by A. K. Rose
“Yeah, I’d like that,” Cassie agreed, leaning over the center console to gently kiss her future wife, smelling the vanilla on her collar as she did. Vanilla always reminded her of Rachel, of the first time they kissed.
The ground was damp from overnight rain, but that didn’t stop them from walking around the house, peeking in the windows on tippy toes. They were running out of daylight—dusk was turning to darkness fast—but there was enough light to make out the contents of each room. The house sat on a tidy acre framed by four massive live oak trees, and placed exactly where it needed to be to have shade in the summer, to be rooted in nature. The ranch was dotted with oaks, each telling a different story by the way branches sagged, the way trunks split in the middle or didn’t, the undergrowth that varied depending on subtle differences in soil. Hay was baled in the distance, large rolls stacked into tidy rows, no neighbors in sight, no noise other than crickets chirping. Barbed wire fence outlined the perimeter of the property, some sections listing slightly, in need of tightening, some sections completely rigid, some sections missing completely. There was work to be done on the landscaping and hardscaping—a little elbow grease was required—but not enough that it was a deal-breaker.
“Hey, I want to take you to the outbuilding before it’s dark,” Rachel said, already walking toward the quaint shed, noticing a large grasshopper as it landed on her shoe and then hopped off as fast as it had arrived, “I think this will make a great office . . .”
Cassie stood back and took in the shed structure. It was perhaps twenty steps from the main house, the same white-on-white-on-white design, a cute horseshoe stenciled in white on the bright red door. That had to be a sign of good luck. “Does it have power?”
“It does.”
“Does it have plumbing?”
“It does—a half bath. I think they were using it as a guest house, but I saw this as your headquarters, a place that can be yours to write your blog and start your non-profit, a quiet place where you can just get away. You know,” Rach started before pausing thoughtfully. She was excited, but didn’t want to be pushy. “They say some of the best things started in a garage. There are huge companies that started in someone’s garage, a passion project that turned into something big. I think this is better than a garage; I think you could take your ideas and turn them into something here. I think you can do it soon. What do you think? Do you like it?”
“I completely love it,” Cassie said, tapping the button on her phone to check the time. “I wish Jackie would get here so we can see inside, but just based on the outside—just on what I’ve seen—it’s amazing.”
“Good! I really love it, I have this feeling . . . so, if we see inside and you still love it, we’re going to need to act fast. I don’t think it’s going to last at this price. Seven hundred grand for all this land and the house is a steal, I think there could be a bidding war.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Cassie said as headlights blinded them, Jackie’s Mercedes growling up the driveway, its throaty V8 engine making its presence known.
“Hi!” Jackie announced loudly, slamming her car door and hurrying toward where her clients were standing, her heels sinking into the moist soil as she scurried across the lawn to the back shed. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I had an escrow emergency so I got a late start, and then couldn’t get the voice control to work on my phone to send you a message. One of these days I’m going to figure that thing out! Have you looked around?”
“We have,” Cassie said as she loosely hugged their realtor, trying not to catch her hand on Jackie’s leopard print scarf. “It’s fantastic.”
“It is, isn’t it? I love this property,” Jackie agreed. “Come on, let’s go in. The inside is every bit as good.”
A quick input of a security code and Jackie had the key. After kicking off their shoes, they were standing in the foyer of the three-bedroom home, hickory hardwoods warm under foot.
“These floors are gorgeous, aren’t they?” Rachel asked rhetorically. The house was immaculate. Though it was relatively new, the owners had made sure to work in plenty of charm here and there. They’d picked modern fixtures, but stayed true to a traditional farmhouse style.
They toured the house room by room, noticing details and imagining furniture placement, falling a little bit more in love with it by the minute.
“Let’s go see the kitchen—it’s the best part,” Rachel said as they left the master bathroom, the spacious soaking tub cause for much discussion, out of Jackie’s earshot. They were already planning joint bubble baths.
Cassie pulled a bar stool up to the large island and took in the kitchen, her hands gravitating to a pair of salt and pepper shakers that had been left on the dark soapstone counter. She sat and thought, spinning the pepper shaker in circles, as she dreamed. “I need this kitchen! I can see making Thanksgiving dinner here. I can see entertaining here. I can see baking my grandmother’s pies here.”
