Chapter Thirteen
Ben
When I woke up at six the following morning, I already had a text waiting.
Ava: I have a list of questions for you. When can we meet?
She’d sent it at five in the morning.
And I thought I was an early riser. As I considered it, though, I recalled that bakers tended to have earlier mornings than most, what with dough needing to rise and freshly-baked goods all that.
I didn’t love that this house sale meant that I’d be forced to see Ava quite a bit over the coming weeks, no doubt plummeting my productivity and generally upsetting my mental-emotional balance, but maybe I could look at it as an opportunity.
The chance to finally eject her from my mind.
I knew the moment I decided to break it off with Jules that I’d effectively destroyed any chance with Ava. But knowing and feeling were, unfortunately, two very different things. Suppressing the unreasonable excitement I felt at the knowledge that Ava not only had my phone number, but was also using it, I reminded myself that it was only because of the house.
She wasn’t for me, and I definitely wasn’t for her. The last thing I needed was any sort of hope piling on top of my absurd fantasies. Taking a deep breath, I fired off a short, to-the-point response.
Ben: I can come by the bakery. What time?
I hadn’t even finished making the bed when my phone dinged.
Ava: Six-thirty.
Then, a few seconds later:
Ava: Tonight. Not in half an hour.
Setting my phone down, I finished getting ready. Bed made. Teeth brushed. Hair combed. Work clothes on. When I pulled into the small parking lot behind the office, I caught sight of The Rolling Scone two blocks down, forcing me to fight the urge to go grab a coffee, to remind myself I’d be over there in a few hours anyway and it would be weird to show up twice in one day.
“Craving a bagel?” Iris asked, getting out of her white Dodge Charger beside me.
I made a face at her. “At least I’m not driving a cop car,” I teased.
“A bargain’s a bargain,” she defended, as she always did when I prodded her about buying a decommissioned police car from auction. “I don’t love how slowly people in front of me drive when they see the spotlight, though.”
“Get it taken off,” I told her, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder and heading for the office.
She fell into step beside me. “It costs money.”
I snorted a laugh. “You work, don’t you? It can’t be that much.”
“I was quoted over five hundred dollars,” she groaned. “Not worth it.”
That did seem a bit much to spend on what amounted to a cosmetic change.
“Plus,” she continued, “I have to save up if I ever want to leave this place.”
Now that I understood. “Do you know where you want to go?”
“Anywhere but here,” she laughed. Even though her face lit up like always, it felt sadder than usual.
Work flew by in a whirlwind of showings, bookings, paperwork, and phone calls. I replied to Gianna’s email with the letter of intent, keeping it as brief as possible. I worked until after six. It didn’t make much sense to go home for less than an hour before meeting Ava.
The bell above the door jingled cheerily as I entered The Rolling Scone. Ava hurried out from the kitchen, a wary look on her face.
“I’m here for the meeting, not murder,” I joked.
“Let’s get something clear,” she began, not even cracking the tiniest smile at my joke. “We are not burying the hatchet. We are hanging it on a wall, well within sight, so that we can get through this sale without killing each other.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I walked over to a the nearest table. Situated next to the giant front windows, one side had black banquette seats and the other had teal wrought iron chairs to match the table. Laying my bag beside me, I opened it and took out a stack of papers, a pen, and a legal pad. “Shall we?”
Her lips drew into a thin line as she removed her pastel pink apron and grabbed a pink glitter pen, sitting in one of the chairs opposite me.
“Okay, first thing’s first,” she said, “How old is the roof? Do all of the major appliances still work—the water heater, the water softener, the air conditioner?”
“I can’t find any records for them,” I told her. “I can ask my mom and see if we can get a rough estimate that way.”
Her dark blonde brows furrowed. “Have any of them been turned on yet?”
“The water is on and working. The air conditioners work, but I want the inspector to take a closer look at them based on the sounds they made when they turned on. And,” I winced, “the home doesn’t have central forced air.”
“What other type is there?” she snapped, irritation flaring through her sky blue eyes. “I didn’t see any window units.”
“They’re called mini-splits. I don’t know all the details of how they function, but I’ve seen one in a friend’s house. They’re basically the AC equivalent of radiators, where they manage the temperature room-by-room.”
She flipped the end of my pen on the table several times, squinting thoughtfully. “Does that mean there’s no ductwork in the house? At all?”
“For a house that size, cost would have been prohibitive for my retired, widowed grandmother.”
“So, no.” She rolled her lips in distractingly, looking back at her list. “Do all the heaters still work, and can you please elaborate on what you mean by ‘prohibitive’?”
“I don’t have an exact number, but I’m sure the inspector could give you a ballpark. I know the cost is often by square foot, and that’s a big house. I turned on the heaters and they all work, though, again, I’ll feel better once the inspector has a look at them.”
Her pen hit the table. Loudly. “So, basically, you can’t answer any of my questions and it all hangs on the inspection?”
I blew out a heavy breath, my eyes finding hers. “I’m not going to sell you a money pit, Ava. I want to get through this quickly, too, but rushing the process won’t make it any smoother. And, if you’re no longer interested, I’m happy to seek out alternate buyers.”
A flush of pink colored her pale cheeks. “I just don’t understand the point of this meeting if you can’t answer any of my questions.”
“It’s common for the purchase agreement to make allowances for things that may arise during the inspection,” I explained more calmly than I expected. It wasn’t like I came here with the intention of pricking her temper. “I know it’s frustrating, but my expertise is in the paperwork and the process. I’ve picked up as much as I can about things like heating, cooling, and plumbing, but that’s not my job.”
She opened her mouth to talk, and I could tell it was going to be something snarky. Instead, I hurried along the rest of my explanation, looking away from her mouth so I could focus.
“The point of this was to do my best to answer your questions, and to give you some of the paperwork because I know Gianna is gonna want to give it a thorough read, and will probably have ten pages of changes she wants made.”
I pulled the draft purchase agreement out of my bag and set it on the table in front of her. “I emailed a copy to Gianna today, but in case you also want to look it over.”
She flipped through the stack of papers so quickly that I doubted she read anything. When she didn’t say anything, I tried my best to keep us moving toward a more cordial relationship.
“I want to sell this place as much as you want to buy it,” I assured her. “You can trust me.”
Her eyes narrowed at me and she leaned forward over the table. “I don’t know if Jules would agree with you on that, Ben.”
I sat back in my chair. “I was hoping that was in the past.”
“Sometimes we hurt people so badly it sticks, no matter how many years have passed.”
“I’m surprised Riley wasn’t nominated as the go-between, then.” I ran a hand over my face. “What do you want me to say?” I asked, more desperately than intended. “What can I do to get this topic out of every single interaction we have?”
“I don’t know if there is anything you can do.” She considered me a moment. “We can hang it up with the hatchet for the duration of the sale. But if you pull another stunt like prom, I swear on my mother’s grave—”
“No need to invoke dead relatives,” I halted my almost-curse. “I swear, I won’t break any hearts or any contracts.”
She nodded and, for better or for worse, we settled into an uneasy truce.