Lost and Found

by Tamara Larson

  Today Diana was thrilled to be checking out homes in this particular neighborhood. She wanted her daughter to live close by and in a safe environment. The sooner Lacey was out of the dumpy apartment she was currently living in, the happier Diana would be.

  They left their shoes outside and stepped into the Show Home’s impressive hallway. The sight of beautiful, shiny, hardwood floors and high ceilings greeted them and Lacey gave a gasp of delight when she saw the crystal wall sconces lighting their way toward the kitchen. She pointed at them, and mouthed, “Those are gorgeous,” to her mother. Diana nodded vigorously and they continued into the Great Room. It was always their strategy to appear cool and detached from the properties they looked at, but usually they failed miserably at this and ended up gushing uncontrollably over the features they liked.

  Entering the open concept kitchen and living area, Lacey stopped in her tracks and reached out a hand to touch the object of beauty before her. “I think I just fell in love,” she said over her shoulder to her mother. The two strangers standing at the counter both chuckled at her reaction to the giant island of grey-flecked, white granite she was currently fondling. “Where have you been all my life?” she asked no one in particular. Looking up she smiled at the people watching her molest the kitchen island.

  The woman, obviously a real estate agent, held out her hand and introduced herself as Serena Garrison. She was tall, blonde and coolly elegant in her white blouse, black skirt and spiky black stilettos. Lacey reluctantly took one hand off the granite, and returned the handshake, suddenly quite self-conscious about her sloppy jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt and bare feet. She really wished she hadn’t let her best friend’s nine-year-old daughter paint her toe nails in a particularly horrendous shade of acid green. Bella wasn’t terribly careful about restricting the polish to nails, and the result made Lacey’s toes look like she’d dipped them in toxic waste.

  "Hi Serena, I’m Lacey, and this is my mother, Diana." Her mother stepped up next to Lacey to admire the island. Serena smiled warmly, welcomed both ladies, and handed them each copies of the row-house information sheet. Lacey liked her instantly, but was curious why she didn’t introduce the tall, dark figure who was watching this scene unfold without saying a single word. Must be her boyfriend, she thought. Lucky, lucky girl. Who didn’t like the strong, silent type?

  She tried not to stare. She really did. But the last time she'd been this close to a guy who looked like he’d just stepped out of a beefcake calendar was probably at her friend Liz's thirtieth birthday party. Lacey had drank way too many lemon drop martinis and ended the evening by groping one of the sweaty Chippendales dancers, much to everyone’s amusement. And that was more than three years ago. So, while her mother chatted with Serena about the features of the home, and his attention was diverted by their conversation, Lacey allowed herself a sneaky side glance at him. A glance that turned into a stare which lingered for just a minute or two longer than was absolutely polite.

  He was leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed across his wide chest. She could clearly see how the fabric of his blue plaid shirt strained against powerful biceps. The kitchen area was wide and airy, with extremely high vaulted ceilings, but he still seemed to dwarf the room. Casually, she pretended to look out the window next to him but was actually trying to see if his bottom half was as impressive as the top. It was. At least what she could see. Unfortunately, his shirt was too long do a thorough examination, but she noted that he wore loose black jeans and extremely large suede boots.

  His dark, silky hair was just a little too long to look professional and his nose looked like it had been broken more than once, but overall everything about him made her sigh inwardly in appreciation. This was not a pretty man. He was entirely too rugged to be called handsome or cute. He looked like the broody, intense type. Or perhaps he was more like a conquering warrior, bent on vengeance. Obviously she'd been reading too many novels featuring highlanders lately. She resolved to read something less stimulating in the future. Her libido suddenly seemed to be in hyper-drive.

  Deciding that she’d ogled him for long enough Lacey turned reluctantly back toward her mother and Serena. Joining the conversation seemed like a great distraction from staring at the silent, sexy giant. Hopefully he hadn't noticed that her attention had not been focused on whatever Serena had been saying about the features of the home.

