Addison
“You’re telling me the lockbox is stuck again?”
I stood on the front steps of the house with my phone pressed to my ear while my client hovered anxiously beside me and the keypad blinked red like it was mocking me.
It was only nine in the morning.
“It worked yesterday,” the agent from the other office insisted through the phone.
“I infact did not work yesterday, I was the one who called you and told you it was jammed.” I sighed.
“We had someone come fix it,” He said in my ear.
Well, it doesn’t today,” I said through my teeth while punching the code again and pulling harder on the little metal door than necessary.
This was my second showing already this morning, and I had four more before lunch. And somehow I was still thinking about Sawyer.
Eventually, the lockbox surrendered with a stubborn click that made my client sigh with relief. And I pulled myself out of my thoughts and went into work mode.
Thirty minutes later, the showing wrapped, and I was pretty sure I had just sold that property. They said they would call me later, but I had a good feeling.
The rest of my showings passed in a blur of marble countertops, soaring windows, and polished small talk. By the time I finished the last one and headed back to the office, it was nearly lunchtime.
* * *
On the way back to the office, I swung through the Starbucks drive-thru and ordered a cold brew with oat milk and two pumps sugar free vanilla. It wasn’t lunch, but I would figure that out later. Right now I needed caffeine more than sustenance.
The office was already buzzing when I walked in.
“Addison!” Marcy from reception called as I stepped through the door. “Your one o’clock is early.”
“Of course they are,” I said with a quick smile while juggling my tablet and coffee. “Send them to conference room two and tell them I’ll be right there.”
I made it three steps before Dale from commercial sales stopped me beside the copier. “Hey, quick question about that harbor listing,” he said while waving a folder in my direction.
“Email me,” I said gently but firmly while continuing to walk. “If I stop, I’ll never make it to my desk.”
He laughed and raised the folder in surrender. “Fair.”
Halfway down the hall, Carla leaned out of her office door. “Addison, did the Beacon Hill clients call back?”
“Not yet,” I said while stepping backward toward my office. “But they will.”
I finally slipped inside my office and shut the door behind me, setting my coffee on the desk like it was a fragile artifact. The quiet felt like a small miracle.
For a moment I just stared at my phone, Sawyer’s name hovering somewhere in the back of my mind. Before I could talk myself out of it, I picked it up and typed.
Me: Hey you. Just got back to the office. Already had five showings another lockbox fiasco and a client who thinks their money makes them god. Ugh… and it’s only lunch time. Hope your day is better than mine.
I hesitated for half a second before hitting send. Then I grabbed my tablet and headed for the meeting room. The couple already seated at the polished oak table had the kind of calm that money tended to give people.
“Good afternoon,” I said politely as I set my tablet down. “I’m Addison Hart. It’s nice to meet you both.”
“I’m Valerie,” the woman said gracefully while gesturing toward the man beside her. “And this is my husband, Michael.”
I nodded getting right to it. “So, how can I help you all?”
“We’re looking for something on the water,” Michael said while leaning slightly forward. “Private. Quiet. Eventually where we plan to retire there.”
“Big kitchen,” Valerie added with a hopeful smile. “And no neighbors. Not even across the water.”
My fingers moved across the tablet as I pulled up listings. They had already mentioned in their emails there were no budget constraints, which in my industry was the closest thing to magic words.
“I can make that happen,” I said warmly while turning the screen toward them. “Let me show you a few options that I pulled after reading your email. I think it might be exactly what you’re looking for.”
Outside the window, the bay shimmered beneath the pale afternoon sun, and inside the hunt had already begun.
* * *
By two o’clock, I was headed to a listing appointment with a young couple selling their first home, a newly renovated Victorian. They waited on the wraparound porch with nervous smiles while their golden retriever sprawled at their feet, tongue hanging out like he was already over the whole thing.
“Hey, Addison.” The husband extended his hand. “We’re so glad you could come by.”
“Of course.” I shook it. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing the house.”
Inside, the hardwood floors had been refinished, but they had kept the original moldings and restored the fireplace. A stained-glass window in the entryway cast soft colors across the floor.
“This is beautiful,” I said, running my fingers over the carved banister.
We settled in the front sitting room to talk numbers.
“We were thinking of listing at one point four,” the husband said, glancing at his wife.
