A Place to Call Home (Sweet Treat Novellas #21)

Chapter One

Most people believe the three most important words in real estate are location, location, location. Ada Canton knew better, and she had four years as the top realtor in her area to prove it.

Her three crucial words? Home, sweet home.

Even if she was helping a client find a vacation home, it was still a home. The key lay in discovering what meant home to each client.

“Ada.” The receptionist, Shantice, peeked inside the office, the many strands of her bright yellow earrings clanking about. “Your ten o’clock is here.”

“Thanks.” Ada closed her laptop. “Any insights?”

Shantice leaned against the doorframe. She spun her bangle around her wrist. “Late thirties, I’d guess.”

More likely to have reasonable expectations than someone younger.

“Sharp dresser, but nothing designer.”

Looking for quality but probably not a lot of wiggle room in the budget.

“He took a call from someone with a missing homework assignment that turned out to be in their backpack.”

Second bedroom is for his kid. As is the backyard, probably. She mentally crossed one location off her list; the schools weren’t great in that area.

“Anything else?”

“He’s gorgeous.” Shantice always brought Ada a report on new clients, but she’d never included that type of information.

“Why is it important for me, as his realtor, to know that?”

“It’s not important. . . as his realtor.” She cocked her head to one side, eying Ada scoldingly. “It’s important for you as a woman who hasn’t had a steady relationship in two years or a date in at least a month. I’m telling you, he’s hot.”

“My last boyfriend was what most would consider ‘hot,’” Ada said, pulling her handbag off its hook near the door. “And a jerk. Being good-looking isn’t enough.”

“Maybe this guy’s different.”

“Maybe.” Ada made sure she had her phone. “But he’s not here looking for a date; he’s looking for a home.”

Shantice gave her an exasperated look. “You won’t even consider it?”

“I’m not bitter or against the idea of finding someone or anything like that,” Ada said. “I’m just not falling all over myself looking for a guy.”

“You were there for me when my life was falling apart,” Shantice said. “I want to return the favor.”

Ada shook her head. She didn’t really think her life was falling apart. “If I do find someone interesting— who isn’t also a slimeball— I’ll give him a chance. I promise.”

Shantice’s gaze narrowed. “Promise you’ll tell me if it happens?”

“Of course I will.” They were friends, after all. “You’re the best.”

“According to your business cards, you are the best.”

Shantice had given her a hard time about that ever since Ada’s new cards had arrived. But when a person was named the top in her profession several years in a row, that sort of thing ought to be mentioned. It wasn’t as though she’d had it printed in an extra-large font or anything.

Ada slipped the tablet into her shoulder bag. “Time to go work my magic.”

They turned the corner. Only one person sat in the sitting area— a guy, as Shantice had described, probably mid-thirties, dressed nicely but not overdone. And definitely good-looking. Dark, wavy hair. A hint of stubble on his firm jaw. An absolutely tantalizing mouth.

It was a lot to realize about a person so quickly. But not noticing those things would have been impossible. Ada reminded herself that looks could be and too often were deceiving, then she crossed directly to him.

“Mr. Adamson?”

He set aside his magazine and stood, unfolding himself from the seat.

The man was tall and slender without being lanky.

And he smelled good too. She allowed herself only the smallest fraction of a moment to add those things to her list of reasons why Shantice had been completely right in her description.

Back to work, Ada.

She held out her hand for him to shake. “I’m Ada Canton. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You, too. And call me Craig.” His handshake was firm without being painful. Too many of her male clients didn’t know how to strike that balance.

“If you’re ready, we can get started,” she said.

He motioned for her to lead the way. Craig even held the door. Nice guy.

They stepped out into the bright early-summer day.

“The first property is a condo at the bottom of your price range.” She slid on her sunglasses.

“Bottom of my price range? I like it already.”

“Less expensive isn’t always a better deal,” she warned.

“Are you taking me to a slum?” Nice and a sense of humor.

“I specialize in slums.” She adjusted her purse to hang more firmly on her shoulder. “And I have a lead on a cardboard box under the Vista Way overpass.”

“Two bedrooms?” he asked.

“Of course.” She clicked her car door remote. “Are you single?”

“We’re jumping right to relationship status? You aren’t even going to awkwardly ask if I want to get coffee or see a movie or something first?” Even his eyes smiled.

Focus, Ada.

“I just want to make sure there isn’t someone else who ought to be part of the house search.”

He laughed. “Ah. That’s why you asked.”

“Ah.” She mimicked his tone.

“No one else,” he said. “Just me and my son. Except for every other weekend, when he’s with his mom.” His words stopped abruptly. “I have no idea why I told you that last part.”

“It’s a magical power all realtors have.” She crossed to her car. “Next you’ll be telling me your middle-school locker combination and who you voted for in the last election.”

“And then my blood type?” he guessed, stopping at the car parked next to hers.

“That’s not until the third or fourth property.”

Man, he had a great laugh. And, man, did she need to focus.

He followed her to the condominium complex where she meant to begin. She slipped out of her car quickly so she could watch Craig as he eyed the less-than-pristine complex with its faded paint and patchy grass. It wasn’t a dump— far from it— but it wasn’t like new, either.

Craig looked unimpressed. So aesthetics were important to him. And property upkeep.

“Let’s take a look,” she suggested.

His reaction to the condo was what she’d figured it would be— nothing was glaringly wrong with the property, but nothing was particularly eye-catching about it either. Many realtors started with a bang, presenting the best right away. Ada knew better. She’d learn far more this way.

Ada pulled out her tablet. “What do you dislike most about this place?”

He went through a long and telling list. He needed room for his son, a basketball court or at least a hoop, something nearer the beach, with a little pop but not necessarily pizazz.

She scrolled through her list of possibilities for the day and quickly chose three.

She’d learn more talking to him at those locations.

“What do you say we move up a little in the world?” she asked with a smile.

“Does this mean a no on the cardboard box?”

She slipped her tablet into her bag. “That’s my big finale.”

They spent two more hours looking at other locations. She took notes, watched him looking over the properties, and gained a better idea of what he was looking for. Through it all, they laughed a lot, and he spoke fondly of his son.

He didn’t seem like a jerk, but she didn’t plan on telling Shantice that. If she did, there’d be no end to the hints— subtle and not so subtle— that asking him out was the logical next step.

No, Ada would enjoy laughing and joking with him for the few days they’d likely spend looking at properties without worrying about anything beyond that.

She hadn’t given up entirely on finding love; she was simply unwilling to waste her time on guys who weren’t worth it, or on guys who didn’t think she was worth it, or on relationships that were doomed to fall apart.

Not again.