CHAPTER 22
Rachel
Rachel shooed Regina Banks, her husband, and their daughter out of their townhome as the clock struck 10 AM.
“Go on, go! Don’t worry,” she called with a wave as they opened their minivan doors. “Give me a few hours and I guarantee we’ll see at least twenty potential buyers!”
“I hope so! Thanks, Rachel!” Regina called from the passenger seat.
Their van backed out of the driveway and headed south on Kendall Avenue. The loose gravel beneath their tires echoed as Rachel stepped down from the small porch and readjusted the open house sign in the tiny front yard. She straightened the flimsy metal stand and peered at her own salesy smile.
I hate that photo.
“But let’s make some magic happen,” she whispered and spied the first car as it pulled into the driveway. Rachel waved and stepped back inside, ready to begin another marathon.
If I can sell this one today, the Banks family could be in their new home by Thanksgiving.
Tapping the fliers against the kitchen counter into a neat stack, Rachel focused on the front door as the first couple entered. “Welcome!” she called and forced the first of many-to-come smiles. “Thank you for coming today. My name is Rachel Prescott and I’m the listing agent.”
She stepped out from behind the counter and extended her hand until the elderly man gripped it. “Bob Crenshaw.” Gesturing to his left at the woman disappearing down the main hallway, he snorted. “And my wife, Evelyn.”
“Lovely to meet you.” Rachel released his hand. “What brings you by?”
Bob looked up at the vaulted living room ceiling. “Well, we’re ready to downsize.” He followed Rachel back into the kitchen and accepted the flier she offered. “We own a home near Santa Barbara on a one-acre plot of land.” Gripping the edge of the countertop, he stared at the specs of the townhome listed on the paper. “And this old man is tired of mowing grass.”
Rachel snickered and nodded along as a second couple appeared with two disgruntled pre-teens in tow.
And here we go...
For the next two and a half hours the door never fully closed. Potential home buyers swarmed the space, oohing and ahhing over the new stainless-steel kitchen appliances, master bedroom suite, and easy-to-maintain front lawn. From questions about the hot water heater and roof to the radon levels and air conditioning unit, Rachel paused only to take intermittent gulps of water and ram a tiny granola bar down her throat at noon.
With only fifteen minutes left in the open house, Bob Crenshaw and his wife returned.
“You’re back!” Rachel propped her hands on her hips.
“I just couldn’t get this place out of my head.” Evelyn pointed at the marvelous skylights lining the ceiling. “We’ve been in our home for over forty years.” She shrugged, but her smile grew. “I know we’re being a bit impulsive, but we’d like to put in an offer.”
“You’ll be the first,” Rachel said and motioned for them to join her in the living room. “Do you have a buying agent I can contact?” She smiled and roused her iPad from sleep before plopping down on the chaise lounge.
They both shook their heads.
“We are pre-approved for $750,000 though,” said Evelyn as she sat on the edge of the couch beside Rachel. “We haven’t gotten much further than that.” With a giggle, she nudged her husband. “I didn’t think we’d find something so soon.”
“Well, pre-approval is a great place to start.” The door opened again, but Rachel kept her attention focused on the screen. “I know it’s a bit unconventional, but if you need assistance, I’m happy to serve as a dual agent.”
“How long have you been in real estate?” Bob sank into the seat beside his wife.
Definitely a fair question.
“Oh, a few years now.” Rachel winked. “I can provide you with references—”
A long, low whistle interrupted from down the hall. Eerily familiar, Rachel shivered, but continued. “Er, from my past clients.” She cleared her throat and kept going. “No pressure though, of course. I can also recommend another agent if you’d be more comfortable.”
Tess.
“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Evelyn grinned and tapped the flier. “No time to waste, you know? Homes in this area sell in less than a day it seems.”
That’s the truth.
A voice echoed from the kitchen, the off-handed remark concerning solar panels relatively pointless as she eyed the couple in front of her ready to make an offer. The back door slammed, and Rachel spun her iPad around with a template letter.
“This townhome is listed for $599,000. Have you considered what you’d like to offer?”
“Can you tell us what other townhomes in the area are selling for?” Bob asked.
Rachel nodded. “Of course.” She tapped her screen until a recently sold townhome down the street populated. “This home is priced to sell,” she muttered while spinning her iPad back around. She pointed at the final sale price of the property. “But a comparable home in this neighborhood sold for $615,999 just days ago by one of my colleagues.”
Evelyn squinted and eyed the address closer. “We didn’t look at that one in person, but we saw the photos online.”
