Retreat to Woodhaven (The Hills of Burlington Book 2) Page 14

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Casey walked the perimeter of the room. It was elegantly decorated. All the rooms for that matter had been decorated flawlessly and with impeccable taste. She looked around, sighed. It reminded her of her condo. The one she'd recently sold. Even as she had signed the papers she felt certain she'd miss it. And found that she hadn't...not for a single moment. She gazed out the window, draped in gorgeous damask that framed the view of the river perfectly. Even the detached garage was gorgeous, looking more like a cottage than a place to park a couple of cars. She turned, watched Terry take the same path she had, checking out the bathroom, the closet. It was a new house, not even a year old. The owners had fallen on hard times and needed to sell quickly so it was a great deal. She took in the room again, so like the others she'd already walked through with Terry right on her heels. They spoke little, each absorbing the atmosphere, checking out all the little extras that made it a cut above some of the other new homes they'd been in and out of that morning. Terry had asked her to tag along and she'd been more than happy to. It had given them time to catch up. And there had been a lot to catch up on. She opened the door to find another closet. A huge closet that was even bigger than the one in the master bedroom.

  Terry peeked into the space from where she stood next to her. "I could almost put one of the kids in there."

  "I could almost bunk in there."

  "What do you think?" Terry knew what she thought and couldn't wait for the next part of the show after lunch.

  "It's nice." She smiled the best she could manage.

  "Please." Terry looked out another window, gazed out over the city and up into the hills where all you could see was street after street of homes aged with time and grace. "My sneakers are nice."

  Casey didn't bother trying to hold back her laughter. "I'm spoiled." She splayed her hands out in a gesture of acknowledgment.

  "How so?" Terry asked both serious and inquisitive.

  "This is nice," Casey repeated and emphasized it, she sincerely meant it. "It really is." She looked out over the same hills her friend was still gazing towards. "It's new, classy," she looked around the room, thought about the knock dead kitchen they'd just walked through. "It's a yuppy wonderland."

  Terry choked on her giggles. "Yuppy wonderland. That's priceless."

  "Even at a good deal, this house is too. You'd think the faucets spit liquid gold."

  "You'd think," Terry agreed.

  "I've gotten used to charm," Casey looked back out the window, to the hills that overlooked the heart of Burlington. "Charm and character."

  "With some luck we'll see some this afternoon." Terry heard her husband's voice. "Mark picked out this morning's choices, I picked out the ones for this afternoon."

  "Is there one you like better than the others?" Casey knew her friend. She'd bet anything that she'd already picked out the one she wanted and the others were all window dressing.

  Terry smiled. "I think the second one we'll be visiting would be perfect if it's not falling apart at the seams."

  "And if it is?"

  "It depends on how much the seams would cost to fix." She listened to her friend laugh freely and openly without caution, grateful this place had given her back the ability to do so. "I like your guy."

  "So do I," Casey answered honestly, used to Terry's quick and sudden change of subjects

  "How does he feel about being your guy?" Terry watched her friend's expression. This aspect of a relationship, at least in her mind was often the clincher...that both parties involved were on the same page, or at least close to being so.

  Casey smiled, listened to the voice that patiently answered all of Mark's seemingly endless questions. "Good." She looked at her friend, understood the concern, "Good," she repeated with more emphasis this time. She looped her hand through Terry's arm and led them both out into the hallway to wait for the men. "I am so glad you're here." She smiled as Pete turned and winked at her. Said under her breath so only her college buddy could hear. "Like I said. Really, really good."

  

  Later that evening, after a day spent touring homes with Casey's former boss and his wife, Pete leaned back from his dinner table, looked at the woman sitting across the table from him and asked the question he'd been dying to throughout the entire meal. "So, do you think they're serious or just browsing and if they're serious which one?"

  Casey laughed softly. She'd wondered how long he'd be able to hold out. "Are you figuring the commission already?" She teased. She knew from their long talks that he enjoyed the money game. He had a huge stash that would carry him for years if needed. But he dearly loved the game.

  "Actually I was thinking that if they moved here the likelihood of you leaving would decrease tremendously."

  Casey looked up from her desert that she was still pushing around the plate to simply stare at him. His expression was every bit as serious as he sounded. She was stunned to know that he'd even considered she would leave. And as she watched him, seeing now with a different view and from a perspective he'd never before allowed her to see, it was obviously a worry that hadn't been discussed. Yet even as she watched him she could see it, his eyes that always smiled at her had the slightest hint of worry, and that very smile that she so loved was forced. How often had he put on that happy face for her, she wondered, even though he worried, and worried alone.

  She stood, walked around the table to the chair next to him, but before sitting down she turned it so she would be facing him. She took a breath. It was humbling to realize he'd taken all the firsts to this point. Now it was her turn. "It wouldn't matter." She started, willing him to understand. Needing him to. As she saw the light begin to shine through the worry in his eyes, she took his hands. Held them tightly in hers. "Whether they stay here or not, it wouldn't matter." She lifted her hand, cupped his face with it. "I'm not going anywhere." Let out a sigh of relief as she watched the light come back into those gorgeous eyes and his smile brighten from ear to ear. Hearing the kids slam through the back door and begin the argument over who got the bathroom first, she sighed, leaned into him. "So," she began, loving the sound of his quiet laughter against her ears. "Do you want to know which house I think they're going to be putting a contract on and upon which I would be willing to bet cleaning the dishes for the next week on?"

