by Ali Dean
Chapter Eleven
Charlie
Tanner is all business on Saturday, and I take his cue, treating him like I would any client interested in purchasing a multi-million-dollar property. Not that I’ve ever had a client like that before, but if I did, I’d turn up the professionalism a few notches. Speak to them about the types of concerns someone with that kind of money might have in mind. The views, privacy, wildlife sightings, easements through the property, how they might expand on the current dilapidated dwelling on the land. My typical clients have very different concerns.
Now, it’s tricky with Tanner given I’m perplexed and seemingly clueless about his financial situation or his intentions with the land. I ask him if he has any interest in making a berry farm, or an orchard, or some sort of green energy or tourist venture, but each time he kind of frowns at me as he shakes his head no. I’d even considered the possibility he was going in with his bandmates to build a concert venue or a wedding venue, but that seems unlikely.
After coming to play frisbee, which also perplexes me, and taking a moment to talk to me afterward, he disappeared as soon as he was out of the shower. I know I shouldn’t take it personally. He did explain this morning he has his whole setup at the barn, and I get that privacy helps him with the creative process. But once again I was stuck at home alone, and the usual funk ensued. I don’t want to call it temporary depression, because that makes it sound so severe, so permanent, but that’s what it seems to be.
I had no desire to go to a kegger at a pool without any of my usual crew. I didn’t elaborate when I spoke with Tanner about being too old for those kinds of parties. What I really meant was, I might be getting too old for those kind of hookups. They aren’t really doing it for me anymore, and I don’t know why. I’ve never wanted an emotional connection, not a deep one, with a sexual partner before. I’ve intentionally avoided it. I’ve become so skilled at casual relationships, I even take pride in it. Not everyone has this skill, you see.
I’m starting to think my change of heart about all this might not be my age so much. It has everything to do with Mia moving in with Jamie.
I’m beginning to see there was a little codependency of some sort going on between us. And while no one would call our friendship unhealthy, the shift that’s happening is really impacting me. I’m maybe forcing it to be more of a shift than it needs to be. I’m sure Mia would come hang out with me in the evenings if I asked. But I think we both need this, even if I hate it. I don’t want to get in the middle of what’s happening with her and Jamie.
“What are you thinking about over there?” Tanner walks up beside me. We’re at the last property, the one with the most rundown dwelling. He’s been walking around, while I sat on a bench under a tree, sensing he wanted to explore on his own.
His question threatens to break my professionalism, but I don’t let it. “Oh, just appreciating how peaceful it is out here. What do you think?”
“I love this spot. I think it’s my favorite of the three we saw today. Thanks for arranging this on short notice.”
“No problem. No one’s living in these properties at the moment, so I can take you anytime. Or you can come on your own.” Unless he asks for the backstory, typically we don’t share it. Most buyers don’t want to know about the people who lived in the house before them. Some do. With land, it’s a little different. But in this case, one of the owners recently moved to an assisted living facility, and the other two have been on the market for almost a year now after the owners passed away. They’re the type of properties that people stay at their entire lives, and it can take a long time to sell them because of the price tag. There are definitely buyers out there looking for property like this in Sugarville, but there’s not a long line of them, and moving real estate of this value takes some patience. We’re not a city suburb, with bidding wars between developers whenever a large parcel of land opens up. In fact, the town would probably riot against anything like that happening. We keep development limited to the mountain village.
“What’s the time frame for building a small house?” Tanner asks as we drive back toward town.
“It depends, but even if you were able to get started today, it wouldn’t be done until next summer. They can’t make much progress in the winter months.”
“Too bad my favorite land doesn’t have a habitable dwelling on it.”
“Typically, the plans are made over the winter and they break ground in the spring, with the goal of completion in the fall. You’d have to work some magic and really get moving soon to get any contractors willing to start before winter. Unless they had a cancelled project, you’re probably looking at a year out for moving into a new build. And then if you want something really big and elaborate, it could take even longer than that.”
“No, nothing elaborate. I’d like to restore the barn for a music studio like the one at the orchard. And over the years I’ve got ideas for some of the other outbuildings. But I need a place with a bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom first.”
All right, he’s finally disclosing his plans, and I guess it isn’t some big secret after all. Basically, he wants what he had at the orchard, but he wants it to be his own.
Normally I talk to clients at the very first meeting about financing, since they want advice on how much they can afford. With the wealthier clientele, that conversation isn’t as pressing. There’s usually a discretionary decision about how much of their investments to put into the down payment, and that comes down to advice from a financial advisor, not the real estate agent. We just ask what they’ve decided. Since my parents take the clients like that, and since Tanner’s currently living as if he makes a modest income, I’m lost on how to navigate this. Curiosity burns, but professionalism tells me to wait until he’s ready to make an offer before asking any questions. Curiosity wins.
“What are your thoughts on financing? Have you decided on the amount for the down payment or a term on the loan?” There. I asked. I think that came out professional, but there’s a long pause before he replies.
