Her lovely face enhanced by a sprinkle of freckles? Nope, not at all professional to stare. Instead, he gazed at the weathered door behind her and cleared his throat. “Did you find any listings?”
Her mouth curved into a polite smile. “Yes. Ready to see your future house?”
Unexpectedly, he felt drawn to her. She wasn’t at all what he’d expected, although his good sense warned him away. He was completely satisfied with being single, having made peace with that reality ever since his one serious relationship with a woman had ended badly. He’d lost his self-reliance once, and once was enough.
He gestured toward his truck. “Should we use my vehicle or yours?”
“Mine.” She pointed to a rusted Honda Civic. “I’ll drive. I know these roads well.”
He opened the car door for her, then came around and settled in the passenger seat.
She buckled her seatbelt. He buckled his, then took in a quick breath. A faint whiff of her scent lingered in the air. Roses. He grinned. Why not?
“So, Candee, have you lived in Roses all your life?”
She glanced at him. “I’ve lived here and there.”
She returned her attention to the road, and an overlong moment passed in silence.
He waited for her to continue. When she didn’t elaborate, he asked if he could turn on the radio. The station was set to Classic Rock and “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers came on, the heartfelt lyrics about “Oh, my love, my darling,” filling the little car.
Teddy was about to suggest they try for more upbeat music when she gushed, “I love this song.”
Okay, he thought. She must be a romantic.
“How many showings did you schedule?” he asked.
“Two, both in Glenhaven.” Flicking on her signal, she turned onto another road. “You want three bedrooms and two baths, correct?”
“The perfect flip house.”
“You don’t intend to live in the property?”
“Nope. I want an easy fixer-upper that won’t take longer than six weeks to renovate. I’m working with another investor, and we intend to make a quick and substantial profit.”
“Don’t we all,” she murmured.
Their gazes met and they shared a grin.
Soon, they were driving past neatly manicured lawns and one-story homes.
She stopped in front of a beige bungalow, parking on the street. “The previous owners relocated, and this house has been on the market over sixty days.” They got out and walked toward the house. As you can see—” she gestured to the tidy neighborhood and matching mailboxes—“Glenhaven is lovely.”
“The neighborhood is too cookie cutter.” He stood on the front porch and studied mismatched shingle patches nailed to the roof. “Needs some work.”
“Inside, the home is beautifully decorated.”
“The bigger the mess, the bigger the profit.” Automatically, he provided the investor’s mantra. “What’s the asking price?”
“One hundred thousand dollars, although the owners are willing to negotiate.”
He shook his head. “Too expensive.” Why did realtors try to sell homes over the buyer’s stated limit?
Noting Candee’s downcast expression, he lightened his tone. “Are there any other homes in this town under fifty thousand?”
“There is … one.” She paused and pressed a finger to her lips, seeming to search for a reason not to answer.
He overlooked her lack of enthusiasm. “Price?”
“That particular house is listed on an internet auction site and meets none of your criteria.” She paused. “It’s a rambling Victorian and—”
“Where is this house?”
“On Thompson Lane at the edge of town. It’s unoccupied.”
“How much land comes with the property?”
“Five acres.”
“Can the land be sold off in parcels? Is it zoned commercial or residential?”
“You can get on the website and download the report.” She slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
Had he heard a grunt of disapproval?
“Sorry I can’t help you, Teddy,” she continued, when he got into the passenger seat. “I’ll drive you back to my office to get your truck, and I’ll phone if anything in your price range becomes available.”
Now he had to beg her to view a property? She might be gorgeous, but she was certainly the world’s worst realtor.
“Do you have the lockbox code to this Victorian, Candee?”
She raised her delicate brows. “Yes, but—”
“I assume an appointment isn’t necessary if no one lives there.”
She inserted the key into the ignition. “My pleasure.”
He didn’t know why, although he’d bet she was being sarcastic.
A few minutes later she turned onto Thompson Lane. As they passed an elderly man with gray hair and glasses perched on his nose, she waved, explaining he was Mr. Dunworthy, a widower who owned a Queen-Anne-style home two doors away. He’d lived in the neighborhood forever and refused to give up his large home, although it was becoming more and more difficult for him to maintain.
She drove to the end of the road, sped up a circular driveway and parked in front of an imposing three-story house. An octagonal tower soared from the steep multigabled roof. Century-old trees flanked both sides of the property. On one corner of the overgrown front lawn, an oak tree boasted a tire swing. Teddy imagined himself pushing Joseph on that swing. Joseph needed to play more, needed fresh air. He’d been so pale since his father’s death.
No, Teddy told himself. Quick and easy sale.
Of course, he could purchase the property for the land and build five new homes, more than tripling his profit. Or build low-income housing. Rob would agree with that decision.
He rounded the car to open the door for her, but she’d already gotten out. They stood side by side and stared at the house. For the first time in many years, he drank in the stillness of a cool winter afternoon, admiring a home he’d only imagined in his dreams—and was well aware of the insane impulse to hold Candee’s hand as they walked to the front door.