“It’s quite similar.” Rachel flicked through the pictures. “From what my colleague told me, she had a bidding war over it. It went to an all-cash buyer.”
Bob nodded as Rachel tuned out the second door slam in the kitchen and subsequent footsteps down the hall. “Would your offer be contingent on the sale of your home in Santa Barbara?”
“Not necessarily.” Evelyn gripped her purse and turned to her husband.
“We’re in good shape. If need be, we can purchase without selling first.”
“Excellent.” Rachel tapped in a note on the offer letter. Clearing her dry, scratchy throat, her mind flitted to the open house sign in the front yard as the alarm on her phone sounded.
Time’s up! The open house is over.
“We talked about it in the car,” Evelyn continued. “We’d like to offer $605,000.” She squinted at the chipping paint in the kitchen and scuff marks on the wood floor. “The bones of this townhome are gorgeous, but we’ll need to make a few repairs and upgrades.”
Nodding along, Rachel tapped in the offer number.
“And no one else has submitted an offer yet you said?”
Rachel shook her head. “To the best of my knowledge, no.”
The footsteps returned down the hallway and echoed like a ghostly shadow.
“Good. And we’d like to include in the offer, contingent upon a home inspection.”
Rachel tapped away with another nod. “What about a closing date?”
Bob shrugged. “Mid-November?”
“That’s good,” she agreed and noted November 15th in the letter. “And how long would you like the seller to have to consider your offer?” Shivering again as the mystery footsteps entered the laundry room, Rachel looked up and spied the singular shadow on the hardwood floor.
“What do you recommend?” Evelyn asked with a snort. “We haven’t bought a home in four decades.”
Rachel grinned. The excitement in Evelyn’s aging eyes radiated outward as she gripped the beige purse in her lap. “No more than forty-eight hours.”
“Let’s do that then.”
She typed in forty-eight hours on the offer letter and entered their contact information. “Very good, that does it!” Rachel stood and extended her hand. “Here’s my card. I’ll present this offer to the sellers and be in touch as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, Ms. Prescott.” Bob mustered a smile and looked around the townhome’s living room once more.
“You’re welcome. The sellers are anxious to move on. I expect a quick turnaround.” With a wink, Rachel shook their hands and eyed their retreating figures.
“Thank you!” Evelyn called over her shoulder.
“Happy to help!” Rachel answered before the door closed.
Resting her elbows on the kitchen counter, Rachel slumped forward and released a heavy breath. Her head pounded. Her feet ached. Every muscle in her body urged her to remove the heels strapped to her feet and pass out on the couch.
Fucking exhausted.
“So, do you think it’ll get accepted?”
His voice—heart-stoppingly familiar—churned the remains of the meager granola bar in her belly. Rachel frowned at the identity of the mystery man responsible for the laundry room shadow. “Why’re you here?”
“Oh, just exploring,” Ian offered with the air of a small child explaining away the cause of a sudden mess on the floor. “This place has a lot going for it.”
Her stomach plummeted as he removed his signature plastic-rimmed glasses and wiped the lenses on his t-shirt. Releasing a heavy breath, Rachel shook her head with disbelief as he pointed to the skylights.
“Those are stun—”
“This is absurd!” she roared as a swell of anger overpowered the shock in her heart. “I can’t believe you’d show up here. This is my place of employment, Ian!”
He gestured around the townhome’s walls. “Er, to be fair, I think this home belongs to—”
“Oh, shut up,” Rachel interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “You know what I mean. But it’s still fucking ridiculous that you find this acceptable.”
“What?” He shrugged. “Can’t a guy scope out the townhouse market? Maybe you don’t remember, but my lease expires at the end of the month.”
Rachel swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “Then sign for another year,” she spit as the rage brewed beneath the surface of her skin; his cavalier attitude egged on her wrath.
“Come on, Rach, don’t get so heated.” He took a step forward. “Is it really that bad seeing me?”
She gripped the kitchen counter where Bob’s hands once rested and squeezed until her knuckles went white. “Of course, it is!”
Don’t you realize how bad it hurt losing you?
Dropping her gaze to the surface, she picked up the stack of unused fliers. “I thought I had made myself clear. Ian, I’ve moved on.” She shuffled the papers into a neat stack and huffed out another heavy breath.
He waved his arms, swatting her words away. “Yeah, yeah, I know what you said.” With another step forward, he reached the opposite side of the counter and gathered her business cards into a pile. “But Rach, I don’t believe it.”
She scowled. “Believe what?”