“It really is a great kitchen, isn’t it? I love the double oven; I love the counters. They did such a great job blending modern functionality but still keeping the farmhouse charm with the apron sink and the backsplash. I really wouldn’t change a thing.”
“What do you girls think?” Jackie asked, appearing from outside. She’d given them twenty minutes alone, but wanted to answer any questions that might have come up. The art of selling real estate meant knowing when to disappear as well as when to re-appear. It was a skill she’d honed over years showing properties; it was one of the reasons she was so good at her job.
“We love it,” Cassie said, pushing the pepper shaker back in into position. It wasn’t her house yet; she didn’t want to leave anything out of place.
“Do you want to make an offer?”
“Do we?” Rachel asked, catching the big brown eyes sitting next to her, hoping for only one word.
“Yes.” Cassie said, getting straight to the point. And then, “We definitely do. This house is perfect for us. I love it inside and out. I love the outbuilding. I love all the land. I know nothing about having this much land, but certainly we can figure it out, right?”
“That’s wonderful!” Jackie enthused, the thought of her commission starting to enter her mind. She loved selling houses. It was hit or miss—sometimes you worked a lot for nothing, sometimes you worked a little for a healthy commission—it was the art of the deal. She enjoyed helping people find their dream homes, helping them build the lives they wanted. “Do you have any questions before we start the paperwork?”
“A few,” Cassie said, the lawyer in her unable to turn off, caution emerging. “Is it on city water or septic?”
“Septic.”
“Okay, I kind of expected that. Not a big deal, right?”
“Yes, this far out, it’s pretty much what you’re going to find. Pump it every two years and you’re fine. You’ll get it inspected as part of the closing.”
“Okay, good. Do you know how much the owners paid for the place?”
“I know they paid three-fifty-nine five years ago, but they tore down the original house to build this one, so you really can’t compare . . .”
“I guess not . . .”
“It’s priced well, Cassie. They just want to sell it and go their separate ways,” Jackie said. “If I were listing it, I’d have started it at seven-fifty, maybe seven-seventy-five. I think you’re getting instant equity in this one.”
“I think so too,” Rachel chimed in, trying to instill comfort. She could see the wheels turning in Cassie’s head, the concern over price. Price wasn’t a concern of hers as much as location, features, and being happy were. They could afford the price, even with a reduced workload. “It’s in our budget. Let’s just make a full price offer. Let’s make sure we get it.”
“Okay, yes, good point,” Cassie said, “I have one more question though.”
“Go for it,” Jackie said as she pulled her laptop from her briefcase to prepare the offer.
“How soon do you think we can have
it?”
“I’d say—if they take your offer—five or six weeks. I like to build in a little extra time for financing lately. The banks are busy right now, so it can be slow. But if you’re lucky, maybe a month?”
“Wonderful,” Rachel said, flashing that perfect smile of hers. She could see it now: her, Cassie, a dog, some livestock, building their lives, enjoying their time together. A kid or two in the future. “Let’s do it.”
“Let’s do it,” Cassie echoed, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. If all went well, in a little more than a month, they’d have their dream place. It was hard to imagine and completely believable at the same time.
“Alright,” Jackie agreed, “I’ll draw up the paperwork and send it to you later tonight via Docusign. And if all goes well, you’ll own a new house very soon!”
FIFTEEN
“Hi,” Jessica said over loud house music, bending to give her friend a half hug as she sat, a row of chairs haphazardly assembled in front of the small stage where The Crickets would soon play. They could sit now, but when the band started, everyone would stand, like it or not. “Good to see you, Rachel,” she offered at the last minute with a smile. She hadn’t seen her dentist—Cassie’s fiancée—in almost two months, not since she’d kissed Cassie in a confused stupor. So much had changed since then.
“Hey Jessica,” Rachel said, returning the smile. “It’s been a long time. How’ve you been?” Two could play at the polite game, and Rachel Gifford was more than happy to play along. Jessica had a girlfriend now. In fact, they were at a bar to hear said girlfriend’s band play, so there was no reason to be concerned about her or threatened by her. Jess hadn’t been into her office since the root canal the year before. She did wonder for a moment if she’d found a new dentist, but wasn’t curious enough to ask; she didn’t want to risk making things more awkward between them.
