Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  And that was that.

  But a word to the wise, don’t ever call Millie a gossip, not if you ever planned on sticking around town. Crossing Millie was like crossing a railroad track when two trains were heading toward each other, and standing there like a deer blinded by headlights. You just had to be crazy to do it.

  The school principal stopped me on my way to Carter’s office. “Hey, Lilybit, how're things shaping up?

  Everyone in town that knew me growing up called me Lilybit. I wasn’t a fan, but I’d learned to deal with it. My brothers had started it, and though most people thought of it as a term of endearment, I’d considered it more of a, look there’s little Lily who’s still a kid and hasn’t grown up, kind of thing. I was almost twenty-seven, owned my own real estate business, and I had worked hard to establish myself as a professional in the community. Being called Lilybit seemed so unprofessional. It yanked my cord at times, but I did my best to let it go. “Looking great, sir. We should be ready when the doors open.” I checked my iWatch. “In twenty-two minutes.” I wave of panic rushed through me, though there was no reason for it. The event was set. I’d been a part of this for three years in a row already, and it had been going on for as long as I could remember before that. It would be fine, and I knew that. “Have you seen Coach Trammell? I wanted to run something by him.”

  “Not recently, but I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. Have you checked his office?”

  “On my way there now, thanks.”

  The high school was one of the older buildings in the county, but with the recent growth in suburban Atlanta and the surrounding counties, Bramblett had seen a surge in new residents, too. Our small county had a twelve percent population increase over the past year, which of course, was great for businesses, including real estate, but change didn’t come easily to the people of my small community. One of the benefits, though, was the planned and already completed upgrades to the high school.

  I walked through the backside of the gymnasium and straightened my shoulders as a feeling of Bramblett County Bulldog pride came over me as it always had when I saw the hard work of the Bulldog athletes that came before and followed after me displayed on the gym walls. The rows of regional and state championship banners for basketball and cheerleading hanging from the white and red painted cinder block walls showed true sportsmanship and dedication.

  A nightmarish image of my sweaty gym uniform, the one our evil gym teacher, Mrs. Settles, God rest her soul, picked out, came rushing back to me. I despised that thing. Somewhere in her late sixties when I was a freshman, and entirely out of sync with anything in fashion, Mrs. Settles fought for the old-school gym uniforms and won. I spent my freshman year in a one piece jumper style, zip up gym uniform with horizontal stripes. Our particular colors were light blue and white, but Mrs. Settles called it sky blue, like the crayon, as if that made it any less horrifying. My mother, for reasons I’d yet to understand, had saved her gym uniform and had we been the same size, would have offered hers because it was the same exact one.

  The exact same one.

  Bad gym uniform fashion aside, I’d had such fun there with my friends cheering on the basketball teams and being a part of pep rallies for the football teams. Mostly, I cheered for my boyfriend, Dylan Roberts, who, as fate would have it, was my significant other again, too.

  I found Carter next to the front side of the bleachers in a somewhat heated conversation with Ginnie Slappey, the lacrosse booster club president. They stood face to face, barely inches apart, so I scooted off to the side and did what any polite person would do; I gave them a moment to finish their conversation.

  Carter whispered, but his tone was forceful, and I watched the veins in his neck bulge. “You fix it, or I’m going to the principal.”

  Ginnie touched the finger where her wedding ring should have been but wasn’t. She must have forgotten to put it on that morning because if her marriage had hit a tough spot, the rumor mill would have already processed that tasty bit of information and spit it out within seconds of it happening. The skin around her eyes tightened, and I knew then something was up. She hadn’t just forgotten her ring. How she’d kept that secret must have taken a miracle. “I just need a little more time to take care of a few things, Coach. Please.”

  “Two days, Ginnie. You hear me? Two days.”

  I didn’t want to just walk up unnoticed, so I coughed as I stepped out from behind the bleachers. The two of them separated as I approached, and both smiled like they’d been best friends for years. “Hey Carter, Belle found this great painting of Walter Payton. It’s pretty big, but we thought it would be perfect for your family room wall. Do you want to come take a look?”