  

  Mark leaned back against the couch of the small suite they had to themselves again. After spending the day looking at houses with Pete and Casey they'd arrived at their hotel room only moments before a visit from yet another realtor for dinner. He would have liked it better if Jake had been there but after a quick conversation the night before with his soon to be business partner they decided that for this initial contact it would be more conducive to getting straight forward info if he were to handle it on his own. Of course Terry had been there and no doubt had picked up on half a dozen issues he hadn't. She was chomping at the bit to talk about the houses and he sincerely doubted they'd get to any talk about newspapers that night. He knew she figured she was in for a fight. He'd hadn't been able to pin down exactly which one she wanted. He had it down to two of the historic homes. She'd hated the newer ones. He pegged that without her saying a word to him. He could tell from the way she'd walked through them. She looked, studied, and cast aside. Truth be told, he didn't blame her. He glanced over to where she sat, papers spread out all around her, one for each house. She might be looking over them all, he knew, but there were only a couple she really bothered with.

  "So which is your favorite?" He took another sip of the local beer he found stocked in the room's small compact refrigerator. A very good beer he would be more than happy to stock in the refrigerator of their new home. He sighed quietly to himself thinking about the homes they'd looked at that afternoon and could only hope the wiring was relatively modern. He wasn't keen on the knob and tube wiring he'd grown up with. Lights were forever blinking and wavering if not outright popping. With his first decent paycheck, he'd personally contacte
d his best friend from high school who'd since become the town's major contractor. Before he'd received his next paycheck his parents had the real stuff running throughout the house. The lights no longer blinked and the AC unit ran without shorting out for that entire next summer. His father had been gruffly appreciative. His mother now baked him his favorite cherry cheesecake every single time they visited. And never once failed to thank him in a dozen other less obvious ways.

  He sighed. He could tell from his wife's smile this was going to be a short decision making process. And thinking back over the day once more he really couldn't fault her. The newer houses had all looked the same. He could have easily settled for any one of them if he hadn't seen the houses they'd walked through later that afternoon. Next time his father commented that they just didn't build them like they used to he was going to have to agree with him. Odds were he'd hear it within minutes of his parent's first visit to their new home. Which he figured would be either the second or third house they looked at that afternoon. And said the same to his wife.

  "You would be right." Was all she said in response.

  "I actually liked the first of them the best."

  "The only reason you liked that house best was because the yard was already landscaped and required almost no mowing." Terry pulled out the paper for that house. She'd like it too, more than she expected to. "It only had one fireplace."

  Mark leaned back. God help him, it was going to come down to something like fireplaces. He hated cleaning out fireplaces. "We've never had more than one fireplace."

  "We've only lived in one house."

  "And it had one fireplace."

  "I can't believe we're having this conversation." He leaned his head back, rubbed the bridge of his nose. Hard. Felt the space next to him on the couch shift as she leaned into him. Cautiously he opened his eyes. Saw those laughing blue eyes next to him, and the just opened beer within reach.

  "Is this because we're buying the third house with a fireplace in every single room."

  "No. This is because we're buying the second house with a fireplace in every room on the first floor." She laughed at the look of disbelief on his face. "You liked that house, Mark. Admit it." She leaned forward and grabbed the papers from the table where she'd set them. "Be a man about it."

  He stayed silent but took the offered beer from her. Took a huge sip as he waited for her to make her case. Unnecessary that it was.

  "Look," she spread the papers out in front of them completely covering both their laps. "We looked at four this afternoon." She shifted them around so they were in the order they had seen them. "The first one that you liked was nice. Gorgeous yard. Great view but they all had that." She picked up the paper that showed everything you wanted to know about the house and snuggled in next to her husband. "I loved the staircase when we walked in. Made me feel like a queen. That's why I don't want it."

  "Please?" His brother was right. Women were just wired differently.

  "Feeling like a queen for a day is just fine. You ever want to make that come true that would be just dandy. But I want our home to feel snug and cozy."

  "Okay." He fell back on the tried and true response that worked the way nothing else could.

  She shifted the papers, picked up number four. "This was beautiful. I loved the layout of the house and the kitchen was perfect. The view of the river was awesome. But the steps out the back made me nervous. I'd be jumpy every time the kids were outside. I can't live like that."

  "What steps?" He grabbed the paper from her, dragged his memory like a lake for what she was talking about.

  "You had to go out in the back yard to see them. I thought I saw something from one of the upstairs bedroom windows which is why I did just that. When you go past the back gate, there's some stone steps, really old stone steps that run from the back end of that back yard all the way down to the street below." She tapped the photo. "Steep steps. Really, really steep. I'd be surprised if someone doesn't get hurt or worse on those steps if they haven't already."

