The Songbird Sisters

by Rachael Herron

  But she’d expected an office-looking building.

  This was a dark purple Victorian. And it wasn’t a stunning architectural marvel, nothing like the Painted Ladies of San Francisco hours south of here. This place had peeling paint and warped glass in the windows. The small, attached garage seemed to be listing away from the house itself, as if it were trying to slink away without being noticed. The steps that led up to the front door had been dark blue at one point, but footsteps had worn the paint off in the middle of the stair treads. A wind chime hanging from an eave just clunked, its strings tangled.

  The sign in front read Ballard Brothers Building and Realty, though. It had to be right.

  Felicia checked her bag. Contract and deal memo, yes. Signing pen, yep. Non-disclosure agreement, check. Sometimes she carried bribes from her boss with her—Apple watches in 18-Karat gold cases or floor-level season tickets to the closest national basketball team.

  But Natasha said this guy was perfect for the new show, and more than that, he wasn’t the kind to even know to ask for a bribe. But just in case, take the big American Express. Felicia patted the side of her purse as if to reassure herself that with that amount of credit, she could get almost anything done.

  Natasha trusted her to close this deal. The brothers would agree to buy a house for a single woman chosen by the network, and then they’d remodel it on camera. Hopefully, attraction would spark between the female buyer and one of the brothers (and the network was willing to pay as much as it took to make that happen).

  This was important. Felicia checked her lipstick—the deep red was on her lips and not on her teeth—and her eyeliner was smudged as artfully as she could manage. She got out of the car and gave a sharp tug to her red blouse. This might be a sleepy beach town that smelled of salt and sunscreen, but she was no surfing tourist.

  She walked past the rusty old truck in the driveway and went up the stairs. She gave a quick rap at the door.

  “It’s unlocked, come on in!” The bellow was accompanied by a crash.

  Felicia swung the door open.

  “I’m in here, to the right!”

  The floor was old and dark, and the air smelled of ancient wood polish. To the left was a small office with a cluttered desk that stood in front of windows open to the street.

  “Keep going—I’m in the kitchen!”

  “Hello?” She peered around a doorjamb.

  “Hey there!” The man’s back was to her. His hair was short and dark, business-like, and his neck was wide. He turned his head briefly and she caught a glimpse of a broad smile, white teeth. His hands moved rapidly, juggling bread bags and at least three different kinds of jellies. “I just gotta get these sandwiches done.”

  The house might be old, but inside, it looked classically remodeled. Everything looked vintage and in perfect condition. The refrigerator was lemon-colored. The stove was light orange. A cheerful blond wooden island matched the beveled cabinets. The sheer height of the far windows was astonishing—they let in the view of a massive rear garden. From where Felicia stood in place, her bag pressed to her side, she could see a tangle of tomatoes that looked ready to take over the nearby beanstalks. A long picnic table stood on a low deck, surrounded by heavy outdoor chairs. It looked like a perfect place to hang out. Or to serve a million peanut butter sandwiches, although didn’t they have a meeting scheduled? “I’m sorry, did I get the time of our meeting right?”

  “Yep, yep, I’m just running a little late, that’s all. Let me slap some lids on these bad boys, and we’ll get down to business.”

  “Can I help?” The request was automatic. He’d turn her down, and then they’d have their meeting. She could talk him into the terms of the show, answer all his questions, get his and his brothers’ signatures, and be ready to shoot as soon as they found a woman who wanted to buy and remodel a house with these guys.

  “Really? Sure. Those all need their crusts cut off. These seven are fine, but Timbo’s allergic to peanut butter, so I have to make sure I make his almond butter and strawberry with different utensils. No cross contamination, you know?” He turned to face her.

  His eyes were astonishing—a bright, very light blue. Robert Redford eyes. The color of calving icebergs. He had to be wearing contacts. Didn’t he? He wore a blue button-down shirt and a darker blue tie, beautifully tied. His shave was smooth, his chest was broad, and his wrists were wide. He looked like a realtor, and a successful one, which is why it didn’t make any sense at all that he was working on a production line of sandwiches.

  “Felicia, right? I’m Liam. Sorry my hands are too nut-buttery to shake.”

  “Of course.” Smoothly, Felicia swallowed her surprise and set her purse down on the kitchen table. She washed her hands at the sink, and then picked up the knife. “This is more jelly than I’ve seen since the grade school cafeteria.”

  “I swear this won’t take long. I’m almost done.”

  Felicia cut off an edge, and then another. It was too bad she hadn’t come with a camera crew. How perfect was this? “This was the way I wanted my sandwiches cut when I was a kid.”