  His eyes shifted to Ginnie’s. He spoke to me, but clearly, he was talking to her. “Sure. We’re done here.”

  “But Carter, we still need to talk about—”

  “I said we’re done here.”

  Ginnie nodded, and as she walked away, I couldn’t help but wonder what their argument was about. We walked back to the community sale and the table with the painting, chatting along the way. “Everything going okay with the new job?” It wasn’t exactly what I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to be nosy.

  He nodded. “So far, so good. Can’t officially start coaching just yet, but I do have the team coming in for workouts in the mornings a few times a week, and I’m observing their box lacrosse games, so I’ve got an idea of their strengths.”

  “Box lacrosse?” Lacrosse was utterly foreign to me. Back in my day—that wasn’t something I was accustomed to saying since I hadn’t yet reached thirty—lacrosse wasn’t a school sport, or even one played anywhere in the South as far as I knew.

  “Indoor lacrosse. It’s basically the same but still a bit different than field lacrosse.” He sort of smiled, but more to himself. “So, really, it’s not the same, but it’s the same concept.” He laughed. “You just have to know the sport to get it.”

  I nodded. “Ah, got it. I guess. Maybe.”

  “You really don’t know anything about lacrosse, do you?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Why don’t you come to a game? We’ve got one this evening. It’s fun to watch. I promise you’ll love it.”

  His face lit up when he saw the painting. “Is that it?”

  I nodded. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s perfect.” He flipped over the tag and grimaced. “Ouch. That’s a lot on a teacher’s salary.”

  “Don’t sweat it. Belle is a wiz at negotiating at these things. Trust me.”

  He tapped the pink sticky note. “She’s already got it saved. Is that for me?”

  I nodded. “I’ll let her know you want it. What’s the minimum you’ll pay?”

  He shrugged. “It’s for a good cause, and you did get me a good price on the condo.” He rubbed his stubble-free chin. “You know what? I’ll pay the seventy-five.” He patted his flat stomach. “I can afford to go without a few beers for the rest of the month anyway.” He removed his wallet from his back pocket and searched the area for someone to pay.

  “Oh, you can’t buy it just yet,” I explained how the sale worked. “You take one of those stickers over there.” I pointed to the sold stickers. “Write your name on it, stick it on the item, and when the sale officially opens, you can take it over to the registers and pay. If you want to negotiate, you’ll have to come back and do that with the person who’s selling the item individually.”

  “Got it.”

  “If you see anything else you like, I’d mark it quickly because as you can tell, Belle’s got her own personalized hold stickers so she can negotiate her own prices once the sale officially starts. I think she got here late last night to check everything out.”

  He laughed, but cut it short when I didn’t laugh, too. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “The woman doesn’t play around when it comes to saving money. The county commissioners asked her to review the annual budget before it was approved for 2019.�
�

  “Seriously?”

  I crossed my heart.

  “Wow.”

  “You have no idea.” I checked my watch. “Oh, wow. I have to run. Fifteen minutes till blast off.”

  “About tonight, you really should come.”

  “I’d love to. Text me the details.”

  “Will do.”

  * * *

  “I can’t believe I let you drag me here.”

  Belle tapped the ignition button on her car, and the engine shut off. “Come, it’s not as bad as it seems. Consider it a diamond in the rough.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the right comparison I’d make. How are we supposed to get inside, squat jump over the holes in the steps?”

  “Well, you haven’t gone to spin class a lot lately, so…” She let that dig trail off for full effect.

  “I’ve had a pulled calf muscle because of the dog you got me for my birthday. The dog I didn’t want, remember?” A twinge of guilt pinched my heart for bad mouthing Bo, my Boxer mix, and the sweetest dog ever. Ugh. Bo was the bomb, and I was a horrible person for using him as a guilt weapon like that. I apologized to my smelly buddy, even though he wasn’t there.