He extended his hand to her.
She stared at him in surprise, but then she took his hand.
“The home is beautiful, isn’t it?” she said as they walked to the front porch together.
It was, although the Victorian sat beneath layers of peeling yellow paint that marred its exterior and several of the windows were boarded up. A covered front porch curved around to the side, and there was also a side entrance. Teddy imagined white wooden rocking chairs, a row of lush Boston ferns, and ceiling fans spinning lazily on a warm summer afternoon.
The land, the land, he reminded himself.
Candee dropped her hand and tapped in the code for the lockbox. She tipped her head toward the purple front door. “In its former glory days, this home reflected the wealth of the owners—the Langrone family. They owned a prosperous knitting mill in Roses.”
“And then?”
“And then the mill went out of business. Too much foreign competition. The Langrones declared bankruptcy and moved out shortly afterward. All the owners since then moved in with high expectations until they discovered they weren’t able to maintain the upkeep.”
What a waste of a beautiful home.
As if she’d read his thoughts she lingered on the porch, a wistfulness in her gaze. “This Victorian was built in 1889 and definitely requires TLC.”
An absolute understatement, Teddy decided, when they walked in. The outside needed extensive work, and the hardwood floor of the grand foyer was badly gouged and scratched.
Candee flicked on a light switch. Nothing happened, and she offered an apologetic shrug. With lights not working, they were left in semidarkness. And although the odor in the entrance hall stopped him cold, she didn’t miss a beat and continued walking.
“This is the kitchen,” she was saying. “The cabinets are an olive color …”
&
nbsp; “What’s left of them.” He eyed the traditional arched raised panel doors and a lone cabinet left on the floor. So much beauty amidst so much neglect.
He stepped onto rusty linoleum. Luxury vinyl it was not because the floor felt soft and spongy beneath his work boots. Water damage, and hopefully not too extensive and requiring a floor joist.
Candee caught the focus of his gaze. “Avocado was a popular color in the 70’s when the owners updated the kitchen.”
“Avocado is back in style,” he replied.
Hadn’t Rob uttered the same words when he’d designed his showy corporate office in Miami?
Teddy opened and closed a cabinet door and examined the hinges. “With lots of elbow grease and white paint, these cabinets might work. Better than tossing them in a landfill.”
Candee shook her head. “Nothing in this kitchen is salvageable.” She opened the oven door. With a shriek, she slammed it shut.
He inspected the grease-encrusted stove burners. “I’d install stainless steel appliances. The stove can stay. Six burners are a good selling feature, and the microwave can be mounted above the stove. Granite countertops, travertine flooring, a dishwasher, disposal …” He swung around. “If I open this wall, there’d be an expansive view of the yard, which would be great for kids.”
He didn’t miss her speculative glance at his ring finger when he mentioned children.
“I’m not married,” he said. “It’s just me and my four-year-old nephew, Joseph.”
She hesitated. “Where is he?”
“He’s in Miami spending the next few weeks with my business partner, Rob. Rob’s the one who got me started in real estate.”
He’d said too much. How could he put into words the way his gut split every time he pondered Christian’s death, or the pain Joseph had endured because of his numerous operations, or how Teddy had recently debated selling everything and starting over—somewhere quiet and peaceful—away from the high-pressure lifestyle of fast-paced Miami?
“Every home I take on, I treat as my own,” he whispered.
Although this home wouldn’t be here, because every bone in his practical body insisted it should be demolished.
He ran the faucet, and rusty water spewed into the chipped porcelain sink.
“City water and sewers,” Candee said.
“Good. No septic issues or a dry well save money. What’s this house going for?”
“No one knows the final price with an auction.”
“Square footage?”
“Over 5500 square feet.”
“This house is bigger than I thought.” He pressed his lips together. “What’s the current bid?”
She paused for a long while. “Twenty thousand dollars. You know you’ll pour money into a house this size in order to get it back into shape.”
“Did you know you’re the exact opposite of a saleswoman, Candee?” With a grin, he stepped forward into what he presumed was the formal living room, appreciatively remarking on the marble fireplace with its updated gas fireplace and the twelve-foot ceilings.
“No use in traipsing through a ramshackle house—” Candee began.
“I noticed there’s a dining room and parlor,” he interrupted.
“Yes. And an adjacent library. And a music room.”
That same wistfulness in her voice again.
He struggled to find the right words, debating whether to ask if she was upset about something. Hesitating, he changed direction. “Is the music room next?”
“You’re the buyer.” Had she silently inserted the adjective foolish?
He assessed the lengthening shadows signaling early nightfall. With no electricity, the house was growing darker by the minute.
As they headed into the music room, the toe of his boot caught on a torn piece of shag carpeting. He heard Candee call out a warning as he lost his footing and fell through the floor.
Chapter Three
Candee peered through the hole in the floor into the shadowy basement. Although she heard Teddy’s footsteps, she couldn’t see him.
“Are you all right?” she called.
“Sure. I wanted to examine the basement, anyway. It appears to be a walk-out.”
She leaned over, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. “What’s it like down there?”