  Did she honestly think he was oblivious to the way she had been staring at him? Jack thought to himself incredulously. The curvy little brunette with the biggest smile he’d ever seen had been eyeing him like a prime cut of beef at the supermarket for the past three minutes.

  Her stare should have felt intrusive or even downright offensive, but instead he found himself liking the way her eyes wandered over him with such honest interest. He liked it a lot. But it had been so long since he’d even been aware of a woman that he really wasn’t sure how to react. What were the rules now? He had no idea. His last experience with this had been in college. Surely, things had changed in the 10 years since he’d graduated. Should he stare back at her? Ignore her? Wait and see what she did? Slip her his number? Cop a feel? No, definitely not. That would get him a slap for sure.

  He’d been tempted to ask her if she liked what she saw, but was fairly certain she would have panicked and grown flustered if he’d acknowledged her blatant perusal of his body. It might have been amusing to watch her recover from her embarrassment, but he really wanted to feel her eyes on him again. And that was unlikely to happen if he confronted her. He was just glad he’d left his shirt untucked or she’d really have gotten an eyeful of his body’s reaction to being visually assaulted. Mr. Happy could pound nails right about now.

  He couldn't figure it out. This woman wasn't even his type. His wife had been fair-skinned, ash-blonde and as tall and thin as a runway model. Lacey was olive-skinned and petite, maybe a few inches over five feet. Usually, his size made him feel clumsy around small women, but not with her. She was perfectly curved, and fit-looking with a small waist and gently flaring hips. Her face was expressive with huge vivid blue eyes that contrasted with her darker skin and hair. But the most striking thing about her was her smile. It was huge and open and made him want to amuse her, just so he could see it again and again. He had never seen someone smile so often and with such genuine warmth in such a short period of time. No denying it, he liked what he saw.

  "I can’t believe all the high end finishes in this place. It’s like a miniature version of all of those lottery homes," Lacey said, admiring the travertine tile in the laundry room just off the kitchen.

  Jack inwardly preened at the compliment. He’d picked out that tile himself, and his brothers had ribbed him mercilessly for his extravagant taste.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know the name of that color, would you?” Diana asked Serena, gesturing toward the wall beside the huge natural stone fireplace which looked like it belonged in a hunting lodge rather than a suburban townhouse. "It’s a beautiful shade. Neutral but so much warmer than plain beige, don’t you think, Lacey? I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

  Serena looked down at her notes and then glanced at the dark-haired man. “Jay, can you remember? I don’t seem to have it written down.”

  He stepped forward and smiled at Lacey and her mother. “That’s called Biscotti,” he said, pointing toward the wall. "And the darker color leading up the stairs is called Espresso. I guess the paint manufacturer really had a thing for coffee.” On a less masculine man, this knowledge of specific paint shade would have seemed effeminate, but the deep rumble of his voice and the way his eyes warmed when he looked at Lacey left little doubt that his orientation was 100% heterosexual.

  “This is one of the builders,” Serena explained, gesturing toward the dark-haired man.

  “So, if there’s anything you need to know, he would be the man to ask. He just popped in for a second to check on things, but I’m sure he’d be glad to answer your questions. Is there anything you
’re curious about?”

  Lacey was wildly curious to know his name, but it seemed rude to ask at this point in the conversation. Should she introduce herself again? Or would that seem odd considering she’d done that just a few minutes earlier. Better to just go with it, and hopefully he would volunteer his name later.

  “Unfortunately, this place is a little bigger than what I was looking for,” Lacey said, tentatively. "But I would love a scaled down version. It’s just my dog and I, so we probably don’t need four bedrooms.” Was that too obvious? “Any chance of you guys doing a miniature version anytime soon?” Lacey asked, addressing him directly for the first time.

