Swallowing convulsively, he knocked on the old hippie’s door first.
His neighbor opened his door and blinked at him. A cloud of pot smoke wafted out of his apartment. “Another fire, man?”
“No. It’s Dennis, right?” Wyatt handed him a flyer. Did this guy ever wear a shirt? “I’m sure you’ve noticed our building is for sale, and I’ve done some research. I’m hoping we can form an LLC and buy the place ourselves. We can own it cooperatively or as condos.” His ears rang with the pounding of his pulse. Had he said everything OK?
“I dunno.” Dennis scratched his thick beard, and peered at him through the smudged, thick lenses of his glasses. “Seems kinda permanent, you know? I don’t do permanent, man. That’s how Big Brother catches up to us.”
“Really? How long have you lived here, Dennis?”
Another beard scratch, and Dennis’s gaze fixed on the ceiling. He looked as if the effort to concentrate hurt his brain, as he ticked off the years with his fingers. “Eighteen years,” he said, a bewildered expression playing across his features. “Whoa . . .”
“I think Big Brother would’ve found you by now if he were looking. Eighteen years already sounds kind of permanent to me.” Wyatt pointed to the flyer Dennis held in his hand. “The pros and cons for going condo or co-op are listed there, along with the financials. At the bottom, there’s a place for your name and boxes to check the option that interests you most, or if you’re not interested at all. Can you think about this over this weekend, and get the form back to me by Monday before noon? If we’re going to do this, we’re going to have to act fast.”
“Yeah, man.” Dennis stood a little straighter. “I can do that.”
“Good. I’ve put a basket by my door. Just drop the flyer in there.”
“Will do. Hey, you wanna come in for a toke, dude?” Dennis gestured with his thumb toward the smoky interior of his apartment. “It’s good stuff. Err . . . for medicinal purposes.”
“Uh, no, but thanks. I have to talk to as many of our neighbors as possible today.”
“Thanks for including me in this, man.” Dennis held up the flyer. “And thanks for making sure we all got out of the building when Kayla’s place caught fire. You’re good people, Wyatt. I’m glad you’re my neighbor. You never know about your neighbors, but we’ve got a pretty good group here.”
“I know. That’s why we should buy this place. I’d hate to see us lose what we have, and the location is great.” Wyatt grinned. “Thanks, Dennis. Take a look at that and get it back to me. OK?”
“I will.” Dennis offered his hand.
Wyatt shook it. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, man.” Dennis saluted him and closed his door.
Wyatt let out a long breath. His heart rate had returned to the normal range. Talking to Dennis hadn’t been so hard. He could do this. He crossed the hall and knocked on the next door, his confidence bolstered.
“Cool,” he muttered under his breath. The Meyers were interested. The other third-floor tenant, a single woman whose name he couldn’t recall, hadn’t been home, so he’d slipped the flyer under her door. Now he stood before Mariah’s apartment on the second floor. He knocked. The sound of footsteps and a rapid spate of Spanish came from inside. Mariah opened her door, her phone pressed to her ear.
Her eyes widened. “Can I call you back, Abuela? My neighbor is at the door.” Her gaze honed in on the absence of his usual hooded state as she ended the call. “Our hooded hero without his hood? What’s up, Wyatt?”
His cheeks heated. “I want to talk to you about our building.” He handed her a flyer.
Mariah glanced at the paper for a second. “Come in. You want coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
“Sure.” He swallowed again and entered her apartment.
“Sit,” she ordered, gesturing to the couch.
He took a seat, mentally practicing his pitch, and Mariah disappeared into the kitchen for coffee. She returned, carrying a small tray with two steaming mugs, a sugar bowl and a small pitcher of creamer.
She set them on the coffee table and settled into the armchair next to the couch. “So, what’s this about?”
Wyatt put a few spoons of sugar into his coffee. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, our building is for sale. I believe we all ought to buy it collectively, either as condos or by turning it into a cooperative. The flyer I gave you has all the specifics.” He took a sip of his coffee, which was strong enough to eat through the lining of his stomach. He put the mug down and added creamer.
