Snowman

by AC Netzel

  “Nick, I… Um.” I turn around to face him and scan the room, searching for my courage. I spot a corkboard hung on a wall crammed with crayon drawings. Noelle’s. On top is a photograph of who I assume is her as a baby and her mom and dad. My heart sinks.

  Keep emotions out of this. It’s only a house. Brick and mortar. Memories are portable. You can take them anywhere.

  “Yeah?” he asks.

  “Don’t you have to get back to your shop?” If I were any more of a chicken, I’d have to pluck my own feathers.

  “Probably. You can stay here if you want. Make yourself comfortable until Jeb arrives. Or you can join me. Interested in bait and tackle?” he asks with a playful smile.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  We exit the lower level of his house by a sliding glass door. There’s a stone path that leads to a small store with a simple string of multicolored lights around the storefront window and a modestly painted wooden sign hung above the door.

  Snow Lures

  “Here we are.” He unlocks the door then opens it.

  I pause for a moment, ignoring the frigid temperature, to absorb the lake view from outside. It’s magnificent.

  Peaceful.

  Calm.

  And the perfect place for a new community to thrive.

  No wonder my company wants it so desperately. The potential is limitless. Spectacular views right on the water. I can envision a long dock right off a community house for small boats and jet skis. And an Olympic sized inground pool in a gated area close by. The land is so vast, they could easily knock down half these trees and add a few retail outlet stores with a couple of restaurants, and probably a modestly sized golf range.

  We’re talking big bucks buyers here. Cha-Ching City. All the big city luxuries at their fingertips combined with a place to recharge during their hard-earned time off. A temporary escape from the nine to five grind, but close enough to hop on an hour flight and sit behind your desk on Monday morning.

  This place is special, all right… for its profit-making possibilities.

  My muddled feelings about Nick and the carb overloading the past few mornings clouded my thinking. Pretty sure that’s a thing. Realizing the boundless growth potential for my company, as well as this community, has awoken my business ideals.

  A project like this has countless advantages Nick and the Jingle Belles aren’t considering. The scale of this kind of development brings in jobs, while we’re here and long after we’re gone.

  Now that I think about it, it’s pretty damn selfish that they deny this community the growth and opportunities we’ll provide. All for three little businesses that’ll go nowhere and a nice view.

  I hope Nick doesn’t notice the dollar signs flashing in my eyes, because I’m back in the game.

  Thank God. My wishy-washy emotional wavering was becoming a real pain in the ass.

  Nick and Noelle can live anywhere. There’s plenty of options. I’ll even dangle a discount for a condo if he’s still married to the idea of living on this plot of land. They only have two years invested in this place. I have more years invested in the shoes I’m wearing, and I could easily give them up. I glance down at my Lucky Choos.

  Well… maybe not this particular pair.

  “Summer?” Nick snaps me out of my moment of clarity.

  “Uh, um… yes?”

  “Are you coming in?” he asks, still holding the door open.

  “Yes, of course.” I tighten my grip around my laptop case, exhale a quick breath, and walk through the doorway into his shop.

  I glance around the room… because that’s what it is. Big, square, and rustic, but in a non-chic rural way. No shiplap, no cute farmhouse signs, no tasteful sliding barn door dividers.

  This place looks like… a bait and tackle shop. Fishing poles in different lengths and colors hang across a full wall, dozens of plastic bags filled with fishing paraphernalia are pegged on to another wall, and a glass case is filled with reels and some other crap. Two small aisles are bursting with assorted fishing whatnots and some bagged snacks. The fluorescent lighting is dull and surely unflattering, probably washing out my skin tone.

  I peek behind a counter and spot an old, banged up, white refrigerator. It’s the polar opposite of the gleaming stainless-steel model in the main house. There’s a handwritten sign taped on the front:

  Fresh Bait

  That would explain the faint fishy odor wafting in the air.

  How can a room this old and cringeworthy be attached to a house so stunning?

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he says as he walks behind the counter. “Can I get you something? There are cans of soda in the other fridge and some bags of chips in the next aisle over.”

  How about a room deodorizer?

  Shaking my head, I pat my stomach. “I’m still full from this morning’s breakfast.”

  He places a hand over his chest, raising a curious brow. “You ate breakfast in the dining room… at the same table… with other people three days in a row?” he teases.

  A smirk curls up from the side of my mouth. “A small price to pay for your aunt’s cooking.”

  He chuckles. “Good call, Sloane. Faith and Hope must have been thrilled.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Faith and Hope. My neighbors. They love socializing.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  So that’s their names! Faith and Hope. Faith. Hope. Faith.

  “So, what do you think of my store?” he asks.

  I shrug. “It’s nice.”

  He laughs. “You hate it.”

  “I’m confused. The rest of your house is so modern. This place is so…,” I look to the ceiling, searching for the right word, “not modern.”

  “The previous owner renovated the living space but liked the old-fashioned ambiance of this store. It reminded him of the small coastal town where he grew up. So he kept it as is. He ran this bait and tackle shop for a few months until he fell in love and married a local girl. They moved back to his country, and he resumed his duties as Prince of Genoslavia. I like the authenticity of the shop, so I kept it too.”

