Breakfast had been an experience. For one, she finally had experienced grits. She had seen them on television and thought they looked disgusting, but now having eaten them…well, her opinion hadn’t much improved. Must be they were an acquired taste. On top of that, for the first time in a long time, she had been stared at. Maybe it was because she was a newcomer, but surely they were used to tourists in the town. Maybe it was because she was alone, because it certainly wasn’t because she was attractive. No, Martha was not having a pretty day. She smiled at her plain face in the mirror.
Years of living in Vermont had taken their toll. She was decidedly pale. Her hair was more practical than stylish, and she seldom wore makeup. Part of the problem was that makeup application was a mystery to her. She couldn’t apply it without resembling a circus freak. And therefore, she had decided long ago, that she would have to rely on her inner beauty. (Or maybe that’s just what ugly people say to comfort themselves.) She giggled.
Grabbing her purse and fleece pullover, she headed back down the stairs. She would ask Keely if there was anything special going on in town, then take a nice walking tour and maybe even look for a house. Martha continued to formulate her plan as she went skipping down the stairs. The man who had been staring at her in the dining room was standing by the door, talking with Keely as she neared the landing. Something about his presence was so disconcerting that she stumbled on the last step. Martha inhaled sharply, prepared for the impact, when instead firm, strong hands grasped her upper arms and steadied her.
“It’s okay,” he said warmly, “I’ve got you.” He helped settle her on the floor, releasing her only once he was certain she wouldn’t collapse.
Martha looked up into clear ice blue eyes rimmed with a sea green, lashes so strawberry blond that she couldn’t help but stare. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her. He had a strong angular jaw, a long straight nose, and small lips that were full and utterly kissable. Lips that were currently spread wide in a grin. He was perfection, wholly male, and only made seemingly accessible by his one minor flaw, a small pitted scar near his jaw line. She sighed, struggling to keep from caressing that jaw line.
Blaine would have jumped at the chance to work on this face, remove the one flaw that kept him from being runway ready. Blaine. That’s right. And suddenly, she was thrust back to reality, a reality where she was coping with the loss of a child and a distant husband.
The first to break the silence, Keely chuckled. “So, I see you’ve met our local handy man, Joe,” she said. “Joe, meet Martha. She’s new to town.”
They seemed to suddenly realize that they were standing entirely too close to each other for complete strangers, even maybe for longtime friends. Taking a step back, they clumsily shook hands. The act itself was awkward, stilted, but the touch…the touch was home. For reasons Martha couldn’t explain, she felt as though she had known this man all of her life, the touch was natural, comfortable, and warm.
“Nice to meet you, Joe,” she said, with a shy smile.
He shot Keely a disgusted look. “It’s Joseph, actually. At least, that’s what I’m trying to convince people to call me.” He looked at her, studied her, and somehow didn’t care if she knew it. “And you go by Martha?” Instinctively, he knew she was no Martha. Martha was an old name, a tired name. This woman was vibrant, vivacious, completely at odds with the image her name conjured. He scratched at his chin pondering that.
She gave him a sly half smile as she gently relinquished her hand, already missing his added warmth. “You don’t look like a Joe or a Joseph to me,” Martha said.
His eyes were crinkling again. “I don’t?” He was feeling playful.
“No, you don’t.” She crossed her arms in front of her. Smiling openly now, she asked, “So, can I call you Joey?” She beamed and it fully transformed her face.
He was completely mesmerized. Somehow he managed to respond, “Only if I can call you Marti, with an ‘i’ of course.” The gauntlet was thrown.
She tilted her head to the side, and pondered that suggestion. No one had ever given her a nickname. She had always thought her name plain and boring, and somehow had let it dictate her personality. Maybe now she was ready to try a new name to go along with her new life. And Marti seemed like it might just be saucy enough to fit.
