Chapter 2
Aster
Selling real estate in a new city is tricky. There are forms to fill out and licenses to transfer, and then there’s the whole trouble with finding clients as well. A town this size doesn’t really need more than one or two real estate agents, but me moving here was kismet.
Upon inquiry, I learned that one of the two in town was permanently retiring, and the other was going on maternity leave and wasn’t sure if or when she’d be back.
I hear she’s having like six babies; pretty sure we can write that position off indefinitely.
Also, pretty sure we can avoid mating with species that are known for producing an entire fucking litter of kids in one go. That sounds fucking awful.
So maybe it wasn’t just because Arbor wanted me specifically to sell the house; maybe it was that and a combination of the fact that there was nobody else in town qualified.
I’m going to take the wins where I can and lie to myself though, because sometimes I really enjoy feeding my own grandeurs.
The retiring agent, Melissa, was so happy to see me when I walked in her office that she literally threw the keys at my face, tossing a stack of paperwork down as she ran out of there like her ass was on fire.
So much for a smooth transition; how the hell am I supposed to figure out how they operate without anyone else here to help train me?
When I gather the papers, I firstly see that they’re notarized by the town’s lawyer, and secondly, that she has written, ‘This shithole now belongs solely to’ and there’s a blank space where she scribbled my name in pink glitter pen. She literally didn’t even take the time to type it up.
This feels like a warning; is this a hard market to work in?
Oh look at that, there’s a sticky note at the bottom that says, “Suck it, I’m leaving for the Bahamas and never coming back. You’re a peach for taking over, tell my clients to go to hell and give them two middle fingers for me. Don’t call.”
I sink into the nearest chair, which collapses under my weight, sending me sprawling on the ground.
I end up screaming at the ceiling and throwing the papers because it just feels like the right move.
Of course, that’s when Arbor fucking Cade walks in.
He’s peering over the reception desk at me when I get my shit back together enough to stop screaming, and his eyebrows are so damn high on his forehead that I think they’re considering jumping ship entirely.
“Hey.” I sit up and talk all nonchalantly, totally trying to pull off the cool girl routine. I can’t help it; he’s so fucking cute and every time I’m around him, I immediately revert to my stupid, bubbly-head teenage self.
“Uh, you doing okay?”
I look at the absolute mess around me. “What, this? Pfft. This was actually…staged for your entertainment. I totally knew you were coming by this morning.”
He leans against the desk, watching me struggle to stand up in my stupid fucking pencil skirt that I hate. “That so? Funny, because I only just decided to swing by about twenty minutes ago when I saw your car leaving your parents’ house.”
I hang my head as I finally get to my feet, sneakily sliding the now crumpled and highly unprofessional legal documents under the desk.
“Fascinating. Hey. How’re your parents? Fuck.
They’re dead. Oh my god. That’s— damnit!
Excuse me, I’m just going to go behind that wall there and smack my head against it a few times.
Then I’ll come out and try that whole interaction again, okay? ”
He catches my hand as I try to walk off, pulling me back.
There’s a moment there where all the distance melts away. It feels like we know each other too well to simply jump into inane conversation about the town without properly greeting each other, but there’s a hurt in me that’s scared to reach for him for any sort of affection.
He wraps his arms around me, oblivious to my inner turmoil, his honeyed scent doing wonders to help me stay calm. “It’s so good to have you back home, Aster. This place wasn’t the same without you.”
I don’t know what to say to that quiet confession, so I don’t bother.
Eventually, I relax into his embrace, luxuriating in the fact that he’s in front of me after all these years and that I have an excuse to touch him, and I don’t think it’s my imagination when he seems weary to pull out of the hug.
It’s cold without him.
As if he suddenly remembered what we were talking about, his rightful, ever-ready smile/smirk lands back on his face.
The fucker is smiling at me. What the hell?
I just asked him how his dead parents are, for fuck’s sake.
Is he brain damaged? What part of that was amusing?
“I’m not offended by your accidental question, so don’t abuse yourself on my account.
The way I understand it, this town will do enough of that once they get their claws in you. ”
I kick the paperwork back out from under the desk and point at it with my stiletto. “You know anything about these, then?”