  She was impressed with how cool and detached she sounded when all she wanted to do was stare at him for the next few years. And run her hands over his broad shoulders, and perhaps squeeze those big, hard thighs which were revealed when he stepped around the counter. Whew! This guy was something else. She really must focus on what he was saying.

  “Have you seen the Alderbrook Townhouses?” he asked, apparently oblivious to Lacey’s lascivious thoughts about his various body parts. “My brothers and I built those too and they have a lot of the same features, but are somewhat smaller. No basement and only two bedrooms. And a den.”

  “Are they up on the Ridge?” Excellent. She was following the conversation. She could interact with him without accidentally licking his neck if she didn’t look directly at him.

  “No, we don’t build up there.” His tone said the townhouse-riddled Ridge development was the equivalent of building igloos in Hell.

  Lacey laughed. “You make it sound like the slums or something.”

  “No, nothing like that. There’s some nice homes up there, but unfortunately the planners have gotten greedy and everyone is packed in like sardines. When we build a home we try to consider how the neighborhood is part of the home and, personally, I'd feel claustrophobic up there, with all my nosy neighbors right on top of me all the time.” He visibly shuddered at the thought. “But you should check out our townhouses. They’re overlooking the ravine, just off Cherry Lane.”

  Hmmm...neighbors on top of him. What an excellent idea. If she was his neighbor anyway. “Oh. I think I've seen them. They’re lovely, but on the other side of town. I was really hoping for something around here. Are you building anything else in this subdivision?”

  “Nothing smaller, right now. But you never know in the future. We tend to build family homes, so size really does matter, at least in this case.” He smiled when he said this, and Lacey changed her mind about him being broody. His smile was warm, flirtatious and downright sexy.

  Must stop staring at him, she thought to herself. He’s going to think I’m unbalanced. “To be honest, I’m okay with big, but it’s the price tag that goes along with it that I have a problem with. Big isn’t really something I can afford.” Lacey responded without thinking. Did she just say she was 'okay with big.' Oh God! He’s going to think she’s a complete pervert. But his smile just widened and Lacey felt herself melting.

  “I get it, but would you like to see the rest of the place anyway?” He asked, gesturing toward the dining area. What was he doing? He didn’t have time to give tours. He was expecting a call from their appliance supplier, and another one from his drywall guy. The absolute last thing he should be doing was playing guide to these recreational real estate tourists. If he was smart he'd leave them to Serena and get back to business as fast as he could. And yet he found himself saying, "I’d be glad to give you and your mom the grand tour.”

  Lacey tried to recover from her shock quickly, but was fairly sure her mouth dropped for a moment. Having revealed that she wasn’t a serious buyer for this property, she had expected him to make his excuses and take off as soon as possible. Builders, in her experience, left the tours to the real estate agents and avoided dealing with the curious public. As much as she wanted to spend more time with him, it just wasn’t in her nature to pretend she might make an offer.

  “That would be great. If you’re sure you have the time. Wouldn’t it, mom?” Lacey said, finally noticing that her mother and Serena had been watching this exchange with some amusement. Her mom was smiling widely, and she knew that look. Diana was playing matchmaker, and that never boded well for her.

  “By all means,” Diana said, following them through the archway to the formal dining room. ’Let’s take the Special Builder’s Tour.”

  *****

  “He’s flirting with you,” Diana Ferguson whispered, pulling her daughter into the Show Home’s enormous master walk-in closet for some privacy. Her china blue eyes were wide with excitement and she clutched her daughter’s arm tightly to get her attention.

  “You’re delusional,” Lacey responded, shaking her head in mild exasperation. Diana always thought men were interested in her daughter, but she was always wrong. They weren’t. Ever. Her mom’s complete conviction in her appeal to the opposite sex always made her smile. The previous month Diana had been certain that a real estate agent from a previous Open House had asked for Lacey’s number because he wanted a date. The fact that he was flamboyantly gay did not discourage Mrs. Ferguson in the least.