“Marti.” She tried it out on her tongue. “I think I like that.” She smiled and held out her hand once more. She didn’t know what made her do it, it was so unlike her. “Nice to meet you, Joey. I’m Marti.” And with that she turned and sauntered out the front door and down the steps. It was only as she reached the driveway that her self-satisfied smile had faltered. Caught up in the moment, she forgot she needed directions. Too embarrassed to return, she set out on her own.
Had she been asked, she would have had to struggle to explain what had made her behave as she had. Perhaps the south was changing her already. She shook her head to dismiss that notion. Marti found herself heading towards the gazebo with no plan, and no idea what she was doing. She chastised herself. She was a married woman who had just had a momentary lust for a handsome man. No big deal, right? Wrong. She had felt more for that stranger in those few moments than she had for her husband in the last several years, or maybe even ever. There was no denying that had been powerful, but she had to dismiss it and focus on her future. Joey would clearly be a distraction.
It was a gorgeous December morning. For the first time, she understood what Carolina blue was. The clear sky was a shade she could only have imagined in the past. There was still grass, not as green and vibrant as it was in the spring and summer no doubt, but at least it wasn’t brown and patchy or covered in a thick layer of snow, mud, and ice like the grass was back in Vermont. She sighed, a sound of pure bliss. And that’s when she realized she had found her destination: a realty office.
She quickly glanced in both directions before she crossed the street. Posted in the window were some of the listings offered in the area. Some of the homes in the outskirts of the town were more contemporary, and therefore easily dismissed. She would know her house the moment she found it. There were others that were older, but completely refurbished. She frowned at that idea. She really wanted something she could put her mark on, something she could make her own. Nothing in the window seemed right.
Turning to walk away, Marti paused when a woman walked out of the realty office and stopped her. “I can see you have very discriminating tastes,” the woman explained. “I watched your reaction.” She nodded to the postings as explanation. “I’m Deborah. Why don’t you come in and give me a chance to help you find your dream home.”
Chuckling, Marti smiled. “I’m not sure you’d understand my idea of a dream home,” she said.
Giving her a reassuring smile, Deborah coaxed her through the door and into a worn leather chair next to a large old wooden desk. “Honey, you’d be surprised what I understand.” She shook her head.
Tilting her head at the comment, Marti studied Deborah. She was a beautiful older woman, silvery blonde hair, tall, thin, and tan. She was stylish in a way Marti only dreamed of being. And, clearly, she could apply makeup perfectly. At the same time, as she studied the woman, she could tell that she carried a heavy burden, maybe several. Mind resolved, she threw back her shoulders and held out her hand, “I’m sorry. I never introduced myself.” She smiled widely. “I’m Martha, but some people call me Marti.” Well, it was partially true. After the meeting, she was certain that Keely would be calling her Marti now, too.
Deborah reclined in her chair with a friendly smile on her face. “So, Marti, tell me about your dream house.” She reached for a pad and pen to take some notes.
“Well,” Marti began, trying to decide how to describe precisely what she was looking for.
“I guess I want a fixer-upper.” She watched as Deborah nodded and wrote down what she said as she continued. “I want something old and big, with a porch. And I want a yard that’s large enough for me to have flowers and vegeta
bles and even a pool.” Her eyes squinted as though she was imagining it as she spoke. “Inside, I want fireplaces, plural. I’d love for all the bedrooms to be together, too. Oh, and some nice high ceilings, big windows, some architectural details. I love all the things that so many of the new cookie-cutter homes lack.” She sighed. “Tough fit, huh?”
Shaking her head, Deborah thought for a moment before speaking. “I can think of at least three houses off the top of my head that could be what you’re looking for. My question is this: when you say ‘fixer-upper,’ what do you mean?”
It took her less than a second to formulate a response. “A complete and total overhaul,” she said flatly.
Looking at her watch, Deborah thought for a moment. “Okay. I have another appointment to show some homes this morning. I should be done by mid-afternoon. What if I give you the addresses and you come back later and tell me if you’re interested in seeing any of them?”