“I’ll let you know in a minute.” He switched on his cell phone’s flashlight and peeked up at her, waggling his dark eyebrows. “Care to join me?”
He couldn’t possibly be flirting.
“Uh no. I’ll wait here, thanks.”
Teddy pulled himself back up into the music room. “Maybe next time?”
With one hand in his worn jeans pocket, the other wielding a tape measure, he was rugged and impossibly good-looking, his muscled arms straining against a thin gray T shirt. He brushed dirt from his vest and yanked off his baseball cap. His wealth of black hair was mussed, and the late afternoon sun gilded thin strips of golden highlights to the tips. Perhaps he’d stepped right off the cover of the latest men’s home improvement magazine without telling her.
Although she’d walked through this house many times, she hadn’t ventured into the basement. Desiree often called Candee the opposite of a realist, although what would the world be like, Candee rationalized, without dreamers?
Teddy carried the broken kitchen cabinet from the kitchen and placed it over the hole in the floor.
As they continued through the house, he snapped photos with his cell phone.
“After I see the upstairs, I’ll send these pictures to my partner Rob,” he said.
She gestured to the sweeping spindle staircase. “This home has five bedrooms, five baths, and five fireplaces. It’s the opposite of a perfect flip house.”
“Nevertheless, lead the way. There’re two more floors to check out.”
After he’d inspected the upstairs bathrooms and admired the worn brass hardware on the master suite’s mahogany double doors, they made their way downstairs.
When they reached the foyer, he glanced up from his cell phone and said, “I want to make an offer.”
She shuffled back two steps. “You’re joking … right?” Her gaze shifted to the entrance. She’d made a serious mistake in mentioning this house to him.
“I never joke about real estate.”
“This home”—she swept out her hands—“is a money pit.”
“Which is why Rob and I will buy the property for the land.”
Candee’s heart stopped beating.
“We’ll demolish the house,” he added.
Her house, she wanted to shout. Her land for disadvantaged children. She’d envisioned beagle puppies cavorting across the lawn, perhaps an acre set aside for a working farm. Children needed to connect with nature. It was time to get them away from technology and back to values that really mattered.
And music. The music room off the kitchen would reverberate with glorious sounds again.
Teddy faced her. “Anything the matter?”
There was kindness in his gaze, interest on his handsome features. Should she share her ideas with a man she’d known for less than two hours—a man who was bent on destroying those very same ideas? A man who’d held her hand in his strong grip and gazed at the Victorian with the same wonder and appreciation as she had?
Struggling to hold onto her composure, she reminded herself she was a professional. Besides, this house was nothing like what he was looking for.
She lifted her chin. “Not a thing.”
Lightly, he touched her cheek, his gesture completely unexpected. “I understand how you feel about a house like this. It’s very beautiful, but beyond repair.”
Turning away, she quickly dabbed at her eyes. She settled into the tune she’d known the past two years: no matter how sincere, how charming, men couldn’t be trusted. Better to hold him at a polite distance and keep her plans to herself. He’d soon be gone back to Miami.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
She feigned her
brightest smile. “Of course.”
He waited a beat, then silently followed her, standing on the porch while she locked the front door.
“Any idea what the current bid is? You mentioned under fifty thousand.”
Candee rubbed her temples. A quick search on the Internet would spew all the information he’d need to place a bid.
“Twenty thousand dollars,” she finally said. “And bidding ends in three weeks.”
So many mistakes today, beginning by answering the phone. 1-800-CUPID. Hah!
“Then I’ll offer thirty thousand dollars,” he said.
An uneasy quiet descended. A cold breeze brushed across her cheeks.
“The auction accepts bids in twenty-thousand dollar-increments,” she said.
“Then I’ll bid forty thousand, which is still under my fifty-thousand-dollar budget.”
“The bank may not accept a lowball offer.” Her remark was nonsensical, since she was hoping the bank would accept her offer, because twenty thousand dollars was all she had. She glanced at Teddy’s determined stance. Surely there was a way to convince him not to bid. However, thirty years of proper Southern behavior stopped her from saying more.
“I can offer all cash,” he said. “Plus, my partner and I can close immediately. On a foreclosure, the bank will take everything into consideration.”
“Don’t you want to walk the property? If you’re interested in the land, there are building requirements and permits—”
He reached into his pocket and handed her a business card. “I do this for a living, Candee. I know all about due diligence.” He gave a lazy grin. “And there’s another clause, which can either make or break the deal.”
She fisted one hand on her hip. “The bank should just hand over the house to you?”
“A definite bonus.” He laughed, rich and full. “I’m hoping my lovely realtor will grant me the pleasure of her company at dinner.”
“I can’t.” Her refusal was quick, a knee-jerk reaction. She hadn’t dated in two years and wouldn’t start now, especially with a tycoon investor who assumed that by flaunting the cash in his pocket, he could take her castle in the air away from her.
“Not even for a slice of pizza? I don’t know my way around Roses yet.”
1-800-CUPID_A Sweet Contemporary Romance Novella Page 2