  “Wait a minute—Did you just say he was a Prince? A crown-wearing, scepter holding, toilet made of gold, Prince?”

  “We didn’t know it at the time. Sebastian pretended he was a commoner—to escape the pressures of being a Royal. Great guy. So-so fisherman, if I’m honest. His parents, the King and Queen showed up, and the jig was up for him.”

  My eyes widen. “That’s unbelievable.”

  “It’s more common than you think.”

  “Sure it is,” I say skeptically. I turn around to hide my eye roll. This is the weirdest little town I’ve ever encountered. I walk toward the front window and observe the lake view again. There something about it that draws me in… as well as, unfortunately, the man in the room with me. The shield I built up, the one that separates my emotions from my work, gradually lowers.

  Then I remember… my new office.

  And the apartment with working heat I’ll be able to afford once I get that promotion.

  And my dad’s hard to earn approval.

  And Ever… the maybe girlfriend.

  And up goes the shield.

  “So, are you going to tell me where you’re house hunting today?” he asks. “Or is it still a secret?”

  “Huh?”

  “House hunting. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  “Um. Kind of?”

  “Downtown has some nice Victorians. Some need a little TLC, not too much. I can get you in contact with an excellent handyman who could help you out.”

  “S-s-sounds good,” I stutter.

  “There were a couple of places available here at the lake, but they’ve been bought out recently. I don’t think there’s anything on the water in the immediate area. Except for me, Hope, and Faith.”

  “Who?”

  “Hope and Faith,” he says. “My neighbors.”

  “Oh yeah
. Mmm-hmm,” I hum, nodding in agreement.

  “Some hotshot New York City real estate developer is looking to turn this area into a country playground for the rich and entitled. Their practices are underhanded and downright sneaky. Used different names for each purchase. The folks who sold their properties had no idea who they actually sold to. Or understood their true intention was the knock this place to the ground.” His face reddens as his hands clench and unclench. “I did some digging around. Something didn’t jive. That’s when I found out they set up dummy corporations for each plot of land they purchased. Nobody knew it was all the same parent company.”

  None of this is news to me. This is how it’s done. Otherwise, we’d have landowner after landowner holding out for exorbitant prices. It’s common practice in my line of work.

  “But they did sell it. No one sells their property unless they want to, no matter who bought it,” I defend.

  “It was dishonest. They were tricked. They couldn’t make an informed decision. I know these people. They thought they were selling to nice families, good people. It may have been legal, but it stunk to high heaven.”

  “Geez Nick, they’re just houses. It’s not like there aren’t another billion places to live.”

  “They’re homes. Where people live and die and everything in-between. Once I put it together, I spread the word. Then they upped their game. Came in suits and ties, offering all sorts of incentives while waving a fat check with a couple of well-placed zeroes in my face.” He shakes his head. “I’m not selling my home.”

  “You’ve only been here for two years. You can’t be that attached to this place. I mean, you could always use more money, right?”

  “Noelle is happy here. The day we moved in was the first time I saw that kid smile since her parents died. That smile is worth more to me than any amount of cash they could ever cough up.”

  “Look, the real reason I’m…,” I begin when a jingle from the door interrupts our conversation.

  “Afternoon, Nick,” a tall, bulbous-nosed, parka wearing older gentleman with a plaid Elmer Fudd hunting cap says. “Need some fishing line.”

  I stare up at him. This guy is easily 6’7”—like a human skyscraper.

  “You got it, Tiny,” Nick says. “Fluorocarbon?”

  Tiny? For an extremely tall man? Pfftt… amateur nicknamers.

  “Yep. Best for trout fishing,” Tiny, the tall man, answers.

  “How can you fish? Isn’t the lake frozen?” I ask.

  “I wish, but it’s not solid enough. There ain’t nothing like fishing in a bob house,” he answers. “Today, I’m fishing off Nick’s dock.”

  “Bob house?” I frown.

  “It’s a shack for ice fishing. The lake will be completely solid soon,” Nick explains. “Oh, Tiny, this is Summer Sloane. She’s looking at houses in the area. Summer, this is Tim Hatchet.”

  The old guy dips the visor of his cap. He’s so high up, I could probably sit under his visor for shade. “Good to meet you, Summer. Always nice to make a new neighbor. Great people in these parts. And please, call me Tiny.”

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  “Tiny Tim’s the best fisherman in Arid Falls,” Nick says.

  “I speak fluent trout. And they reward me by biting my line,” Tiny jokes.

  I nod and smile. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that statement.

  The fish whisperer chats for a quick minute with Nick. Anxious to sit his ass down in the frigid cold, he completes his purchase, then leaves. I watch him stroll up Nick’s dock with a cooler in one hand and a fishing pole in the other.

  “Isn’t he going to freeze out there?”

  “Nah. He’s done this his whole life. He has on more layers than an onion, hand and feet warmers. He’ll be just fine.”

  “Do people just help themselves to your private property?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He said he’s fishing off your dock.”

  “He doesn’t have his own. Sold his lake house about a month ago. I told him he could come by here anytime and use mine.”