  “And you’re a better person because of him.”

  “That’s not the point.” I stared up at the monstrosity of a house, or what was left of the house, in front of us. “This is practically a teardown. We’d have to start from scratch. That’s a little more than I’d planned. Not that I’d actually planned any of this.”

  We’d spent a few nights munching on potato chips and M&Ms, chatting about buying a fixer-upper, maybe doing some of the work ourselves, but definitely hiring out most of it, and selling the property. Belle had thoughts of owning a bed and breakfast or becoming the next Chip and Joanna Gaines, minus the Chip part, but neither of those options worked for yours truly.

  The metropolitan Atlanta area had spread far and wide, and counties like Dawson, just one county over from Bramblett, was quickly becoming a hot spot for families that wanted the comforts of small town life with the convenience of suburbia. Bramblett hadn’t been hit quite yet, but some of the locals feared it was coming, while others prepared for the excitement of the possibilities.

  Belle and I had researched those possibilities, noted the trends, and saw the potential. We expected growth, but nothing compared to what counties like Dawson and Forsyth had experienced. Bramblett was just too far north of Atlanta, and the state’s infrastructure couldn’t support the increased volume, not without substantial improvements, anyway, and those weren’t even yet planned. I was happy to know our county would stay a close-knit community with a small town feel indefinitely.

  Belle groaned. “Look at those columns though. Aren’t they beautiful?”

  I gazed up at the long abandoned Civil War era home. “They are, but I don’t think it’s the right place for us. And we agreed we both need to be one hundred percent in to do this, remember?”

  She nodded, and as she did, she pressed the start button on her car. The engine hummed back to life. “On to the next property we go.”

  “Hey, Carter asked if we’d like to go to a box lacrosse game tonight. You up for it?”

  She backed down the long, gravel driveway. “He asked us, or he asked you?”

  “Well, technically he asked me, but we’re a team, so that means us.”

  “Did you mention you’d ask me to go?”

  “I can’t remember. Why?”

  Belle turned left onto Highway 369 and headed further away from town. “Because if you didn’t mention me, then I don’t have to go, and I won’t feel bad about it.”

  “You’re so going now.”

  “I have to wash my hair.”

  “Honey, that don’t work with me, and you know it.”

  “Do my nails?”

  “You get manicures.”

  “Pay my bills?”

  “It’s the digital age.”

  “Take out the garbage?”

  “They don’t collect on Sunday.”

  “Walk the dog?”

  “He’s my dog.”

  She pounded her steering wheel with her fist. “I don’t know a thing about lacrosse. Why doesn’t he coach football? That’s a sport I know.”

  “He’s our client and our friend. Besides, he’s new in town. It’s a nice thing for us to do.”

  “I know. It just sounds so intimidating.”

  “What does?”

  “The game, or learning it, I mean.”

  “It’s not that hard to understand,” I lied. “It’s kind of a mix of hockey, soccer, and basketball, but you know, different.”

  “Bless your heart, you don’t have a clue either.”

  “Not a bit.”

  “And it sounds boring.”

  “How would you even know that if you don’t know a thing about it?”

  She ignored me.

  “Well?”

  “Fine, I don’t know that, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”

  “You are a hot mess for sure.”

  She made another left and pulled off onto a dirt and gravel mixed road. There were so many potholes, my voice sounded the way it did when I was a kid and I talked into a fan, vibrating and humming. “Where are you taking me now?”

  She pointed ahead and to the right. “There.”

  I glanced at a white mini-mansion. “Uh, no. You might as well turn back around and go home.”

  “What? Why? I love this place.”

  “We talked about this already.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not backing down on this one.”

  “But it’s a true antebellum style home, and you love them.”

  “I do, but it’s not a flip. These homes don’t sell well, and you know that.”

  “But it would make a perfect bed and breakfast.”

  “Belle, I’m not opening a bed and breakfast.”

