam nodded, slowly, as his mind ran through possible scenarios. It was doable. “Sounds good . . . but I’ll need you to start showing properties right away.”
“Of course. I’m planning on holding open houses next Sunday. I won’t be able to be here the entire time, though.” She looked down at her watch. “Now, let’s get started. I have two open houses, four showings, and two closings this weekend in Cincinnati, but starting Monday I’ll look at every listing in town and talk to the other Realtors while I run around downtown getting businesses excited and on board. If most of them agree and we work together like you say, three weeks is doable.”
Sam shook his head. She made it sound as if she had zero life outside her business. “How can you do more than two open houses?”
“I have a trusted network of part-time Realtors I hire, and I run around making sure everything’s running along the way it’s supposed to.”
The Cassie he’d grown up with had trouble remembering what she had to do the next day, let alone the following month. Yet she now seemed to have it together. “How do you keep track of it all?” he asked, genuinely interested.
She held up her phone and smiled, looking proud. “It’s all in a calendar, linked to my e-mail and my reminders, and backed up to a cloud, for when I lose my phone, which is more often than I’d like. I put everything into my calendar and set up three reminders the moment I set anything up, and I’m constantly checking my schedule. If I run out of milk or shaving cream, it immediately goes into my reminders and the moment I pass a supermarket, my phone dings with the reminder. Anything I need to do, whether it’s a call I have to make or a birthday present I have to buy, goes in. Anything I know I don’t need gets thrown away or donated at the moment. No clutter. Plus I have tons of storage. Anything I’m not sure I should get rid of, I stuff somewhere.”
Sam mirrored her smile. “So, you like old houses and old cars, yet you can’t live without your modern phone.”
She looked at him as if he were dense. “If they were new, I wouldn’t be interested in them and I wouldn’t need new technology to keep up with the busy life I’ve built around them.”
Sam furrowed his brow, trying hard to follow her logic. It had never been easy. “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out. What do you need me to do?”
“Keep working on the next twelve houses so we can make this is a biannual event. Come on, let’s go!”
Sam followed Cassie out the door, excitement building within, his sense of purpose infused with her sense of adventure.
As he walked Cassie through one property after another, he began to look at her with new eyes. Cassie McGillicuddy had it together.
And every time she took notice of a particular detail he’d personally worked on, new feelings that had nothing to do with days gone by were awakened. Her enthusiasm and understanding made him feel a new connection to her, even though she kept her distance, even though she insisted on following him in her own car from house to house.
Weak sunlight breaking through large, shifting, misty clouds lent the day an unreal feeling as she followed him around, both of them caught in a sometimes haunted, often whimsical world of folkloric English, Tudor, and French Normandy Revival cottages and bungalows decked out in stone, brick, and ironwork; imaginative, asymmetrical roofs; and multi-light windows.
“I love this front door,” she exclaimed, her entire face lighting up as she took in the arched cedar door with speakeasy grill, clavos, and corner brackets. “It looks medieval.”
Sam grinned. “It goes with the turret. How many people can say that about a house they’ve worked on?”
Cassie smiled up at him, eager and excited, as he opened the door. “It sets the tone. I feel like I’m about to walk into another time and place.”
Sam looked away. Her zeal over the little touches and details in each house was filling a loneliness he hadn’t known he was carrying around.
The next house had been Johnny’s project, but Cassie walked over to the one contribution Sam had made. She ran her fingers over the custom stair rails. “Tree branches. That must’ve been expensive.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Not really. I made them.”
Cassie didn’t turn around to look at him, but she studied each and every railing closely and took pictures. “I’ve always had big ideas and I can see them so clearly in my head, but I can’t execute them like this. Like you. It takes skill and art and precision . . .” She sounded awed and Sam didn’t know what to say to that.
When they walked into the last house on the list, Sam watched as Cassie did her walk-through, expectantly. He had experimented in the kitchen with a newer, more expensive option for kitchen countertops—one that he hadn’t been sure would fit in. Dan and Johnny had been impressed, but Cassie knew the market in different ways.
She halted when she entered the kitchen and turned to shoot him a quick, surprised look before walking over to stare down at the recycled glass countertops. “Wow, Sam, this is beautiful.”
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, the house is surrounded by trees. I thought it needed something that would reflect light. It’s also a smaller house on a small lot, so I picture someone living alone, or maybe empty nesters living here. Recycled glass isn’t the most kid-friendly material.”
“It’s gorgeous. I love it,” she said, softly, as she ran her fingers over the surface. “It’s pretty strong, but I know what you mean. Quartz is more my thing. They say it’s nearly indestructible. Someone like me would probably chip this glass within the year somehow.”
Sam didn’t think she’d appreciate him telling her he doubted it would take her that long, so he remained quiet. She’d already dropped her camera once and tripped twice.
She took pictures of it from different angles, saying, “Your dad would be proud of you, you know,” between clicks. It had become obvious throughout the morning that it was hard for her to look at him. Whenever she said something that bordered on praise or personal, she looked away and picked up her phone or camera.
Right now, Sam was grateful she wasn’t looking at him. The words were painful to hear. His brothers had trusted him with the business and reputation his father had built from the ground up, and he’d turned around and taken risks and gambles he wasn’t known for.