“I’m talking to everyone in the building. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what a great opportunity this is for all of us, what with the great location, great schools, trendy restaurants nearby and the park. With a few renovations, we could triple our investment.”
“Sounds . . . great.” She chuckled. “Like one of those time-share salesmen presentations. How many times have you given this spiel today?”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” He grinned. “You’re number five.”
“Mmm. I don’t know.” She pursed her lips. “There are a lot of things to love about this old place, but there are also a lot of inconveniences. Like having to haul my laundry all the way down to the basement and back up again. I don’t like feeding quarters into those stinky old machines, either.”
“We’ve thought about that. My sister is a plumber, and she’s interested in buying the empty unit on the third floor. I brought her in to take a look on Friday night. Our dining rooms share a wall with the bathrooms. She says it would be a cinch to build a closet with washer and dryer hookups against that wall, and the dining areas are huge, so there’s plenty of room. I’d do the wiring, and she’d do the plumbing, using some of the general fund mentioned on the flyer. Then, each unit owner could purchase the washer and dryer of their choice.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “Good idea. What other updates are you thinking?”
“A new, energy-efficient boiler system for heat. And since we don’t have ductwork, we’re thinking ductless air-conditioning. Each condo would have its own condenser, and two through-the-wall units to provide air-conditioning and supplemental heat. My grandparents have ductless AC in their old house, and it works great.”
He’d warmed to his topic, and his palms were no longer sweaty. “We’re also thinking new, energy-efficient windows, concrete work in front and back and a new roof. What do you think?”
Mariah lifted the flyer from where she’d left it on the coffee table and took a look. “I have been setting aside a little nest egg to buy a home, but I was thinking more along the lines of a townhouse with a garage. I hate having to dig my car out of snowdrifts all winter long, you know?” She sighed and looked around her apartment. “I’m tempted, since the price is so good. But . . . this building is so old. I want brand new, like a townhouse development. I want to live in a place where I get to pick out the cabinets and flooring, a place where nobody else’s dirt has ever been.”
“I hear you, and here’s something to consider. The apartment you’re living in right now will only cost you one hundred seventy-five thousand. The actual cost per unit is one hundred twenty-five thousand, but the fifty thousand extra will give us a good start on much-needed updates. Check out what two-bedroom condos are going for in our area, Mariah. I guarantee you won’t find anything comparable for under three hundred thousand. Most go for closer to four. Stay for a few years, then sell. Housing prices are going up in this neighborhood. You’ll have earned enough in appreciation to put down a big chunk on your dream home.”
“Wow.” She sat back. “You really think so?”
“I know so. I’m in the construction business, another advantage to us as a collective. My brother and sister also want to invest. We can do a lot of the work ourselves at a great discount, and we can get materials at wholesale. Money is cheap to borrow right now. Your mortgage—with principal, interest, taxes and insurance—would come out to less than what you’re currently paying in rent.”
&nbs
p; “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “I’ve done the math. It’s on the flyer. Will you think about it and give me an answer by Monday at noon?”
“I wonder if Kayla will be home by then? Have you talked to her about this yet?”
“No, but I will as soon as she gets back.”
“What’s going on with you two? I can tell by the way you look at her you have it bad for the girl, and I’m guessing she’s putting up a pretty good fight when it comes to her feelings for you. Am I right?”
And there went his ability to breathe—or talk, since his tongue had welded itself to the roof of his mouth. Judging by the look on Mariah’s face, he was pretty sure she’d noticed how he’d reacted to her personal question. Damn, and he’d been doing so well with the overcoming-shyness thing. He almost reached for his hood but managed to control the impulse. He stood up and shrugged, going for nonchalance. “Nothing’s going on,” he managed to mutter. “We’re friends.”