I looked through the comps on my tablet. “I think you could get one point five-five. Maybe more if we stage it well and time the listing right. This neighborhood is heating up.”
They stared at me for a second before the wife’s eyebrows lifted and a smile spread across her husband’s face.
“That sounds a lot better than one point four,” she said.
“I’ll put together the paperwork and send over a staging plan tonight,” I told them.
By the time I left, they were talking excitedly about timelines and open houses, and I had another listing secured.
My phone buzzed just as I slid into my car afterward.
Jason: Hey! Just wondering if we’re still on for tomorrow?
I stared at the screen for a moment without answering. Instead I grabbed a salad from the café next door and returned to my desk, exhaling like I had been holding my breath all day.
Mid-bite my phone buzzed again, dreading it was Jason again, I looked down and checked it.
Sawyer: Hey. Sorry for the delayed response. It’s been a busy day. Hope your Tuesday’s treating you better than your Monday. Your brother and I are doing an install together. Not bad so far, just a lot of work. I also have to pick up his slack.
I could practically hear the sarcasm in her voice through the text.
Me: Today’s been better. Just really fucking busy. But no tears or tantrums yet and only one client who wanted to FaceTime their dog mid-tour. That’s a win.
Sawyer: The dog part sounds like the highlight.
Me: It kind of was. His name was Sir Wiggles.
Sawyer: That dog has better vibes than most men.
Me: Speaking of… Jason has entered the chat.
Sawyer: Oof. Still talking to him?
Me: He texted asking if we’re still on for tomorrow. I haven’t answered.
Sawyer: Want help crafting your “sorry, I’ve got plans with someone cooler” message?
Me: Tempting.
Three dots appeared on the screen like she was typing something else.
Sawyer: I’ve got to get back to work, beautiful. Before your brother hurts himself without me… I’ll text you later?
I stared at the word for a second. Beautiful. No one had ever called me that so casually before, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. My stomach did a small, ridiculous flip and warmth crept up my neck before I could stop it.
Me: Yes, Go save the metal, you hero.
Sawyer: I will. Try not to let any clients cry in kitchens.
Me: No promises.
Sawyer: Talk later.
The conversation faded there, easy and unforced, like it wasn’t trying to be anything more than what it was. My brain circling back to that one word.
Beautiful.
I liked her.
I needed to do something about Jason.
I opened Jason’s text thread. My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before I finally typed.
Me: Hey. Sorry for the delay. Tomorrow won’t work after all. Rain check?
There was no new date and no explanation. I hit send and felt my shoulders drop.
* * *
By the time I finally shut my laptop and left the office, it was nearly eight p.m. The sun was just beginning to sink behind the buildings, softening the city in the fading light.
I drove across town to my parents’ house, trying very hard not to think about the word beautiful again.
At the next light, my phone buzzed in the holder mounted to the dash. I glanced and saw Benji’s name.
Benji: Hey. I’m not making it to family dinner tonight. Install ran late and I’m wiped. Sorry for leaving you without backup.
I huffed out a quiet laugh and typed back.
Me: Traitor.
Benji: I know. Love you.
Me: Love you too.
I sighed, Benji was usually my buffer at these dinners, the one who cracked jokes or redirected conversations before they drifted into quiet interrogations about my life. Without him, it would just be me.
* * *
Dinner at my parents was exactly what it always was. My mother’s table was flawless with linen napkins, a floral centerpiece, and crystal glasses that caught the light from the chandelier above. Everything looked effortless in the way that only came from a great deal of effort.
“So,” my mother said lightly while folding her hands beside her plate, “how are things with Jason?”
I took a sip of wine before answering. “They’re good. Still casual, though.”
“Still casual?” she asked, her tone unchanged even though the question sharpened slightly. “He seems like such a catch. So polite and from a good family.”
“Yes,” I said simply while setting my glass down. “He is very polite.”
“What’s stopping it from being serious, then?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as though the answer should be simple. “He seems very steady.”
Steady. That was the word people always used for men like Jason.
I hesitated before answering. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m just not sure we’re right for each other.”
Her brows lifted slightly, but she did not press the way I expected. Instead she dabbed her napkin lightly against her lips and shifted the conversation. “Lilly’s wedding is coming up soon. How’s the planning going?”