“What’re you going to do when you run out of homes in Spinning Hills?” she asked, smiling. “I can’t see you doing anything else but this. Unless you decide to become its mayor and dictator to keep trendy people out.”
“I’m not that much of a hard-ass. And when and if I’m ever done here, I’ll take on downtown Dayton, neighborhood by neighborhood. I’ve got some good friends already doing great work there. After that I’ll keep going, from dilapidated house to dilapidated house, all over the region, till I’m too old to pick up a hammer.” He smiled back.
She shook her head. “I can actually see old, arthritic you, going on and on about saving a house and the region. It’s the one thing you were fanatical about and the one thing that got you talking.”
“Technical subjects are always easy to talk about. You just spew your knowledge to people who are actually interested in it.”
Cassie nodded her head in agreement. “And it’s easier to listen to, because its straightforward, no bull. A support beam is a support beam is a support beam. You can count on it to do what it’s supposed to do.”
It didn’t seem like she was referencing him and the past, and she’d made it clear
she wanted to keep the past out of their dealings, but it was obvious she was talking about people letting people down. They walked the rest of the house in silence.
When they stepped out into the backyard, they both looked out in awe. Sunlight had broken through a suddenly blue sky and the day had warmed up, proving what locals knew. The Miami Valley weather was a moody and mercurial entity.
The house they were viewing was on the highest of the “spinning hills” and looked out over the entire town. Sam never tired of the view.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked, sounding as humbled by the picturesque view of winding roads, cascading trees, and houses that looked like they belonged in a movie director’s imagination.
“Do what?” he asked for the heck of it. He knew what she was talking about. He turned to look at her just as she looked up at him. A breeze swept a few loose strands of hair across her face, and he had to fist his hand to keep from pulling her hair out of its ponytail and letting it all loose.
“Buy thirty-four houses?”
Sam’s real answer was anything but technical. He didn’t know how to put it in words, nor did he want to. He gave her his go-to answer. “To invest in my hometown.” It was a big part of the truth and it satisfied most people.
She studied him for a long moment before turning to walk back inside, their quiet moment gone.
“Any suggestions?” he asked, when they walked back out the front door.
“No. Not a one. You know what you’re doing. These are going to sell fast.”
“You think so?” he asked, working to sound neutral, while hope and anxiety warred within.
“The market conditions are right and your choices reflect what consumers want. See? Technical reasons. No bull.”
Cassie leaned on her car door and began scrolling through her pictures with a soft, satisfied smile on her lips. When she caught him watching her, she stood up straight and began barking out orders. “I’ll need before pictures, a copy of each key, and a picture of you, Dan, and Johnny.”
“Why?”
“My very next blog entry will be about the curse and the current Amador men. I’m going to interview people in town about it today while I get them involved on our Open Town, and I’ll include their thoughts and takes on it and try to get the Dayton News to publish it.”
“Uh, no—”
She put one hand on her hip. “Do you wanna sell fast or what?”
Or nothing. He needed to sell fast. “Fine,” he said on a sigh.
Cassie offered him a warm, bright smile and stuck out her hand. “This is going to work out.”
Sam smirked and caught her eyes straying to his lips. “It’s been a real experience meeting you, adult, professional Cassie.” He winked. Forget the past. If he’d only met her today, he’d be lusting after Cassie’s lips, freckles, and the thoughts that ran around in that perplexing brain of hers. He’d bet she tasted like sunshine.
But Cassie turned serious. “I highly doubt you wink at the other Realtors like some sleazy womanizer out of a seventies film, Sam. We’re business partners. Don’t wink at me.”
In his mind’s eye, Sam suddenly pictured himself slouching in front of Cassie, wearing a low V-neck shirt with gold chains on his neck and winking like some aging ladies’ man. When had he lost his touch? “Thanks for ruining the day,” he muttered before heading to his car.
Cassie parked in front of her new office and took a moment to sort through the myriad emotions coursing through her. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins over the Open Town idea, while her entire body felt warm with admiration over the craftsman Sam had become. He was something else. All morning she’d felt as if she were walking over a rainbow. The pot of gold on the other side was the pride of being part of something special.
The problem was the tug she felt for the man behind all the hard work. If she’d met him that very day for the first time, she’d have wanted to know more about that man.
But she hadn’t just met him. They shared a past and though she wouldn’t let it get in the way, she also couldn’t repeat it. No matter how much she admired his work, she had to keep him at arm’s length. It wasn’t that she thought he’d hurt her again, it was that she didn’t think she could ever trust anyone again the way she’d once trusted him.
Jessica’s car pulled up behind her and Cassie opened her door, eager to tell her all about Open Town and get her mind off everything else.
“Cassie, that’s brilliant, but are you sure we have time?” Jessica exclaimed when Cassie got her all caught up.
Jessica had gotten them lunch and had just finished setting everything out on a green plaid blanket on the floor.
“Yes. I don’t have kids, a husband, or even a pet. This is my life.” Cassie smiled brightly until she caught Jessica’s frown. “That came out as pathetic, didn’t it?” She waved her hand. “Don’t worry. I like my life.”