  Lacey was single for a very simple reason. At 32, the pretty brunette rarely encountered single, straight, sane men. Somewhere along the line, her life had become practically testosterone free. Her father, brother, and male cousins all lived in other parts of the country. Her coworkers were all women. Usually this was okay, but every 28 days or so, things could get a little spicy in the office. Most of her clients at The Health Unit were of the ancient variety, so unless she developed a taste for saggy bottoms and liver spots, she was unlikely to meet anyone there. She went to a women’s gym, the people in her running club were all female or married, and even the college courses she’d taken to upgrade her nursing degree a few years ago had been dominated by women.

  Men were like some kind of exotic species to her. They were seen in the distance, but she rarely had the opportunity to interact with them on any kind of personal level. As a result, she had lost the knack for flirtation. When she did encounter an eligible guy she usually developed a case of verbal diarrhea or worse, clammed up and appeared downright aloof.

  On some level she knew she had engineered her life this way. Her last relationship, with Barry, the accountant, had ended badly more than three years ago. She hadn’t caught him cheating or discovered he was a cross-dresser or anything so dramatic. He didn’t kick puppies, or belch excessively or belittle her in front of his friends. He was a nice guy. A nice guy who happened to find the prospect of spending anymore time with her completely uninspiring. He had simply said that life was short and he didn’t want to spend it being bored, with her. He needed some excitement, something to look forward to, and all he could see with her was routine sex and a lifetime of wondering if he was wasting his life.

  Harsh, yes, but at least she had found out before they'd moved in together, or gotten engaged. That would have been really messy. After the initial hurt wore off, Lacey realized that he'd actually done her a favor. She hadn’t exactly been head over heals with old Barry, but he had seemed like a good, solid, marriage prospect. At the time she'd thought perhaps passion was not a very practical consideration when it came to choosing a life partner. Compatibility, reliability and respect had seemed like an excellent basis to a committed, monogamous, long-term relationship. But it wasn’t, at least for Barry. And if she was really honest with herself, she wanted more too.

  This disaster, in addition to being a first-hand witness to her parent’s horrific divorce eight years ago, had convinced her that life without romance was so much cleaner and less complicated than constantly compromising with another person. Relationships were always challenging and potentially painful. Bottom line was she hadn’t been willing to take a chance and trust another person after Barry had dropped the Boring Bomb. If it meant being a little lonely, then that was the price she was willing to pay to avoid having her heart stomped into little tiny pi
eces.

  Recently, however, she’d started regretting her decision to give up on romance. When she hung out with her happily married friends, or watched a chick-flick where everyone lives Happily Ever After, she suspected she was missing out on something important. Something wonderful. When her promotion at work finally came through, she decided that it was time to put her personal life in order too. She would make an effort to be open to meeting someone and to keep her mistrust at bay.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t met anyone worth the risk to her heart since making that decision. And it certainly didn’t help that she was addicted to romance novels. The studs in those books certainly made her hyperaware of what she was missing, especially on evenings when the thought of climbing into her bed alone seemed like the most depressing idea in the world.

  She hated herself for needing anyone, but she wanted someone to be there for her, someone to hold her and make her feel beautiful. And there never was anyone. Just her dog, Charlie. He was cute as hell, but not exactly her ideal bed partner. He snored, for one thing, and had a tendency to chase squirrels in his sleep.

  She wanted her dream guy. No compromises. If she was going to make an effort then she wanted someone incredible. Someone hot, but unaware of it; employed, but not a workaholic; kind, but not a doormat. In short she wanted the hero from one of her sexy novels, in the flesh. Damn those books. They made it just about impossible for average guys to measure up to her expectations. Until they’d come to this Open House anyway.

  “I’m serious this time. Why would the builder be spending so much time with us if he’s not interested in you? That’s the real estate agent’s job. Not his.” Diana persisted, closing the closet door, so the stud-muffin in question wouldn’t overhear their conversation. He’d paused in the hallway outside the master bedroom to answer his cell phone.