heat, she looked fresh and vibrant, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a tropical-print sleeveless dress bright against her tanned skin. “Scott,” she said. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Not long.” He held up the portfolio. “I came to discuss listing the house, if now’s a good time.”
“Now is fine. Come on in.” She walked past them and led the way inside.
“Did you get a job?” Toni asked.
“I did.” Marisol smiled. “I start tomorrow morning.”
“Where will you be working?” Scott asked.
“I’m the newest waitress at the Bluebonnet Café.”
She laughed at the obvious surprise on both their faces.
Scott had a difficult time imagining the elegant woman before him taking orders at the down-home restaurant. “Have you waited tables before?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. But I told the woman there I could learn.” She glanced at her daughter. “It’ll be an adventure. And the hours will let me be here when you get home from school.”
Toni rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I need a baby-sitter,” she said.
“I know.” She patted Toni’s shoulder. “Scott and I need to talk business for a bit, okay?”
“Okay.” She headed down the hall and in a moment Scott heard a door close.
“She’s a sweet girl,” Scott said. “She reminds me of you at that age.”
“I’m amazed you remember me. I’d better show you the house.”
He was aware of being alone with her in rooms that still held the chill of long-unoccupied space. When her hand brushed his arm as she reached past him to flip a light switch, he felt a sharp stab of arousal. Her eyes met his and he sensed she felt it too. Then she turned away and the moment passed.
He forced himself to focus on the house. There wasn’t much to see—three bedrooms, two bathrooms, formal dining and living rooms and the kitchen, where they ended the tour. “Everything seems to be in good repair,” he said. “But that wood paneling in the dining room and the black and white tiles in the kitchen and bath scream 1970s. If you’d put some money into updating the place—paint over the paneling, and install new flooring and countertops, and maybe some new appliances—you’d get a much better price.”
“I can’t afford to remodel.” She took two glasses from the kitchen cabinet. “I’m going to have some iced tea. Would you like some?”
“That would be good.” He pulled out a chair and sat at the table, enjoying the view of her curvy backside and shapely legs as she pulled the pitcher from the fridge.
“I’m guessing my kitchen cabinets aren’t what’s making you smile that way,” she said as she set the tea in front of him and joined him at the table.
Heat burned his cheeks. To cover his embarrassment at being caught ogling her, he opened the folder and shuffled through the papers. “I pulled the legal description at the courthouse, and some comparables of other sales of similar properties for you to look at. Judging by them, here’s how much I think you can get for the place.” He slid the listing agreement to her and pointed to the line for the selling price.
Her eyes scanned the paper, and she frowned. “I was hoping for a little more.”
“We can ask, but the market is in a bit of a slump now, and these smaller places tend to sell more slowly. Again, if you’d remodel…”
She shook her head, and picked up a pen. “If this is the best we can do, then we’ll do it.” She signed with a flourish, then handed the papers back to him. “How long do you think it will take to find a buyer?”
“Tough to say. The average time on the market has stretched to five months, though of course I’ll do my best to shorten that.”
“Do what you can,” she said. She looked around the kitchen. “It feels strange, being back here after so many years.”
“There are some attractive new homes on the west side of town,” he said. “Maybe after you’ve sold this place you could move to one of them.”
“No, I’m not planning on staying. There’s nothing for me here.” Her eyes met his and he felt the impact of that gaze, and a leaden ache in his stomach. He could admit, if only to himself, that he hadn’t completely set aside the fantasy of the two of them getting together. Having a relationship that went beyond agent and client. But her words made it clear she saw no possibility of that.
What did it matter, anyway, when she was so clearly out of his league? He’d trespassed in this world once before and proved he couldn’t keep up. He changed the subject. “Who did you talk to at the Bluebonnet?”
“I didn’t get her name. An older woman with braids. She was wearing overalls and an apron.”
“That’s Mary Sandifer, the owner. She and her husband bought the place from Marty Wakefield a couple of years ago. She’s a good woman. The kind who doesn’t suffer fools and isn’t afraid to say what she means. She probably sensed you were a kindred spirit.”
“Maybe I used to be that way.” She traced a line of condensation down her glass. “I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut.”
He studied her, at the fine lines at the corner of her eyes, the few strands of silver shining in her dark hair. She was still a beautiful woman, but there was an added depth to her now, a sense that she’d survived hard times and triumphed that only added to her attractiveness. “Has it been very hard for you?” he asked. “The trial, and everything that came out during it?”
“You mean that my husband was a lying, gambling cheat?” She smiled ruefully at his obvious shock. “I suspected there were other women all along, but I never dreamed he was so deep into debt—and with the mob, no less. It’s a wonder he stayed alive as long as he did. But it was hard, yes. Hard to hear the accusations that were made about me, hard to lose my home. Hard to see Toni suffer.”
“She seems to have come through it all right.”
Marisol nodded. “As well as she could, I suppose.” She took another long sip of tea, studying him over the rim of the glass. “Tell me about yourself. All I know is that you’re Jay’s son. I’m sorry I don’t remember much from school.”
“There’s no reason you should. I was two years behind you.” He replaced the papers in the portfolio, sorting through all the things he might tell her about himself. I once had a huge crush on you, or I almost ruined my life a few months ago and am still trying to pull my reputation out of the cellar. “There’s nothing exciting to tell,” he said. “I used to work for one of the big firms in town, but six months ago I opened a solo office in my dad’s building. I’ve lived in Cedar Switch all my life. Guess I’m just a small-town kind of guy.” While she was definitely not a small-town girl.
“Are you married?”
The question startled him. Was she merely making conversation, or was she truly interested? His heart beat faster at this idea. “I’m…seeing someone,” he