“So you keep telling me.” Jessica gave her a keen look before glancing down to brush imaginary crumbs off her pants. “Now, tell me about this Amador curse you’ll be featuring on our blog. That’s the kind of post our audience gobbles up and shares. We’ll be sure to get tons of hits.”
Cassie bit into her sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of her soft drink while Jessica watched her expectantly. Cassie wiped her mouth to hide a smile behind her napkin. Though most people claimed not to believe in magic, nearly everyone loved a fantastical story.
“Here goes,” she said, setting her lunch down. “Dan, Sam, and Johnny are direct descendants of Sergio Amador, a Spanish immigrant who came here with his brother, Juan, to work the coal mines in West Virginia. Juan got sick, so they moved here to Dayton to start a horse breeding business. The local gypsies traded horses all over the Midwest and North-east and Sergio knew they’d be successful if they partnered with them, but he also knew the gypsies distrusted outsiders.”
Cassie took another sip of her soda before continuing. “So, Sergio, who was said to be devastatingly handsome, set out to win the heart of the granddaughter of the entire gypsy nation’s king and queen. They were soon betrothed, and it was the main reason Sergio and Juan’s new business grew. But then Sergio fell in love with another woman. He didn’t want his business to suffer, so the day before the wedding, he set up his bride-to-be by trapping her and a drifter he’d paid in the very house he’d built for her, before setting fire to it. No one could prove he’d started the fire, and he insisted she’d been cheating on him, but the gypsies didn’t believe him, so they commissioned a special curse for Sergio.”
“What is it? What’s the curse?” Jessica insisted, eyes wide, hanging on every word.
Cassie chuckled and wiped her mouth. “No Amador will find true love until the curse is broken . . . but no one knows how to break it. Trust me, plenty of silly girls have tried.”
Jessica smiled. “You’d think women would stay away after hearing about Sergio, but after seeing the brothers and meeting them, I understand why they’d try. Were you one of those silly girls?”
Cassie’s laughter died down. “No. Not really. My friends and I had fun speculating, and I always loved the story, but I don’t believe in curses and never have. At the time, the one thing I believed was that nothing could ever tear Sam and me apart.”
They were quiet and after a while, Jessica shot her an assessing look and asked, “How did you two get along this morning? Was it awkward?”
“Not all of it. Sam weaves magic into every house, Jess. He’s brilliant. Listening to his ideas is thrilling. That part went by in a dreamy haze.” Cassie looked out the window, drew in a long breath, and exhaled slowly before continuing. “The hard part is that I’m still attracted to the physical things that always attracted me, which is so stupid of me. I feel more on edge than I have in years, and you know I’m always on edge.”
Jessica shook her head. “It’s not stupid. I’ve had a crush on Rick Springfield since I was twelve, and now I have a neighbor who looks just like him and every time I see h
im I turn into a puddle. He merely waves and I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack. It can’t be helped. We’re attracted to what we’re attracted to.”
“You have a hot neighbor? You hadn’t told me that.” Cassie slapped her friend’s thigh.
“I do. And before I go to sleep every night, I picture his deep blue eyes and black lashes looking down at me from, you know, a horizontal position, and it makes me crazy. But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Please let’s talk about you.”
“Are you sweating?” Cassie asked, eyes wide. The windows were open and it was a cool, breezy day.
“I think I am.” Jessica wiped her brow. “Now, be a friend and distract me by telling me what, exactly, has you on edge. If I keep thinking about my neighbor, I might go knock on his door tonight.”
Cassie stared at her friend, eyes wide, and nodded, slowly, not sure what to say to that. She took another bite of her tuna fish sandwich and chewed thoughtfully, trying to understand what it was about Sam that made her tick. “I don’t have it as bad as you do. I don’t break out into a sweat or anything. It’s more like I break into tiny tingles the moment he walks in. Except he doesn’t really walk, he swaggers, in this slow, measured way. His smile is slow, too, and unintentional, like it surprises him just as it’s surprising you. And the way his eyelids and eyelashes were built make it seem like he’s always looking at you from underneath them. He kept shooting me these sideways glances, when he didn’t think I was looking . . .”
“You may not be sweating, but you have goose bumps and you’re flushed. Should I be worried?” Jessica peered into her face. “Oh my Lord. I think I should be.”
“No. Don’t be.” Cassie stared at her sandwich, no longer hungry, her mind now far, far away. “I caught him kissing another girl, Jess. Deeply. That’s why we broke up.” In her mind’s eye, she could still see his face the moment he’d looked up, looking half-drugged by the blond cheerleader’s kiss.
It was the day her mom had taken her reliance on Cassie too far and she’d snapped. She’d gone to his after-game party to tell him everything that was going on. To cry on his shoulder. To admit defeat. “He kept saying she kissed him and that he’d reacted slowly because he’d drank too much, but I saw the kiss, clear as day. He was participating. It was ten years ago, and I know now he was just being young and stupid like the rest of us, but the way I felt, the shocking, sick feeling, still haunts my every relationship. Sam had been my best friend since I was six. He and my dad were the two most honorable people I knew.”