“I’m planning on making a cash offer.”
Tanner has a couple million dollars in cash? And likely quite a bit more than that, since it’d be weird to put all your wealth in one property given mortgage rates are so much lower than returns on stock market investments.
My eyes dart over to him but he’s looking straight ahead. I get the sense he’s willing me not to ask any questions about it, and since I already gave in to curiosity once, I channel all my professionalism and respond with no hysteria whatsoever.
“The property on Stony Brook Road, your favorite, has only been on the market a few weeks, and the seller might not be as motivated to accept the first offer. A cash offer, however, is always more enticing to a seller. You could even start with an offer below asking price, and use the additional funds to build a house and renovate the barn.”
“I still want to take a look at the property on Beaver Meadow. And I haven’t ruled the other two out either.”
“If you’re not in a hurry, you can always see what comes on the market in the coming months. There aren’t many new listings over the winter, but this time of year we get new ones daily.” Not necessarily new multi-million-dollar properties consisting of at least twenty-five acres, but these won’t be his only options forever. Then again, the rush might be about getting out of his current living situation. Tanner is still so tough for me to read.
We pass the field where Brew Fest is going on, and Tanner asks if I’m going later.
“Yeah, with Grace. I’ll head over to her place after I drop you at the house.” Grace and I only have loose plans to head there at some point later in the afternoon after I get done with work. But I’m so tired of acting all professional for a guy I also wanted to be my friend. I still suspect he finds me a little annoying, and that’s part of the reason he’s gone all the time. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act when we get back to the house. Can I snap back to regular Charlie? Tanner stays quiet the
rest of the way home.
As we pull up, I see Donut’s face in the window. “Oh yeah, I have to feed Donut and take him out. Want me to take out Meatball while I’m at it?”
“That would be great, thanks. I’m actually just going to change real quick and head back out myself. I’ve still got to pick up some equipment at the barn and it’s in the opposite direction from Brew Fest.”
The dogs ease the awkward transition from client to roommate. I let them race around the yard, and listen to Tanner pull out of the driveway not five minutes later.
Since I’m already at the house, I decide to take a shower and change into a fresh summer dress.
Stripping off the dress I’ve been wearing all day, I navigate to a Spotify channel on my phone to blast while I’m in the shower. What can I say? I avoid a quiet house at all costs. Besides, everyone knows it’s fun to dance naked under the shower.
I look up from my phone as I open the door to the bathroom and freeze.
There is a perfectly sculpted naked Tanner standing under the water spray, every muscle and hard edge on full display. We have one of those glass doors that’s open on one side. Tanner’s standing in that space where it’s open, his head leaning forward under the spray but the rest of his body just outside of it. He doesn’t react, and must not have heard me with his ears under the water.
I should take a step back. I shouldn’t look. But it’s too late. He’s like a work of art, and I’m frozen in awe.
Water sprays over his body, wet hair dripping over his forehead and down his back. His strong shoulders, muscular ass and thighs, biceps that flex with his movements. It hits me then why his arm and shoulder are moving. His hand is gripping his length and my center throbs in response. Tanner’s mouth parts, and I wish I could see his expression better through the water cascading down on him.
His body jerking brings my eyes back down and a stream of creamy liquid spurts, followed by another and another. My eyes lift back up to his face, and his head remains down, eyes closed, a small sound escaping his lips. It looks like one of those orgasms out of desperation. My own body aches with need, and wetness coats my inner thighs as they press together on instinct. I take a step back, and another, but when I reach to close the door, he pulls his head out of the water. And notices me. Our eyes meet, his widen.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I thought you’d left, and –”
I’m stuttering, having just engaged in the most massive of violations. His eyes drop to where my hand that’s not holding my phone is. And I realize I’m completely naked. And cupping myself in an attempt to ease the ache.
So much for being professional.
Chapter Twelve
Tanner
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I was still gripping myself when she backed out and shut the door behind her. I came in here because of what she did to me, and not two seconds after getting relief, I had another problem on my hands. Literally.
When I shut the shower off a moment later, I wondered how she missed hearing the shower running. I guess if she thought she heard me leave, she wasn’t paying attention, just like I thought she was heading out right after letting the dogs out and didn’t bother to lock the damn door.
Did this kind of shit normally happen with roommates? How much did she see, anyway?
And fuck! The first thing I did was get a good look at her naked. She tried to cover herself and my eyes just couldn’t help themselves. Her skin was flushed, her breasts were heaving. I didn’t get a good look at her face after the initial shock, but her body, damn. I’m sure I’d imagined it but it looked like it was just waiting for me to touch.
My forehead banged against the bathroom mirror as I took deep breaths. I was thirty-one years old. I could handle this. When I finally got the situation under my towel under control, the room to Charlie’s door was closed. I went straight to my own room and quickly tossed on some clean clothes. I came out two minutes later and found Charlie standing by the bathroom door in a towel. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“I’m really sorry,” I said at the same time.