  “I always liked the crusts best myself.”

  “My mom said that’s where the nutrition was.”

  “Well, no wonder you didn’t want to eat them. Nutrition is fine. But not fun.”

  Felicia liked his voice—it was deep, with a ragged edge. He sounded cheerful, as if he laughed a lot. Maybe he’d actually be likable, a welcome thought. Scouting trips for the network were usually deadly dull—there was a lot of time spent talking with people who had stars in their eyes and no real knowledge about how television worked. They thought that talking to a network rep meant they were guaranteed fame, fortune, and a line of housewares at Target. Felicia had met with women who got plastic surgery just to talk to her. One woman had barely been able to smile around her newly-full lips (they hadn’t ended up signing her). There was talented and there was camera-ready, and often they didn’t go together.

  “Do you live here, too?” It didn’t seem like an office kitchen—it seemed like a place a person could cook a holiday turkey or make blueberry pancakes.

  “Yep.” He glanced at the ceiling. “Upstairs. Okay, I need about six more, then we’ll be good.”

  “Who are we making these for? Do you run an orphanage?” Please say yes. Damn, she should have brought Tony. Her cameraman would have done a slow pan on the old-fashioned kitchen and then a tight zoom in on Liam’s wide hands scraping out the last of the peanut butter. Start the story with his adoration of the children who surrounded him, end with him being in love? The network hadn’t managed an Emmy yet, but that might do it.

  “You could call it that,” he said. “Okay if we deliver these on our way? Won’t take long, then we can scout houses. I have a few properties that might work.”

  “Sure.” Heck, yes, she wanted to watch this man deliver sandwiches to whatever lucky group was getting them.

  The network might swing and miss at random shows, but Felicia’s boss Natasha was rarely wrong. She’d come up with the whole idea while on vacation in the small town of Darling Bay, and it didn’t look like she’d be wrong now. With this guy on a show? People would tune in. And the more people who tuned in, the bigger Felicia’s bonus would be. Maybe this sleepy little seaside burb would turn out to be all right. No matter what, it had to be better than the show Felicia had just wrapped about a group of sisters trying to break into the soap-making world. If she never had to smell boiling lye again, it’d be too soon.

  A NorCal beach town in summer had to be better.

  And even though Felicia vastly preferred watching on-screen talent from either the edit room or the comfort of her own sofa at home, it wouldn’t be difficult to work with this man with the melting icecap eyes.

  

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  Liam should have expected that the network producer would be pretty. Even though Darling Bay was ten hours north of Los Angeles up the rugged nor
thern California coast, and even though Liam hadn’t had cable in years, he knew enough about Hollywood to know that no one was ugly in Tinseltown.

  And this woman was stunning. Even in high heels, most women couldn’t meet Liam’s eyes straight on, but she could, and Liam stood an easy six two. Her dark brown hair was thick and long and curled—it hung to the tops of her breasts, which were round and high and probably fake. She filled out her red shirt perfectly. Her legs were miles long in tapered black pants, and her black heels had to be four inches high. Spikes. Who wore spiked heels in Darling Bay? Cowboy boots and flip flops were the two most popular footwear choices in town, always had been.

  He opened his car door. Might as well get this half-baked idea over with so he could get back to the rest of his day. “Here we go. Sorry, I was driving a buyer around yesterday, and I don’t think she broke five feet. Just shoot the seat back, that button there.”

  Felicia nodded and settled into the passenger seat with a long stretch, smooth and graceful. The leather seats gave a sigh like they were happy to meet her.

  “Is that okay? You comfy?”

  She smiled. “Perfectly.”

  “Good. Good.” His throat felt tight.

  Felicia made him nervous.

  And that didn’t set right with Liam. Yet one more thing that rubbed him wrong about this whole idea.

  But he’d be polite about it. If it didn’t work, it wasn’t a big deal. He’d tell her he couldn’t help her. It happened, after all, every once in a while. He’d agree to take a potential client to look at open houses, and on their first trip out, it would be obvious they couldn’t work together. The person would be too aggressive or too impatient. Liam liked making money, sure, but he already made enough day to day. He didn’t have to take on clients who would be problems from start to finish.

  And being on a reality show? Liam’s brother Aidan had said it was a stupid idea, but his youngest brother Jake had laughed and called it too weird not to look at closer. Liam had been drunk when the idea had come up, and didn’t quite remember why he’d agreed. So this was on him, really. He’d finish out the meeting with Felicia, show her a couple of houses and prove to her that Darling Bay wasn’t the small town they were looking for, and then he’d shake hands politely and vamoose. He’d send a polite email saying thanks but no thanks, that they just didn’t have the time. He should have already done that, but this woman’s boss, Natasha, had been pushy when she called, and telling a woman she couldn’t have what she wanted was his least favorite part of being a realtor.