He reaches down to pick it up, reads it once or a dozen times, and then starts laughing. Like, busting his gut laughing. “Oh man. I’m so happy I made the decision to stop by this morning.”
“That makes one of us,” I mumble under my breath.
I try to discreetly study him, taking in the changes.
His tawny brown hair’s a bit longer than it used to be, enough that he’s got it pulled back into a messy bun with little flyaways framing his face.
He always used to wear it longish and floppy but would always trim it when it got to be too much. I hated those days.
His sense of style hasn’t changed one bit, though. I always thought of it as gardener chic; dark, worn-in coveralls with well-loved boots and a tan collared shirt underneath with the sleeves rolled up.
I wouldn’t say he’s super buff or anything, but I’ve always admired the way his body is shaped. Lean and toned, but soft in all the right areas. He’s got a tiny shadow of a mustache too that mostly looks like he hasn’t been bothered to shave in the past few days.
When I realize I’m being weird and just kind of standing there while he smirks, I shift my weight around and clear my throat.
My ass hurts something fierce from that chair straight up ejecting me, so I lean on the desk to try and alleviate the pressure.
“I’m assuming you came in here to discuss your property? ” Change of subject. Classic.
Damnit. I’m so fucking nervous.
He opens his mouth a few times as he sets the paperwork down, then crosses his arms over his chest. “Maybe. Well, that’s a lie. No, I actually came in here to…never mind. Yes, I came in here to discuss the property. Did you want to come see it?”
“Uh, I mean, I’ve seen it? I grew up next to it, but sure, okay. Let me just…see if I can figure out how to lock this place up and put a note up.”
“We’ve made some improvements to the place…” he trails off as I start ransacking the place for keys.
Naturally, they’re hanging up right next to the door. I never look in the obvious place first. “Oh yeah?”
“Maybe it’s best if you just see it for yourself.
That way you can-err, make a good listing?
Is that the correct terminology? Yeah. Totally want you to like it so you can sell it for lots of money to…
somebody else.” He snaps his fingers as if this is a brand-new idea he just came up with on the spot. “That’s exactly what we need. Come on!”
He pulls me out the door, barely waiting for me to lock up before he’s shoving me in his truck. I guess I’m not driving myself.
He’s tense the entire ten-minute drive there, gripping the wheel with both hands, shoulders hunched as he stares right over the steering wheel.
I take the opportunity to stare at him more and try to search for some comfort in sitting here with him.
I hate that it feels so awkward, but I’m pretty sure that’s not my fault.
I’m not the one that practically chased me out of town.
“You realize I haven’t seen you in ten years?”
He scoffs. “Trust me, that’s only a one-way fact.”
Now it’s my turn for my brows to try and jump off my face. “What? The hell does that mean?”
He freezes, his eyes go wild and big, and then he shakes his head. “Ten years, huh? Wild.”
Suspicious.
He doesn’t say anything else after that, so I guess I should just sit here and wait for us to arrive at our destination.
The outside of the place looks pretty much how I remember it, though the garden seems better tended than I remember. The picket fence has a fresh coat of bright white paint on it, but it’s not doing much to contain the wild, carefully curated mess of wildflowers exploding from behind it.
Arbor unlatches the gate for me, revealing a neatly kept cobble walkway up to a wraparound porch with a swing, and I start taking in the differences.
I guess it was too dark last night for me to see much, but the whole thing is an entirely different color.
Growing up, the house was always a soft gray color with darker gray trim. Now, it matches my dream house inspiration boards exactly. It’s a soft denim blue color with white trim.
“Oh my god, I have that exact pillow and blanket sitting in my cart online somewhere. That’s crazy.” The swing looks so inviting, and I nearly sit myself in it and pick up the pillow to touch the fringe around it, but I catch myself. I’m here to work.
“You don’t say?”
I narrow my eyes at him, but he’s pointedly looking away from me. “Come on, let’s show you the rest.”
I actually feel like I’m losing my mind when he opens the door.
Every detail, down to the brass knocker on the door and the hand-painted mailbox affixed under the house numbers are almost exactly what I’ve been pinning online.
I knew it was going to take me awhile to afford somewhere just for me, but it’s cathartic to window shop and make plans for an eventuality.