“Right.” She scrutinized him. “Well, it’s none of my business anyway. She’s my friend, you know? I’d love to see her happy, and I know how stubborn she can be. I’ll take a look at the information and get back to you. You make a good argument, and I do like living here.”
“Great.” He grabbed the remaining flyers and strode to the door. “I have a few more doors to knock on today. See you.”
“See you.” She followed him. “Thanks. I appreciate all the work and the thought you’ve put into this.”
“No problem. I’m hoping we get enough interest to keep this place.”
Mariah closed her door, and Wyatt headed down the stairs to the apartments on his floor. Two of them were occupied by the elderly women who’d lived in the River Park Apartments forever, and the tenant across the hall from his was a younger guy who was hardly ever around. His car was in the lot, though, so maybe he’d have the chance to talk to him today. Things had gone well with most of the residents, which led him to believe Kayla might be open to the possibility of buying her apartment as well. If so, he’d have more time to win her heart—his ultimate goal. An expensive way to go about achieving his goal, but, oh, well.
He knocked on the door of 101, daydreaming about a future with Kayla and Brady. Mrs. Hanson’s door opened a crack.
She scowled out at him. “Whatever bill of goods you’re selling, I’m not interested. Don’t think I haven’t heard you up and down the stairs, knocking on everyone’s door this morning.”
OK. Tough sell. “Mrs. Hanson, our building is for sale and—”
“I know it’s for sale. I may be old, but I’m not blind. I’m moving to Arizona to live with my daughter and her family. Can’t wait. Hate the winters here. So whatever cockamamie plan you’re hatching, count me out.”
With that, she shut the door in his face. Wyatt flinched. Everyone’s initial investment just went up by several thousand dollars. He slumped against the wall and glanced at the two remaining doors he needed to approach. Two sales pitches yet to give, and he’d be done for the day. His efforts had taken a lot out of him, and Mrs. Hanson had just sucked whatever wind he had left right out of his sails. He needed a break and something to eat before braving the last two encounters of the residential kind.
Still, the majority of his neighbors had been positive. He headed for his apartment, planning to make coffee he could actually drink and anticipating a little peace and quiet. “Too much talking, too many people.” If he arranged things so Kayla wouldn’t have to move while going to school, he’d have made her life easier, not to mention he’d achieve his goal of keeping her close. Climbing out of his comfort zone would be worth it though, and he just might manage to impress Kayla enough to make her fall madly in love with him.
“OK.” Wyatt rearranged the cartons of Indian takeout on his dining room table so he could set down the paper plates and napkins. Haley, Sam and Josey had arrived for their Monday meeting. “Here’s where we stand, but keep in mind Kayla and the guy who lives across the hall from me weren’t home all weekend, and I haven’t talked to either of them yet. All three units on the third floor are in, including the stoner, which frankly, surprises me. I guess he figured Big Brother has decided to leave him alone. All of the responders prefer the condo approach, and the Meyers in apartment 302 said they’re interested in being on our first homeowners association board.”
“Make that all four on the third floor, because I’m in.” Josey placed the flyer he’d given her on the stack in the basket sitting on the floor beside the table. “Condos work for me. I don’t get how the whole owning shares of the building thing for a co-op works, anyway.”
“Me too. I prefer to own my apartment outright, so I can make the changes I want to make without discussing it with the entire building,” Wyatt said, adding his checked-off form to the pile. “On the second floor, we have two tenants who are interested, one who wants to think about it some more, and Kayla, who doesn’t know yet.” He took a swallow of his cola and sat down. “The two seniors on the first floor aren’t interested, and both have already given their notice to the current owners that they’re vacating.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” Sam said. “Haley and I want to invest. The four of us can buy and fix up the empty units and rent them out or sell them.”
“Oh, wait.” Josey raised her hand, like she was in a classroom. “If there are going to be first-floor units open, I’d rather take one of those. If the four of us form a partnership to buy the empty apartments, we can stick to the original price for everyone else, and Sam’s suggestion makes sense. Fix them up first, rent them out, or sell them for a nice big profit.”