  But the money.

  Damn it, with the money Natasha had implied might be in it for them, he and his brothers could start the after-school program for at-risk youth they’d been trying to talk the city into creating for years. They wouldn’t have to wait for the city council to agree, they could just do it.

  Felicia spoke as if she were interviewing him on camera. “So what makes you good at your job?”

  Liam turned right on First Street and gave a quick wave at Vivian Engel. “Never really thought about it.”

  “You must have.”

  “Dunno. I guess I just like to make people happy.” After-school program or no after-school program, TV didn’t make anyone happy. Liam’s gut was right—he knew it. He’d be polite, show her around, and then wave her off into her Hollywood sunset.

  Felicia shifted slightly in her seat so that her body faced him more. He caught the scent of her perfume, thick and sweet and rich, like jasmine on a hot night. “Tell me more.”

  “It’s not a big thing. I just know what people are looking for.” Aidan called it Liam’s superpower. Me and Jake get ‘em all riled up but you calm ‘em down, so we almost cancel each other out. “I can figure out what buyers want before they’re really able to verbalize it. And then I just show them those properties.”

  “So you already know what I’m looking for?”

  Her voice was business-like, but it held a sultriness that could earn a woman like her lots of free drinks in dive bars. Nah, on second thought, a woman like Felicia went to intimate, cutting-edge clubs where you had to use a password to get in. She’d probably never set foot in a restaurant with peanut shells on the floor or a bar that smelled like spilled beer.

  He pushed the button to roll down the window, suddenly too hot. “Sure I do.”

  “Tell me.” She rolled down her window, too.

  Warm summer heat filled the car, and Liam regretted not blasting the air conditioning instead. “Big. Light. Airy. Open plan kitchen, a long redwood deck that overlooks the ocean. Marble and granite floors. Loft bedroom.” He glanced sideways at her.

  Was that a grimace? “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Natasha explained her idea to you, right?”

  Liam thumped the gear shaft into second as the pickup in front of him hit its brakes. “Yeah. Sure. Um, did she happen to mention that I was drunk as a skunk that night me and my brothers met her?”

  A cool nod. “She did.”

  “That was only like a month ago. Y’all move this fast?”

  “Always.”

  “I have to say, I don’t really remember her goal with all this. Some kind of TV show, I know, but Aidan and Jake and me, we’re not sure why the hell anyone would want to watch something in a little whistle-stop town like Darling Bay.”

  “People are tired of glitter.” She pointed at Martha’s Market. “They want charming. Small town. Warm. Do you know who those people are?”

  In front of the store, Parrot Freddy stood with a bird on either shoulder, talking animatedly to Dot Rillo. Freddy had been up in arms since the price of postage stamps went up last summer, and even though Dot only worked at the post office and didn’t set the postal rate, Freddy brought it up with her every time he saw her. Dot usually just took the opportunity to try to get Ethel to squawk her classic, Polly’s an idiot, give me a Twinkie.

  “Yeah, I know them.”

  “See?” Felicia clapped her hands together quickly. “That’s what we want. Small-town The Bachelor meets The Property Brothers, only there are three of you, so that’s even better.”

  “Yeah. Those property guys are kind of creepy, don’t you think?”

  “Really?” She sounded astonished. “They’re handsome twins. People love them.”

  “They’re so manicured.” If that’s what they were looking for, the Ballard brothers would be right out. Aidan only shaved once a week, maybe twice, and Jake lived on a boat, for cripe’s sake. “And they’re actual twins. It’s not like we’re triplets or something. We’re not that interesting.”

  “You’re Irish triplets, right?”

  “Is that even a real thing?” Liam pulled into the driveway at the south end of the high school.

  “You’re each separated by ten months, right? Like Irish twins?”

  “Ten and a half.” If you wanted to get technical.

  “Your parents were busy.”

  Yep. That’s what everyone said. Predictable as summer fog. “They were also missing in action by the time I was five.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  He glanced at her as he pulled up the parking brake. Had those bright green eyes of hers actually lit up at the thought of them being essentially orphaned?

  Television people, man.

  “This’ll just take a second. You wanna come with me?”

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  That smile of hers. That was the kind of smile that launched a thousand ships, or at least the dreams of them. For a reckless moment, Liam imagined saying yes to whatever this woman wanted. “Come on, then.”

  * * *

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