Smiling widely, Marti nodded. “That would be perfect.” She watched as Deborah wrote down the addresses for the properties, then took them and walked to the door.
“I look forward to working with you.” Deborah called as Marti walked away, feeling as though she were on cloud nine.
All of the houses were within walking distance of the town square. She guessed that was because she had expressed an interest in an old historic home and that was usually where they were located. After a few minute’s walk, she rounded the corner and saw the first one on her list. She stopped and studied it.
Clearly the house needed some work. The outside was covered in wood siding that was currently decaying and drooping against the rusted nails holding it on. The windows had that lovely wavy glass pane look only old windows get through the years. She could tell the home was vacant, so she didn’t mind walking through the yard and peering in the windows. The yard was small. It might accommodate a few flowers, but nowhere near enough space was available for her vegetables and the pool would be out of the question. She sighed. Even if the inside was a dream, she couldn’t negotiate on the yard. She mentally crossed that one off as an option and moved on to the second address.
Again, without even crossing the street, she could tell this house met the fixer-upper criteria. It was dilapidated. She wondered about foundation issues immediately, but more even, she considered how close to the road it sat. She wanted more distance. It seemed that a road expansion had stolen some of the yard and new sidewalks had taken most of the rest. She sighed and looked at the remaining address on her list.
Dogwood Lane. The location had a nice ring to it. She smiled. Worst case scenario, she would just have to keep looking. No one ever found their dream home on the first day anyway. Marti kept telling herself everything she could think of to keep the depression at bay. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the last home on her list.
Initially, she inhaled sharply. This home, not as it looked at the moment, but as she knew it could, was a perfect match for her dream home, if she squinted and tilted her head. At the moment, everyone who knew her would think her insane for even considering the place. She smiled. Maybe she was a little crazy. Maybe she felt like taking a risk instead of playing it safe. What had playing safe ever won her anyway? Blaine was a prime example. He was her high school boyfriend. He was the only boy she had ever been with, the only boy she had ever dated. She had spent the last fifteen years of her life pleasing him.
And look at her career. Well, that was the point. She didn’t have a career. In an effort to support Blaine, she had gone to work, rather than get a master’s degree. And with just a bachelor’s, she wasn’t able to get the kind of position she might otherwise have. She always told herself she’d go back, but instead she had focused on making him successful and remaining the wallpaper in his life.
No more playing it safe. She tentatively walked up to the front porch. It was a fantastic porch, nice and deep, covered. There was an intricate trim work that followed the top of the porch all the way around. Currently, the porch covered two and a half sides of the house, which was two and half times as much as her house in Vermont. She chuckled. Some of the boards were weak, she could tell from the give of her slight weight as she walked on them. She headed to the front door to peer in, but stopped when she realized there was a hole the size of a trap door where the welcome mat should be. Marti laughed out loud at that and surprised herself. It had been so long since she laughed like that. It felt good.
Descending from the porch, Marti walked around back. She could see where there used to be a nice driveway that curved behind the house, which was now overgrown. As she rounded the corner, she had her first glimpse of the back yard and had to wrap her arms around herself in excitement. There was more space than she had dreamed of. Sure it was overgrown with saplings and resembled more of a pasture at the moment than the yard she envisioned. That mattered not. She had the space to make her vision a reality.
It was when she peeked in the back door that she realized how much work the place needed. That was fine. A lot of work meant a lot of room to negotiate the asking price. She glanced at her cell phone for the time. Marti never wore a watch. In fact, she didn’t wear much jewelry at all, just her wedding set that felt as though it were choking her lately despite her plummeting weight. She sighed. It would be several hours before she could convince Deborah to let her see the inside of the house.
Walking back around to the front, Marti glanced around. No one was around. It was New Year’s Eve and she was alone in every sense. For some reason, she was happier than she had been in months. Smiling, she sat down on the sidewalk, facing the house, staring and imagining the possibilities. And for the moment, that was enough.
