California Waves: The Davenports, Book 2

Chapter Six

Mila checked the waterproof watch that tracked her every movement and every appointment. She had a couple of hours before her surf classes began, so she headed into the office, centrally located in town. She was used to cramming one more thing into her daily schedule. In fact, she positively thrived on wringing every possible moment out of each day, so she rushed home, showered, and put on linen trousers and a soft blue sweater. Usually, that’s where she would have stopped on a Saturday, but now she blow-dried her hair, swiped some mascara across her lashes, and applied a watermelon balm to her lips. When she went into the office, she was always in her business persona, even if it was only for a couple of hours before she slipped back into her wetsuit and took her place in the ocean once more. There was land Mila and ocean Mila, and she was pretty good at jumping between those two personas. She had the transformation down to a slick ten minutes. Five, if she was really pushed for time.

Even though she was on a tight schedule, she allowed herself to pause as she pulled out of her driveway to absorb the sense of sanctuary that her little house always gave her. Apart from a pretty wooden archway entwined with fragrant white clematis, it was unremarkable from the outside—just a simple cabin from the late 1930s with a modernized interior. But to her, it was a little piece of paradise.

When she’d been riding the high of big-time prize money from surfing, Erin, her very sensible sister, had advised her to be smart and use the money to buy a house. At the time, it hadn’t been at the top of Mila’s shopping list, but Erin, in her quiet way, had persisted. They’d started looking just for fun, and then one day, this house had come on the market. It was called Mermaid’s Hideaway, and even before they’d stepped inside, the two sisters had looked at each other and known—this was The One. If only it were that easy with men.

The cabin was brown with red trim, unassuming and quiet, tucked as it was behind a wooden fence. It boasted a mature garden, as the real estate listing had said, and from the very back of her garden, she could see the ocean. That had been absolutely critical to her when she’d come up with her list of must-haves for her own home. She didn’t need to be right on the ocean—she couldn’t have afforded waterfront anyway—but she absolutely had to be able to glimpse the water and be close enough to walk to the beach with a surfboard. The house checked those boxes, or she wouldn’t have looked at it.

So she didn’t mind that Mermaid’s Hideaway wasn’t a grand home, with its two bedrooms, one bathroom, and less than a thousand square feet. She wouldn’t have wanted the trouble of looking after a bigger home anyway. Life was too short for dusting and vacuuming. It had been built by craftsmen almost a hundred years ago and boasted scarred hardwood floors and rustic wooden walls that she’d never change—they were too charming. The centerpiece of the living room was a big fireplace with a copper hood. The kitchen had a stained-glass window and wooden cupboards that she thought might be original to the house, but a previous owner had done the best kind of renovation by keeping the charm of the old while adding the convenience of the new. Stainless-steel appliances, and top-end ones at that, and a modern stone countertop made her little kitchen a pleasure to cook in. Not that she was the world’s greatest cook, but she could throw together a decent meal if she had to. Her mother had made sure of that.

Skylights let in more light, and she’d painted her bedroom the softest possible shade of blue. The ceiling rose up to a peak, and from her bedroom window over the garden, she could glimpse the sea. She liked to think that it was the first thing she saw every morning when she got out of bed and the last thing she saw at night. It left her with an incredible sense of peace.

She sometimes thought that it was buying her own house that had planted the seed of interest in a real estate career. Dan Ferguson had been the listing agent—he owned his own real estate firm—when she’d bought her place. He was a jovial man in his fifties who worked hard but also enjoyed life, and she’d liked him immediately. She’d pestered him with questions, not only first-time-buyer questions, but also hey-I’m-interested-in-real-estate questions, and he’d cheerfully answered them all. So, when she’d finished licking her wounds and accepted that her surfing career was in fact over, she’d gone to Dan and asked him to train her. It hadn’t been an instantaneous decision, of course, but she’d gotten there. So far, her career change was working out. Of course, she missed those moments of competition when she crushed it and walked away with a trophy, but she could still surf, and now she could give others the pleasure of learning how, and that was more rewarding than she ever could have imagined. Also, she’d turned out to be pretty good at real estate sales and made a very tidy living.

With a last glance at herself in the rear view mirror and a final check of her watch, she pulled out of her driveway and drove to the real estate office in town.

She greeted the receptionist who manned the phones all weekend, but found that she was the only agent in the office. Her colleagues were either out showing houses or taking a rare Saturday off.

She settled at her desk and fired up her computer. She was pretty good at keeping the list of the current inventory in the area—and even a little beyond it—in her head, but she hoped there was something she’d overlooked, the kind of house that would be perfect for Herschel Greenfield. Concentrating, she sifted through every single listing, carefully combing through the ones in Carmel Heights, but she simply couldn’t imagine Herschel in any of them. Funny how she had this clear image of what he needed—even though they’d only just met. It was more than a professional instinct, but something running deeper. Still, she’d have to show him a few options to get the ball rolling, as he wanted to move quickly.

She pulled together the few listings that had most of what he wanted. Finding a house with three bedrooms was easy, and most had a two-car garage, but he wouldn’t want a property that lacked the wow factor. No, he’d want a home that had architectural appeal and was well-crafted and built to last.