“You’re lying to yourself.” Ian shoved his glasses up the bridge of his long nose as his gaze settled on hers. His stormy, gray-eyed stare was both familiar and enchanting. For a singular second, a light danced behind his eyes, reminiscent of their many shared campfires beneath the stars.
Rachel shook her head and forced the fond memories away. “I’m not lying,” she choked out. “I met someone new. And Miguel—”
A groan rattled deep within his throat. “Stop it, Rach.” His full body shuddered.
“I can’t. Er, I won’t.” Miguel’s sweet embrace wrapped her mind in a blanket of warmth. His heart called to her, beat for every beat. A grin appeared on her lips and broke through the ire in her heart. “I love him.”
Ian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as a second shiver ran through him. Pressing his lips together in a thin line, he handed over the stack of her business cards. “You’re only saying that to make me leave.” His body deflated as a slow breath escaped him. Leaning against the counter, he dragged his hands through his mop of unruly hair.
And the sight of his slumped form softened her heart.
The initial anger flowing through her veins slowed, spying the sudden, unexpected crack in his armor. “I’m sorry, but I’m not,” she said and stuffed the fliers and business cards into the tote bag at her feet. “I wouldn’t make it up just to hurt you.”
A sad grin twisted his lips as he shook his head. “I was so wrong,” he whispered and smashed his eyes closed. “Rachel, I was so wrong,” he repeated—his words a solemn plea.
The pain returned. Thundering through her body, the memory of the moment he called it quits returned like a strike of lightning. It struck her core, leaving nothing but the smoldering remains of sadness, confusion, and embarrassment, as if no time had passed.
You have no idea the pain it caused me watching you walk away.
“Wrong or otherwise,” she forced out, “it still happened.” Rachel shuffled her feet as exhaustion radiated through her calves, each ache a mirror of her heart. “You told me I’m not the girl for you. And Ian, it was true.” She shrugged. “It took me some time to see it, but—”
“I was wrong!” He moved around the counter. “I fully admit it, Rach. I thought it was the right choice. For both of us!”
“It was.”
As Ian shook his head, he neared, each step rekindling the spark of attraction and affection they once shared.
“It wasn’t though,” he whispered and rested his hand atop hers. Warm and familiar, heat pummeled her skin. “Just think about it, Rachel. We shared so much.”
“Like what?”
“Like your sister’s engagement. And your brother’s break-up—”
Rachel shuddered and pulled away. “Ian, please,” she begged and bent down to collect the tote bag. “Look, I get that you were there for—”
“Your family,” he completed. “I know how much they mean to you.”
My family means everything to me. But it’s absolutely no reason to...
“Listen. I know it’s going to take some time for you to trust me again. For you to remember the feelings and connection we shared.” His voice cracked as he moved closer still.
“Miguel—”
“Doesn’t mean anything. Rachel Prescott, you don’t have to fool yourself anymore.”
You think I’m fooling myself?
“That’s not what I’m doing.” The words left her lips with indignance, but his hands moved to her hips.
He squeezed, and the many nights beneath the stars sank into her heart. Rachel closed her eyes and fell without reason into the memories. Inhaling the smoke of the campfire and roasting marshmallows, his companionship and unexpected romance washed over her.
Until his kiss smoldered the flames.
Ian’s mouth met hers—his angst and honesty infused in every movement. Greedy and awkward, his kiss soured her stomach. Rachel pressed a hand to his chest and pushed away, but his fingers held her captive, a prisoner under his command.
But captive no more.
Every memory of Miguel’s kisses overpowered Ian, his sweet and easy love screaming from her soul, clawing and fighting against the man before her in a mediocre, meaningless embrace.
At best.
A laugh brewed in her belly as the clarity in her brain grew. Giggling at the enthusiastic tightening grip on her waist, Rachel grinned and gave in to the laughter, oblivious to everything but the realization blossoming in her heart.
“Why’re you laughing?” Ian pulled away.
“Because, Ian.” She snorted. “You taught me something.”
He frowned.
“Sometimes it’s the story that comes after the story that’s the most powerful,” she repeated, verbatim from the words he shared days before their breakup. “And I quote,” she added. “It’s the love beyond the heartache and mistakes of the past.”
“Rach, no—”
“You said so yourself,” she interrupted. “You hoped I’d find the right man worthy of my... er, enthusiasm as you called it.” Miguel consumed her mind and her heart. “And I did. I absolutely did.” Rachel sidestepped him and gathered her things before making for the door. “Lock up when you’re done exploring, okay?” she called over her shoulder.
His stunned face looked back as the door closed and Rachel skipped down the front steps and to her car, oblivious to the tires squealing around the corner of Kendall Avenue at full speed.