Nothing should surprise him anymore. Joey had gone to Hope House for breakfast only to discover his regular table occupied. That was his first surprise. That he lost his first bet in…well, he couldn’t remember when, was his second surprise, a serious blow to his pride. The third surprise was more like his third and fourth wrapped into one. That was when Marti nearly tumbled down the stairs and he had the pleasure of catching her, which led to the introduction and of course the realization that he was capable of having feelings again. Possibly. It had been a long time. Years in fact. He half growled remembering.
So now, it should not shake him to his core as it did to have Marti sitting on the sidewalk across the road from his house, staring at the eyesore he had grown to hate with a passion, looking as though she had found Jesus. Yeah, she wore that same dazed look he had seen in those tent revivals. Secretly he had been planning to petition the city to declare it a hazard and tear the place down. Start fresh. That lot could be prime real estate. Now, if she decided she was interested in buying it, Keely had mentioned she was moving to town, then that wouldn’t happen. He’d have to stare at that place for another seven years, since he was only three years into his ten year plan. And he wasn’t sure at the moment that he had the strength to do that, even with such a beautiful backside currently decorating the sidewalk in front of it. He had to get out of this town.
After sitting for nearly forty-five minutes, jotting down notes and questions she wanted to ask, Marti reluctantly walked the short distance back to the town square. She glanced at her cell phone and realized that she still had more time to kill. She hadn’t eaten for hours, which wasn’t unusual, but that she was hungry was, so she decided to grab a bite to eat. Before she had the opportunity to ponder which of the small restaurants she might like to visit, the smell of baking bread drew her into The Carolina Café.
Pausing just inside of the door, she tried to discover the lay of the land before walking up to the counter. A smiling pleasantly plump woman stood behind the counter. “What can I getcha?” She asked in a decidedly Long Island accent. Her naturally curly dark brown hair touched her shoulders in the back and was scooped into a clip in the front. The restless curls around her face attested to how hard she was working in the kitchen.
“I’m thinking soup and sandwich,” Marti bega
n slowly. She inhaled deeply, remembering the grilled cheese she had enjoyed the day before.
“Well, then let me tell you our soup of the day is Vegetable Beef Barley, homemade of course.” She nodded. And Marti smiled. “And I just got in this roast beef which is so rare…” She let her voice trail off for a moment. “Sorry. Foodgasm.” She chuckled to herself. “I’ve been dreaming about having some for lunch all morning.”
“You’re my kind of foodie,” Marti joked easily. Somehow she knew this was the sort of woman she’d enjoy dining with and befriending all together. “I just moved here…”
“Where ya stayin’?” She interrupted as she reached for a loaf of Asiago Cheese bread.
“I’m Laurel, by the way, and this roast beef on the Asiago loaf with horseradish mayo is for you. Tomatoes?”
Marti shook her head, “I’ll pass. I only like them cooked. Like last night, I had the most amazing soup at Hope House…”
“That Keely, she can cook,” Laurel acknowledged. “So, ya lookin’ for a place?”
“Working on it. I have an appointment with a realtor later this afternoon.” She watched happily as her sandwich was garnished with a pickle and plated. Then a huge steaming bowl of soup was spooned for her.
“Here,” Laurel motioned, moving from behind the counter and showing her to a bistro table near the window. “Try this and we’ll talk after.” She motioned to show that more customers had piled in and she would have to get back to work.
“Sounds great, thanks.” And happily, she moved to watch out the window and enjoy the meal prepared for her.
Pulling into his usual spot, Joe scowled as he looked towards his destination. The café had been one of his lunch spots for as long as it had been in business. He thought for a moment. He could go to one of his other restaurants. Frowning, he stepped out of the truck, locked the door and paused. Somehow, the thought of disrupting his routine was more painful than the thought of having to see Marti again. Barely. He might as well get used to it, he decided, since in a town this size they were bound to trip over one another on occasion. Still, this was bordering on ridiculous. Straightening, he threw his shoulders back and walked over to the door.
Stormy Surrender (New Hope #1) Page 4