She was wondering if it would be worth it to paper the area with flyers saying she had a buyer looking for the exact home he wanted. She rarely did that kind of thing, but there were times when it paid off. Herschel was a guy with money in the bank and a short time frame. He could be a gift to the right person who was thinking of selling their home but didn’t want the hassle of going through the whole process. She could show up with a buyer and streamline the sale.

She was still tapping her pen on her notepad when Dan Ferguson stormed into her office, looking less than pleased. Dan was one of the top Realtors in the county. He was a guy who spent way too much time either behind his desk or wining and dining his high-profile clients, and he had the portly belly and ruddy complexion to go with his lifestyle. Dan’s wife worried about his blood pressure, but as he’d said to Mila, he was a sales guy through and through. If a client phoned in the middle of dinner and wanted to buy a house, he’d leave his steak half chewed. If he had to show houses at six in the morning because somebody had a flight to catch, he’d get up at four thirty. Nine to five just didn’t work for him, and consequently his colleagues ended up following suit, trying to keep up with the number of deals he managed to close.

Mila saw through Dan’s bluster and knew that deep down he was exhausted, but Dan wasn’t open to changing his ways. He was an old dog, and there were no new tricks that could tempt him. As he liked to tell everybody, he’d put three kids through college, and on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, he’d bought his wife the engagement ring he would have loved to give her when they first got together. When Mila discovered it cost a quarter of a million dollars, she figured it probably gave Dan a bigger boost than it did his wife. No way would she want that amount of money sitting on her finger every day as she made coffee or washed the dishes.

Despite his insatiable chase for cash, Mila liked Dan. He’d taken her in when she’d had zero real estate knowledge and guided her through this cutthroat business, sharing his tricks of the trade. After she’d passed her exams, he’d offered her a place in his office and had mentored her generously, and so she knew that beneath that expensive suit was a kind and open heart.

When she saw Dan looking all kinds of wound up, she said, “Dan, calm down. Take a breath. What’s going on?” She gestured at a leather seat across from her desk.

But instead of taking a breath, he sucked air like a bull about to bellow. “I had it, Mila. I had it this close.” He held his thumb and index finger almost within touching distance and then snapped his fingers. “And suddenly, poof. It was gone.” He shook his head as if he were shaking water from his ears.

“What was gone?”

He looked dejected. “My deal. A house has just fallen out of contract. I was so sure it would go through. Now I’ve got to relist. I cannot tell you how hard I worked on this one—only for it to disappear.”

Mila believed he had worked hard on one listing in particular, so she tried not to get too excited. There were loads of houses that Dan was juggling on his books, any one of which could have fallen out of contract. But one of them was a house in Carmel Heights that she’d really liked. She said, “Which listing was it?”

He swiped his iPad on and showed her. Her heart began to pound. It was the very house she’d first thought of when Hersch had been listing his requirements. She’d seen it a while back, before Dan had found a buyer, and remembered wishing she’d had a client for it because she loved the home herself. It wasn’t grand, but it had been designed by a renowned local architect. Set away from town with plenty of land, it had five bedrooms instead of three—she was sure Hersch could live with that—and a sizable garage. It was a house full of understated quality.

Her gut said it was perfect for Hersch.

She glanced at her watch. She’d seen him about seventy-five minutes ago, but there was no time to waste. “Dan, I have a new client who might like that house. Could I show it to him today?”

Dan’s red cheeks faded to a color that made him look slightly less in danger of his blood reaching boiling point, and his eyes widened. “You serious?”

“I’m serious.”

Looking a little unconvinced, he scratched his graying head and said, “My clients really wanted a quick sale. I don’t want to waste time.”

Mila felt her lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile. “What if I told you that you could give your clients exactly that? My guy is after a quick buy. Please, don’t relist it until tomorrow. Can you give me this afternoon?”

Dan still looked skeptical, but Mila could tell he was hoping she held the answers to his bind. He let out a breath and said, “I’m going to go home, open a beer, throw something on the barbecue, and spend an evening with my wife.”

She smiled at him. “And can I show my client that house?”

“Knock yourself out, kid. The sellers don’t live here, and I’ve got the key.”

With less than half an hour before she had to head back to teach surfing, she called Herschel. She found herself feeling a bit like a teenager again as she waited for him to pick up but tried to shake off the sensation—this call was purely professional. She was about to give up when Hersch finally answered, sounding a little out of breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I was just running.” She heard him come to a stop. “What’s up?”

Unable to hide her pleasure, she said, “I told you I work fast. I may have pulled off a miracle. I’d like to show you a couple of houses today. Are you available later this evening?”

He chuckled. “I’m living in a hotel room and don’t currently know anybody in town. You bet I’m available.”

Mila said she’d pick him up at his hotel after her class finished at five thirty. After they hung up, she quickly made appointments to see the other two houses that she didn’t think would be right for Hersch but would be good to show him as a prelude to The One. As a seasoned salesperson, she knew darn well that everybody wanted a choice. If she showed him only that one house, even though it might be perfect, he might be convinced there was a better one out there. The trick was to show him two or three that were okay but not great and then a winner, and he’d make a decision that day.