  “See? You could sell your house like him and still enjoy the perks of the area.” I found my gotcha moment, and I’m gonna grab it.

  “Tiny had no choice. His wife was sick for a long time. They had piling medical bills. They were on the brink of foreclosure. He didn’t want to sell. He was forced to. That New York company swooped in and took advantage of a desperate man. Got his property for a steal.” He shakes his head. “I know he misses it, living so close to the water. So I gave him carte blanche to my dock. Felt like it was the least I could do.”

  I swallow hard and close my eyes briefly, realizing that it’s time. I can’t put it off anymore.

  I walk over to the counter, placing my laptop case on the floor next to me.

  “Nick,” I say softly, wringing my hands together as I stare directly into his soulful blue eyes.

  “Summer?” he asks playfully.

  “That company. The real estate developers from New York that you hate…”

  “What about them?”

  I blow out a long breath.

  “I’m them.”

  Chapter 17

  Silently, he glares at me as he leans against the refrigerator, crossing his arms in front of his chest. I stare back, my eyes pleading with him to go easy on me because if there’s one thing I can spot—it’s a storm brewing behind those blue eyes. The temperature outside is tropical compared to the sudden icy chill in the air here.

  I clear my throat, never breaking eye contact, and go straight to my pitch before I lose my nerve.

  “If you just hear me out, I know you’ll agree that my… I mean, our intentions are honorable. We’re not the bad guys here. In fact, it’s an exceptional opportunity for you… for this community,” I explain. “Think of the jobs an undertaking of this magnitude would create. I’ve checked the state’s Labor Department stats. This area’s economy is sluggish at best. Construction, retail, administrative, groundskeeping jobs… there are so many ways this project would boost this town’s economy.”

  He continues to glare at me with burning, disapproving eyes. His body stiffens, and his lips press tightly together.

  “I can show you 3-D renderings on my laptop. It’s impressive. You’ll see the planned improvements in the infrastructure. I’ve personally experienced how terrible the roads are around here. You’ll never have to worry about ruining your tires on potholes… or getting stuck in a roadside ditch,” I reason.

  He tilts his head slightly then releases a heavy sigh.

  I take a small step forward until my stomach is pressed against the counter. “But we can’t achieve this, we can’t make these improvements, we can’t help your friends and neighbors… without your cooperation. My company is prepared to up our initial offer by an additional ten thousand dollars. And there’s a ten-thousand-dollar bonus if you persuade your two neighbors to sell.”

  I search his eyes, seeking a clue as to what he’s thinking. And I’m coming up with nothing. He continues to stand stoically, staring straight ahead. I reach deep in my arsenal of persuasion and go for it.

  “Nick, you and Noelle could relocate anywhere in town—or any place you want—and still have plenty left over to start your business in a new location. You’ll never have to worry about her college education. Or putting food on the table or clothes on your backs. She’ll never want for anything. Noelle’s future is in your hands. Your decision today will affect the rest of her life.”

  I know it’s shitty to throw out all the personal information I’ve learned in the short time I’ve known him—and use what I suspect is his Achilles heel—but all’s fair in sales and war.

  My stomach flips and clenches to the point that it physically hurts. He doesn’t have to say a word because all I see is disappointment in his eyes. And for some reason, I feel like I let him down.

  “You haven’t said a word. Let’s work together. Tell me what you’re t
hinking,” I encourage him, ignoring the sinking feeling in my soul. The faster I get him to agree to a sale, the faster I’m out of here, and I can forget this ever happened. Achieving that is impossible if I can’t get him to communicate with me. Half the battle to a successful sale is beginning a dialog. Once I get him to open up, I can counter all his reservations.

  Slowly, he unfolds his arms and pushes his foot off the refrigerator until he’s pressed up against the counter. He leans forward until our noses are practically touching.

  “The backdoor to the house is unlocked,” he says slowly, his tone barely above a whisper. “I think you should wait for Jeb… somewhere other than here.”

  “Please don’t be like that. I’m not your enemy, I’m on your side. Let’s work together. Tell me—what can we do to make this offer work for you?”

  “What can you do?” he asks incredulously, his nostrils flared. “You can go home. My property is not for sale.”

  “Look at the plans. I’ll boot up my laptop, and you’ll see how beautiful this area will be.” I fling my laptop case onto the glass countertop.

  “This area is already beautiful.” He pushes my laptop case toward me. “You can leave now.”

  “Geez, Nick. Don’t you want to sit pretty on a mountain of cash?”

  “I don’t need more money.”

  “Oh please, everybody needs more money. What about Noelle?” I ask. “Think about the future this huge windfall will give her.”

  “Bringing Noelle into this is low. I thought better of you.”

  “I’m providing protection for her future.”

  “More lies. You’re no better than the garbage corporation you represent. You’re providing protection for yourself.” His face reddens, his expression clouded in anger. “What’s in this for you, Summer?” he asks, his tone low and icy. “What would make you lie to our faces and ingratiate yourself in our lives? A raise? A promotion?”

  Yes. And yes.

  “I never lied,” I insist. I just avoided the truth.