  “Can we just look inside? Please? Just for fun?”

  “Fine, but just for fun.”

  The sprawling mini-mansion must have been a looker during its prime, but it was way past its prime. What was left of the place was a skeleton of its past, like a dead tree in the woods left to rot through the seasons until it became a pile of dust and dirt. Only the house wasn’t a pile of dust and dirt just yet. The wide front steps and large round columns with intricate carvings on their tops framing the base of the front porch needed work, but still held their historic beauty, and showed that once upon a time, someone had loved the home enough to pay attention to detail. The wrap-around front porch with its mini columns serving as banisters was the perfect match for the civil war era home, and it didn’t take much of my imagination to picture the daily happenings of the people that had once lived there.

  I saw children playing with wooden blocks and cards like in old Southern movies. I imagined debutantes in fluffy hoop skirted gowns with big bows, flitting around the porch, laughing and drinking from expensive crystal, at least until the war. During the war soldiers had stolen most everything, they’d taken to hiding what they treasured, or sold what they needed to for money, and women made due with what they’d had. They’d made their own dresses from drapes, bed covers, and other materials. They’d lost so many of their belongings, things they’d never recover. Even as kids we’d find things buried deep in the ground, things the women hid from Union troops—silver, china, family photos, things they cherished but never came back for, or maybe couldn’t come back for.

  I had to admit, the home kidnapped my heart at first sight, but that didn’t mean I wanted to own a bed and breakfast. Just the thought of that made my pulse increase, and I started to sweat.

  “So, what do you think?” Belle draped her hand along the old stair railing. “Isn’t it amazing? I mean, seriously. Think of the history. We could restore it to its original design, and it would be incredible.”

  All I saw were debt collectors knocking on that beautiful door, not guests. “Exactly where do you think the money for this w
ould come from?”

  She sighed. “I’m not sure, but I’m sure we could finagle it somehow.”

  I headed toward the door. “When you figure that out, I’ll come back.” I glanced at my iWatch. “In the meantime, we have a lacrosse game to get to.”

  She lagged behind me dragging her feet like a child in a toy store during the holiday season. “But you have to admit it’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, it is, but I’m a real estate broker, not a bed and breakfast owner.”

  “You’re right, but gosh, I really love the idea.”

  “In theory, it sounds great, but in reality, I’m just not the bed and breakfast owner kind of person.”

  “I’m probably not either, but couldn’t we own it and have someone else run it?”

  “Did you answer one of those internet scams where the person wanted to leave you all of their money and it actually worked or something?”

  She laughed. “I wish.”

  “Then, no, we can’t own it and have someone else run it.”

  Chapter 2

  Belle pinched her nostrils together, and I couldn’t help but admire the dark red color she’d picked for her manicure. “That’s a lovely shade of red you picked.”

  “Thank you, but heavens, it smells like dirty, sweaty socks in here.” She uncovered her nose and then covered it again. “And boy. Like stinky high school boy.”

  I swallowed hard, hoping that would stop the strong, offensive stench from slamming itself into my senses and destroying them even more than it already had. “I’m a little alarmed by the fact that you remember that smell, but it kind of reminds me of the school gym.”

  “It does. I didn’t notice that until earlier today. I wonder if it smelled that way when we were there?”

  “Probably, though I’m sure my momma would disagree. She’d blame the moms for not washing the boys clothes right.”

  Belle laughed. “Of course she would.” She waved her hand near her nose. “God bless, it’s bad.”

  Clarissa Mooney walked over and stood next to Belle. “You’ll get used to it. Just stay away from their lacrosse bags. Goodness, those things stink to high heaven. Last year at the end of the season, you know what I did?” She nodded as if we knew, but she was going to tell us anyway. “Why, I just threw my Justin’s bag right into the trash at the end of the season, that’s what I did. Didn’t even open it to look and see what was in it.” She shook her head. “Uh uh. Didn’t want to know. Didn’t want that stink in my house.”