We both started talking. “I thought you were heading back out and didn’t think to lock the door.”
“I thought I heard you leave but it must have just been a car turning around in our driveway.”
“You go first,” I offered.
“It was a mistake. I was too surprised to move for a second, and saw more than I should have. I’m sorry.”
I let out a breath. “Same.”
“I guess I was too focused on finding the right Spotify channel to hear the shower running,” she added, eyes on feet. It wasn’t like Charlie to be embarrassed or ashamed about anything, and my hand twitched. I wanted to lift her chin up. I wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that.
This accidental encounter could have ended differently. A different guy might have tested the waters, maybe tried to make a move. But I wasn’t that guy.
Neither of us wanted to get tangled up in someone local, and I for one could never keep it low-key with this woman in front of me. Hell, some dormant alpha male was already getting fired up over guys talking to her.
“We’re good then?”
“Yeah, all good,” she replied too quickly.
“I should go grab the equipment and get to Brew Fest.”
“Right, of course.” She moved to the side to let me pass. I heard her apologize one more time as I was walking down the stairs. I wasn’t sure if she even intended for me to hear, so I didn’t respond.
Brew Fest was in a field between the mountain village and the town center. While there was plenty of space for cars, the town brought in shuttles and buses to keep the parking from taking over the field. And to lower the risk of people driving after drinking all day. Since I had band equipment in my truck, the volunteers sent me around to a spot near the stage. Another band was playing, and I still had an hour before it was our turn. The rest of my bandmates were already there though and we needed to connect. The wedding two weeks ago was the last time we were all together.
“You get my texts?” Shira raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t get a chance to look at them yet,” I admitted as I brought my phone out. I’d seen the alert and saw it was something about Kathleen the bridesmaid, but I was looking at properties with Charlie and didn’t want to deal with it.
“She’s texted a few times this week and called once. I didn’t answer. Since you did my gutters, I wasn’t going to bother you about it. I’ve been giving carefully crafted brush-offs that aren’t too mean, as you requested.”
“Thanks.”
“But her texts this morning said she was coming to Brew Fest tonight.”
“Huh? I thought she was from Jersey.”
Shira read off her phone. “I saw you’re playing at seven so trying to make it by then.”
Nick came back from unloading equipment from my truck. “You guys talking about Kathleen?”
Nick had stuck around for the wedding after party with me, and I’m pretty sure he spent the night with a wedding guest too. It was a big wedding with hundreds of guests, and those were the ones where we got invited to the after party.
“Nah, she doesn’t live in Jersey anymore, that’s just where she grew up, like the bride. Kathleen’s roommates with Meg in Burlington. Meg and I hung out after the wedding. They’re in medical school at UVM.”
I rubbed my hands over my face.
“Dude, was it that bad? She seemed cool to me.”
“She’s a nice girl, I just don’t want –” I tried to decide how to finish the sentence, but Shira did for me.
“He doesn’t want her to get attached and he doesn’t know how to be an asshole.”
I knew how, I just couldn’t do it.
Nick and Logan laughed. “Yeah, we know Tanner. He’s been this way since middle school.” Logan patted me on the shoulder.
“I’m pumped Meg is coming and I’m not looking for anything serious either, man. Just keep it
casual.”
Keep it casual. I might have been able to do that on my end, but women always seemed to get attached, and then what?
If there was any time to give it a try, now would be it. It could help with the Charlie problem and the whole reality and imaginary worlds colliding. A flash of her standing in the door naked earlier shot through my mind like a bolt of lightning. Yeah, that was going to be a real problem.
It had actually happened. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t my imagination. It was the real thing.
Chapter Thirteen
Charlie
“Hey, Mom!” Both my moms heard my voice and turned around, turkey legs in hand.
If Mia were with me, she’d appreciate the efficiency of it.
“Hey, Dianne. Hi Peggy.” Grace hugs them both, her usual greeting. We join them at the picnic bench with our beers. They ask after Mia and Morgan, and Grace tells them they’re out of town.
My mom Dianne, who I call DD, asks Grace how things are at the NICU and if joining me in yoga lately brings back any memories from her days as an elite gymnast.
“It’s hard to compare them since I’m not nearly as flexible as I once was.”
I have to throw my head back and laugh at that. “Grace can still twist her body like a contortionist.”
“We’ve only done it a couple times,” Grace says, ignoring my accurate assessment of her yoga skills. “Charlie’s already moved on to ultimate frisbee.”
“I thought I heard something about a frisbee league going on,” my mom Peggy says.
“The guy must have been someone special to warrant two new exercise pursuits in the breakup recovery process.” DD gives me a pointed look.
“He wasn’t. He really wasn’t.”
My moms and Grace all look at me, waiting for me to elaborate. Or connect the dots. I’ve admitted it to myself, but it’s hard to talk about with other people.