Of course, that only worked if she’d gotten it right, and the house was his perfect match. But she had a good feeling.

She put her real estate persona away with her heels and briefcase, snugged herself back into her wetsuit, and was off.

* * *

By three o’clock, Mila was back on the beach with the newbies. Saturday afternoons were some of the best hours of her week. She’d caught the teaching bug early in her career when she’d helped Damien, Erin, and their cousins—when they’d come into town—to surf when they were younger. She still loved helping children, and every once in a while, when a kid caught that first wave and she saw the pure joy blossom on their face, she wondered whether she was helping to create a champion, somebody who might one day become the surfing superstar she’d once been. And even if that never happened, even if she just gave that child a few blissful hours on the waves, maybe a little more confidence, maybe just some fun and belly laughs, then it was all worth it.

A preteen named Tabitha, who had been dropping by for a few weeks now, managed a short run. She had the biggest grin on her freckled face. When she jumped off her board, Mila paddled over to her, and the two of them high-fived.

The two hours flew by, and then she was packing up. Already, her thoughts were moving ahead to showing Herschel the recently available house. It was something special—she just knew it.

The students had all dispersed and she was hanging up the last wetsuit when somebody called her name. She turned to find Arch standing there in a ball cap and sunglasses, about as much of a disguise as he bothered with when he was in Carmel.

She was always pleased to see her big brother and gave him a hug, but when she drew back, he removed his sunglasses, and she saw his expression was serious.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Has something happened?”

“I’m worried about Tessa.”

Alarm sluiced through her. She adored her soon-to-be sister-in-law and already felt protective of her, as if they had actually grown up together. “What is it?” she asked. “Is she sick?”

Arch quickly reassured her that Tessa was fine. Then he slumped against the van. “The thing is, she’s insisting on getting her wedding dress from a thrift store.”

Mila burst into laughter. Surely Arch wasn’t actually upset about something so trivial? But she could see he was serious, so instead of teasing him as she was dying to do, she stopped laughing and hid her amusement. “Arch, that’s just who Tessa is. That’s what you love about her. She takes real pride in finding treasures at thrift stores. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know that. And I don’t want to sound like a complete jerk, but I’m Archer Davenport. Can you imagine the field day they’d have online if my bride turned up to her wedding in a used dress? They’d talk trash about Tessa. I mean, what if the original bride spotted it? She’d make a killing in the tabloids, and I’d be the butt of every joke told by late-night talk-show hosts.”

Mila swallowed down the urge to make a few jokes of her own. She got it, even though she personally quite liked the idea of a thrifted wedding dress. It wasn’t like it was going to get a lot of use, so why not buy one that had already walked down the aisle? However, she could see Arch’s point that Tessa and he might be ridiculed online and in the press, and that would put a shadow on their happy day.

“Why not look at it this way?” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe if a picture of an A-list celebrity’s bride in a thrift-store dress did go viral, then more brides would get secondhand dresses and help save the planet, one wedding dress at a time.”

Arch raised his eyebrows. Clearly, he didn’t want a speech about the three Rs—reduce, reuse, and recycle—so she said, “I’ll talk to her and see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I need to divert a disaster.”

At that, Mila huffed out a sigh. “Do I have to remind you that Tessa is stubborn and opinionated? A little bit like somebody else I know? A big reason she is so special to you is because she isn’t like every other woman who might want you to buy her a bespoke wedding dress in Paris from Dior. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Arch seemed to soften and pulled his sister in for a one-armed hug. “I’m marrying Tessa because not only is she not like any other woman I’ve ever met, but she’s exactly right for me. So yeah, I’ll take stubborn and opinionated, and I’ll deal with it if she wants to get half her wardrobe at thrift stores. You’re right. It’s part of what I love about her. But, just for this one shindig, could you talk to her about getting something nice from a designer? It would mean a lot to me. It would mean a lot to Jay. It would mean a lot to my career.”

Mila relented. “Okay, I’m on it. The Davenport women are meeting with Tessa tomorrow to do some wedding planning. I’ll talk to her then.” She checked her watch. Argh, she wasn’t going to have time to shower before meeting Hersch. “But right now I have to run.”

“Hot date?” he asked with typical big-brother curiosity.

She grinned at him. “Not exactly. I’m hoping to sell a house to an astronaut.”

“Not a sentence you hear every day,” Arch said, shaking his head. Then he looked at her. “I’m assuming you mean Herschel Greenfield. You sure it’s not a date? Jay told me there was some serious chemistry between you two.”

She fired up at that. “Jay Malone was doing his best to bully Herschel Greenfield into making this biopic about his life—starring you, I might add.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “I don’t think it was chemistry that he picked up on so much as a united front against his terrible movie idea.”

Arch threw his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. And I’m sorry to hear you still think that about this project. I think it sounds interesting. A story that could really inspire people.”

“It would be a fantastic movie, and I’m sure that with your name attached, it would be greenlit. But if Herschel Greenfield doesn’t want to see his most painful moments on the big screen, shouldn’t we respect that?”

Archer pushed away from the side of Mila’s van. “Well, you and I might, but Jay Malone? He’s another story.”