Sam looked around the table at each of them. “Shouldn’t we talk to a lawyer and put this in a contract or something?”
“We need to do that soon,” Wyatt agreed. “Do you and Haley want to count as a third or as fourths of the partnership?”
“A third,” Haley said. “This is Sam’s deal. I’m just here to support you guys in any way I can. Divvy the costs and the profits three ways. I can talk to a lawyer friend where I work. I’m sure we can get the legal work done for next to nothing. He owes me a favor, since it’s because of me and Sam that he met his latest love interest.”
“Here’s to our newly formed business partnership.” Wyatt held up his can of soda, and they all clinked their beverages together. “Now that we’ve settled a few things, let’s eat. I’m starving.”
All during lunch, Wyatt listened for Kayla’s return, his attention divided between the business at hand and practicing what he needed to say to her. By the time they’d finished eating, cleaning up and discussing changes they wanted to make to the building, it was two in the afternoon. Jobs were assigned, like connecting with a few mortgage brokers to start the ball rolling, and gathering a few existing homeowner association bylaws to get a sense of what they needed to include in theirs. “So, you’ll talk to the lawyer tomorrow, right, Haley?”
“Yep. That’ll be my job.”
Wyatt followed everyone to his door. “I’ll call the listing agent first thing tomorrow and let him know we want to make an offer. I’ll get back to everyone about what will be required and set up a building-wide meeting for Tuesday evening.”
“Good. See you tomorrow morning, right? You’re back on the job in Woodbury, I’m guessing,” Sam said.
“Yep. I’ll be there.” He saw them all off and closed his door. Restless energy thrummed through him—part excitement about their plans, and part anticipation of Kayla’s return. He strode to his studio, intending to begin Elec Tric’s newest episode. In this one, Elec Tric would snatch the Mysterious Ms. M from DD’s evil clutches. The wooing of the Mysterious Ms. M back to the side of goodness and light would begin. Besides, his studio gave him the best vantage point to keep an eye and ear out for Kayla’s return.
He’d been working for two hours when he heard a car pulling into the back lot. “Finally.” It had to be Kayla, or someone dropping off his neighbor from across the hall. Wyatt shot up from
his drawing table and hurried to the open window. His pulse raced at the sight of her. “Here goes everything,” he muttered, striding through his apartment. He grabbed his keys and headed for the back lot.
Wyatt reached her just as she opened her trunk. “Hey, welcome back, Kayla. How was your trip?” The smile she sent his way stole his ability to walk and talk at the same time.
“It was great, thanks.”
“Let me get that for you,” he said, taking the suitcase from her hand. “Lots has happened around here since you’ve been gone.”
“Oh? Like what?” Her brow rose.
“Do you have a few minutes to talk? Can we stop at my apartment before taking your suitcase upstairs? There’s a flyer, and I—”
“A flyer?” She opened the back door for him. “Sounds serious. What’s the flyer about?”
“Our building. Can you talk now, or—?”
“Yes. Lots happened in Iowa, too, and I need to talk to you anyway.”
Uh-oh. Now what? His gut twisted. “Is everyone in your family all right? Is Brady OK?” He opened his door and ushered her inside and set her suitcase by his living room closet.
“Everyone is fine. I had an interesting talk with my mother-in-law, and I’ve done a lot of thinking, that’s all.” She sucked in an audible breath. “We need to talk.”
“Great.” Maybe not so great. Last time she said that, she’d informed him they couldn’t date. What now? Was she about to tell him she planned to move back to Iowa once she was done with school? Tension squeezed his chest, and his palms grew moist. He had to bare his soul and come up with a Hail Mary pass of a sales pitch. “Would you like a beer or a glass of wine?”
“I’d love a glass of wine. It was a long drive.” She trailed him to the kitchen. “How was your weekend?”
Whatever You Need (The Haneys Book 2) Page 21
