Chapter 20
BECCA
Ilove the tiny cabin and its peacefulness, but sometimes those walls feel small and nothing can compete with the feel of my favorite coffee shop. Refills are free, the Wi-Fi’s strong, and the place hums with quiet energy—a perfect spot to work.
I open my laptop and pull up the two offers on Charles’s house.
I look up to see Charles walk in. He spots me and waves. I wave back, already smiling.
“So, little lady,” he chimes, settling into the seat across from me, “what good news do you have for me?”
I grin. “Two offers. Both good, but very different. One’s for $1.6 million, the other for $1.4.”
Charles lets out a low whistle. “Considering what I paid for that place forty years ago, that’s a hell of a return.”
I nod. “The $1.6 offer is from a developer. They’re planning to demolish the house and build condos, at least I strongly expect.
The $1.4 is from a lovely younger couple, they’re expecting …
and when they saw the bouquet on the kitchen counter, they mentioned that they’re naming their daughter Dahlia. ”
His face softens instantly. “Really?”
I nod again. “I didn’t tell you to sway you; I just thought you’d want to know. I believe the universe nudges us sometimes. If we’re paying attention.”
Charles’s eyes mist over. “The money from either offer is more than enough to take care of me and leave some for the kids. Are you okay with the lower commission?” he asks.
My throat tightens. “Of course. It’s more than enough. I’d rather see someone love the house as you and Dahlia did.”
“Then it’s settled,” he says, pulling out a pen. “What do I need to sign?”
We finalize the paperwork. In thirty days, I’ll receive the biggest commission check of my career—nearly six months’ salary.
When I step out into the sunshine, I feel something I haven’t in months. Secure.
I grab my phone and text the girls:
My listing just went pending! Let’s celebrate tonight. Doesn’t even have to be happy hour prices
.
Mack
Are you serious?! Congrats, high roller! Can’t tonight, Reece has a home soccer game.
Nessa
Count me in. I’m subbing for a ninth-grade math class tomorrow, but hungover algebra sounds like a fair trade.
Phi
Ooo, let me pick the place! There’s a fancy cocktail bar all the paralegals are obsessed with.
We agree to meet at six at Luna it smells like aged wood.
Dark wood from floor to ceiling, paired with leather stools and soft lighting that makes everyone look better than they are.
I see that Nessa and Phoenix are already here at a table in the back.
“Hey, you, congrats! I got a drink for you, but really, you should be buying the next round, Miss Moneybags!” Nessa says as we clink glasses and I take a sip of wine.
“Technically, she has thirty days to close, and she still has those cabin payments. But I support a free drink any day,” Phoenix adds, ever the detail-focused attorney.
I’m about to respond when I hear a too-familiar, too-loud laugh from the bar. Mandy. She’s wearing a slinky designer dress that probably cost more than my loan payment.
I hate to admit it, but she looks fantastic. A life without stress and an arsenal of high-end skincare products will do that for you.
“Excuse me,” I say to my friends, standing to head to the bathroom. I don’t want to think about Mandy. I know Sam isn’t interested in her, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t more loved and welcomed by his family than I’ve ever been.
I check myself in the bathroom mirror and give myself a little pep talk. “You just earned a thirty-five-thousand-dollar commission. That’s more than she’s made in her entire life.” I smile, straighten my spine, and head out.
But before I can leave the alcove of the bathrooms, Mandy appears.
“Oh, it’s you.” Her voice drips sugar and venom.
“Mandy.” I try to step past her.
She blocks me. “Stay away from the salon deal.”
“Excuse me? I thought it was already done.”
“It was. Is. But everything was fine until Sam started asking too many questions.”
My instincts perk up. “Shouldn’t an investor ask a lot of questions?” I ask pointedly.
“No. Sam was supposed to provide the capital and the labor. Not to mention the eye candy.” She smirks.
I don’t rise to the bait. “Well, you got both brawn and brain. Lucky you. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
She moves in front of me again. “Look, I need this salon to work. Daddy cut me off. Said I had a drinking problem and a ‘pick-me’ attitude toward married men. Can you believe that?”
“Yes,” I answer flatly.
Why is she telling me all this? She might be three glasses of Chardonnay in, but is something rattling her?
“Anyway,” she continues, undeterred, “Rick doesn’t waste time on small deals. He needed a reason to be interested. It took some … convincing. But I knew if I brought him in, Sam would do anything to work with him. Be part of the big leagues.”
I try not to flinch, but it bothers me that she knows this much about my husband. Apparently, I don’t hide it well.
“We’re really close, you know. After the accident, we spent a lot of time together.”
“With Holly,” I say, correcting her.
“Sure.” She shrugs, eyes gleaming. “But I’m the one his mom calls and texts. When’s the last time she texted you?”
I don’t answer, I don’t need to. Mandy already knows. Never.
“Sam and I grew up together. We’re part of the same circle. We’ll never really be uncoupled. I’m Holly’s best friend. You know how that goes—best friend’s older brother? Classic.”
She leans in with a smug smile, but I’ve had enough.
“And how’s that working out for you?” I ask coolly. I shoulder past her, back toward my table.
“Well, I’m one of his favorite girls,” she calls out behind me.
I stop and turn. “That’s your problem. You’ll always be a little girl to him—one who can’t drive, can’t budget, and needs other people to clean up her messes. What’s Sam after? A real woman. And don’t worry, he’s got one.”
I turn my back on her and walk back to my friends, head high and heart steady.