  "Ummm." She didn't miss much. Which was why he wanted to get past this conversation to the one about the newspaper deal.

  "And if I'm really honest with myself, I'm torn between the second and the third houses."

  "Is it a matter of fireplaces?" Mark asked dryly.

  "No. It's really not." Terry laughed, poked him even as she snuggled in closer. "The third house is great, there's really nothing about it I don't like." She pushed that paper to the side and slipped the last in front of them. "But the second house is closer to downtown. It's literally within walking distance. And it's brick. I love the wood frame homes, they’re awesome and there's so much you can do with paint. We could paint them different every year."

  "Wow. That sounds like fun." Mark was only half teasing. "The second house is looking better all the time."

  "And look, see this," she pointed at some of the pictures included with the packet that showed the street it was on. "See this little area here? There's a street there, it's an old street and I'm not certain it can be driven on anymore but it goes directly from the neighborhood down to the downtown area. There's a sidewalk that runs along it as well."

  "I saw that when we were walking back to the car. Casey said it's called Snake Alley."

  "Yes. Exactly. That's it."

  "And you're worried about the kids on those steps in the house closer to the river. I can just see them riding their bikes down this street on a dare. And later it will be skateboards." He was only teasing until he saw her lips scrunch up like they did when she was in a serious ponder. "It doesn't matter where we live, Terry. They're going to always find something, we just have to stay one step ahead of them."

  "Helmets. They will have to live their lives in helmets."

  "We can do that." He studied the pictures. It was a nice house. The trim needed painting but brick...yeah...he could live with brick. "It had a nice little building in the back. And a shed on top of that."

  "But I did really like this house too, more than I thought I would." She pulled out the papers again on the third house they'd looked at that was only blocks away from the second one. "Here," she shoved the papers in front of him, "this is the one with.."

  "A fireplace in every single room," Mark broke in, he wasn't certain what she was going to say but that was what stood out for him. At the look on her face he looked closer, for something, anything that he might like enough to forget about the soot that would lay like dust on every surface in every room. "We'd certainly have more than enough room for huge family get-togethers. This place has what, six or seven bedrooms?"

  "Hmmm." Terry studied the papers alternately with those from the second historic home they'd walked through that afternoon.

  "Terry," Mark waited for her to look up from the specs on the houses. "Pick whichever one you want." He saw her expression of concern and mistook it to be financial. "They're both in the same ball park as far as what the owners are asking for them and each is less than half of what we're netting from the sale of the house in Maryland."

  "I know. I wasn't thinking about that. I was looking at some of the information on the houses." She leaned back, went through all that she'd already considered, let it play in her head. She couldn't think of a single reason to deviate from her initial choice. "The second one. I really like being so close to the downtown area. They're all great in their own way but this one is everything that small town living means to me."

  Mark said a silent Thank You to the powers that be. "Let's toast to it." He rose and retrieved the bottle of wine he'd bought for this very purpose. "Now that that's taken care of how about you give me your thoughts on our dinner guest."

  Terry laughed, it just couldn't be helped. "Frank really wants you to buy the paper."

  "But does Frank really want me to buy the paper because he really needs or wants the commission or because the owner really needs or wants to sell the paper?" Mark handed her wine glass to her, tapped it with his in a salute and a challenge. "Tha
t's the real question, isn't it?"

  "Maybe a bit of both," Terry nibbled on her lip. "He was certainly anxious to get something going on the deal."

  "What are you thinking?"

  "Nothing specific. I really didn't hear anything that just screamed out to be looked into. I did wonder what the trends have been on the paper's advertising sales but I would wonder the same in any situation. And quite honestly with the economy the way it is anyone who is considering something like this would have to go into it with the mindset they would likely have to start from the ground up. But that’s all pretty normal," she shrugged, took a sip of her wine. "It might be worth asking Pete to quietly ask around and also talk to Mary and see if she knows of anyone else who could do the same."

  "Bad vibes." Mark let out a deep breath, he really wanted this deal. But his wife was usually dead on when it came to her instincts. Especially bad ones. And they were always worth listening to in a really serious way.

  "A little, but it could be from Frank himself. The way things are he might not have had a good sale in months and needs to make his own mortgage payment. Or two."

  "Maybe," Mark pulled out his cell, keyed in Casey's number. It seemed these days if you wanted to find one you just had to look for the other. "Casey, could I speak with Pete for a moment?" He waited for her to hand him the phone, explained the reason for his call in his usual concise manner. Within minutes he turned back to his wife. His wife who was smiling at him in a way he recognized. "What?"

  "You don't even hear yourself, do you?" She asked, shaking her head.

  "I hear myself every day. That's what happens when you talk out loud."

  "Same here but I don't have conversations with people I barely know and sound like they work for me while I'm asking them for a favor."

  "He didn't have a problem with it." When she only shook her head at him he pressed back the temptation to get defensive. "Men are different. We don't get in a snit over stuff like that." Ducked to miss the elbow he knew would be aimed at him. Held out his phone to her. "Fine. You call Mary and ask her to check things out as best she can."