out here.” Her eyes widened. She put a hand on her forehead. “And that’s why you were mowing my lawn. It was a pity mow!”
“Your rent is not being raised. I came out here—” Mitch paused for a moment and stared. “A pity mow?” He shook his head. “I came out here to tell you the duplex has been sold.”
“Sold.” It took a protracted moment to process that information. Mitch wore a small smile, as if he considered this good news. “Sold? Sold is worse than the rent being raised,” she told him as if she were explaining why we don’t bite to a stubborn five-year-old. Lord, she was exhausted. She had lost too much; she was not losing her run-down duplex with the tilting ornamental cabbage. “They can’t do this. No way! I…am not…going…anywhere.”
She grabbed a dish towel—anything she could harmlessly wring to within an inch of its life—and used it to point around the kitchen. “Do you see those walls? I painted those walls. I did it. I went to classes at Home Depot for a month to learn how to glaze. I’ve invested something here. Time, energy, expectation.” She flung out an arm. “I gave my youth to those walls! One person cannot just waltz in and stomp all over another person’s dreams.”
“That wall is your dream?”
“Yes,” she said, but that sounded pathetic, so she backpedaled. “No. That’s not the point.”
“What’s the point?”
He asked gently, like he’d asked her a lot of things during the divorce, and those damn ready-to-roll tears threatened again. She took a breath. “The point is I have a lease. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll get a lawyer.”
“You’re one tough cookie, Elaine.” Amusement shone in his eyes, but not only humor. There was appreciation, too. He wagged his head. “Stop glaring at me a minute. I think you’re right. You shouldn’t let anyone get in the way of what you want. And you do have rights. If you’re not satisfied with your current lease—for any reason—we can draw up a new one to keep on file with the rental agency.”
Elaine’s confusion showed plainly in the furrow of her brow. “‘We’? You’re a divorce lawyer.”
“Yes.” Mitch cleared his throat. Now was a good time to tell her the rest of his news. She’d worked herself into a pretty good froth over a misconception. He was about to bring comfort and relief. Though most people didn’t think of divorce lawyers in this way, bringing comfort and relief was part of the job description. He was tying up loose ends so Elaine could feel safe and secure in her home, and he could put an end to the guilt that had been gnawing at him. Then he could stop thinking about Lowry vs. Lowry and get on with life the way he knew it.
Holding out his hand, he introduced himself as if for the first time. “How do you do? I’m your new landlord.”
The door on Mitch’s newly purchased Toyota Tacoma slammed with a satisfying crunch.
He attempted to start the vehicle, realized the key wasn’t in his hand, dug it out of his pocket and shoved it into the ignition. Grinding the gears, he backed out of the driveway.
Elaine had been slightly less appreciative for this turn of events than he’d anticipated. Her exact response, in fact, when informed that he had purchased the duplex and intended to give her a five-year lease guaranteeing her current below-market rent had been, “No, thank you. I’m moving.”
Moving. Two seconds after she’d just insisted she’d fight tooth and nail to stay!
Punching the steering wheel, he expelled a slow hiss of air. Who the hell could figure out people? Did she have any idea that he’d lain awake nights wondering if she could swing more rent right now in the event a new owner raised it, not to mention wondering how long her money would last and whether she was investing wisely? Then he’d got the idea to buy the duplex. According to the real estate agent he’d consulted, it was a sound investment—well-priced property in an up-and-coming area. Mitch figured he’d work a little less than he normally did on the weekends and become a handyman for a couple of months, getting his exercise here instead of at the gym. It was supposed to be simple.
He’d anticipated Elaine’s relief, her pleasure and, dammit, yes, her gratitude. He had not imagined she would look at him like he’d come to tell her he was putting a freeway through the family farm. He was offering her an updated, rent-controlled duplex, for crying out loud, in a city that had no rent control. And with him as her landlord, she could trust him to keep an eye on things. But following her initial shock had come a look of profound resentment.
The hell with it. He’d tried to make amends. The lady wasn’t interested? Fine.
“Stick to what you’re good at.”
The new-car smell in the cab of this pickup reminded him that he’d bought a truck and gardening tools with the expectation that he was going to be a landlord for a long time…but the hell with that, too. Abusing the stick shift as he came to a stop sign, Mitch realized he had no desire to go home to an empty apartment. He did, however, have to find someplace in his complex to stow the gardening tools, then shower and change. A glance at the digital clock in the dashboard and a quick calculation told him it would be approximately seven-thirty by the time he was done. Seven-thirty on a Friday evening. Between now and then he had plenty of time to find a dinner companion. A rare-steak dinner at Jake’s, a scotch and some logical conversation was just what he needed to forget Elaine Lowry.
Chapter Three
“So let me get this straight.” Gordon Shapiro, Elaine’s best friend since they’d studied for their bar and bat mitzvahs together over two decades ago, gazed curiously across a green Formica-topped table. “Your new landlord is your ex-husband’s divorce lawyer, and you may have slept with him—the lawyer, not the ex—but you’re not sure.”
Elaine nodded. “Right.”
“Hmm.” Gordon shook his head. “I feel terrible then.”
“You do. Why?”
“In high school I voted you ‘Most dull.’”
Elaine plucked a Splenda packet out of a ceramic dish on the kitchen table and threw it at her old friend. “I always suspected you were the one who put me over the top.” At six feet one inch and two hundred pounds, Gordon looked like a handsome linebacker, but he commiserated like a big, cuddly teddy bear.
Laying her head on the table, Elaine groaned. “What am I going to do? I can’t stay there if he owns it. And I’ll never find a two-bedroom in a great area with that kind of rent.” She thumped the table with her fist. “Damn him.”
Reaching for the latte he’d made Elaine and which she hadn’t yet touched, Gordon carried it to the kitchen counter.
“So tell me,” he said, fiddling with the controls of his new cappuccino machine, “if you’re not even sure you slept together, why are you so angry with him?”
“Because he offered me five years of guaranteed rent control!”
“Ah, right.” He nodded. “That bastard.”
Elaine sat up and shook her head. Gordon Shapiro had loved her through braces and Retinol A, through bad hair and bad jobs and through Kevin. He knew her as well as anyone, better than most. She leaned far over the table to explain. “Mitch Ryder thinks I’m going to