As the trio sat and waited for show time with a room full of strangers on Valentine’s Day, they discussed everything that had happened in the last few months, as well as they could anyway, voices strained to overcome increasingly distracting background noise. The DJ had cranked the music volume up to the point where having a normal conversation was nearing on impossible, sappy love song after sappy love song filling the air, almost as if it were planned to prevent awkward pauses in conversation, persistent noise completely obliterating the risk of silence. A little too much Journey and flowing champagne was the current antidote to potential Valentine’s Day date disasters. As result, they were limited to short sentences and grunts in agreement; not exactly what you’d call comfortable conversation.
“So, when’s the big day?” Jessica interjected, her black v-neck T-shirt wrinkled slightly under the weight of her crossed arms. It was chilly in the bar and she was trying to retain as much body heat as possible; she hadn’t brought a coat.
“We don’t know yet,” Cassie said, fingers of her right hand laced through Rachel’s left as she spoke, her thumb lightly caressing the crook in Rachel’s hand where her thumb met her forefinger. “We’re taking it a day at a time, one decision at a time. We have an offer in on a house in Dripping Springs; we’re waiting on that to develop first. They took the offer, but you never know. I don’t trust anything until the papers are signed.” Sitting in between them as a sort of human Switzerland—ever neutral, ever positive—Cassie wondered if things with her future wife and best friend would always be strained. She hoped they’d come to a happy middle ground someday, a place where they could hang out and have fun. She didn’t know if that was possible, or how long it might take. They were making progress—they were here after all—but there was still room for improvement.
“That’s great,” Jessica acknowledged, referencing the house. She’d ask more about it later, when they could talk more privately. Cassie moving to Dripping Springs wouldn’t be ideal for their friendship, but then again, they hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time together of late.
“What about you?” Rachel asked, flipping the question back on Jess in an effort to find out more about her relationship with the bass player.
“What about me?”
“You and Lana, how are things? How serious are you?”
“Things are amazing,” Jessica beamed. “How serious . . . I don’t want to see anyone else, if that’s what you’re asking?”
“I’d say that’s pretty serious,” Cassie said. “You’ve been seeing each other . . . how long . . . six weeks? Seven? You don’t want to see anyone else. But, you still haven’t told her you love her?”
“I haven’t.”
“Tonight,” Rachel said, leaning over Cassie so she could be better heard. “You should tell her tonight. That’s the best Valentine’s Day gift you could possibly give her.”
As the band filed on stage, Jessica thought about Rachel’s suggestion. She was in love with Lana, of that she was certain. Her pulse raced just thinking about the woman she’d gotten to know so well, just watching her take her place on stage with that candy-apple red bass guitar slung low across her hips. Sitting amongst the crowd, she took in the over-the-top Valentine’s Day decorations that hung from every available rafter and thought about how much her life had changed in such a short period of time; how it had changed for the better. Then, she thought how terrified she was at the thought of losing Lana.
Jessica had always been so guarded with her feelings for fear of getting hurt. She’d been hurt a lot, so that plan didn’t work out so well for her, but she kept it up, building walls around her heart in an effort to fight off the inevitable. Bad relationship after bad relationship had left her jaded and she was caught completely off guard. These new feelings—raw emotions that coursed through her veins and fed her brain, her heart, her lungs—made her giddy and scared all at once. These were feelings that she’d heard about but never experienced. Until now.
Jessica Taylor was head over heels crazy for a wonderful person who made her life better. Of course Valentine’s Day made perfect sense, of course it was the day she should say something, make her feelings known. As her gaze found Lana on stage, she saw the twinkle in her girlfriend’s eye and felt her breath catch in response. Tonight was the night. Jessica raised her glass of champagne in Lana’s direction and tilted it, mimicking a toast and offering a mischievous smile, mouthing “knock ‘em dead” in support of the set. The bar was small but packed; The Crickets had quite an audience building.
“Good evening!” Lana bellowed into the microphone in the center of the stage, attempting to gather the audience’s attention. “Thanks for joining us to celebrate this special day for love . . . we’re The Crickets and we’re going to play you guys some of our original music tonight, as well as a few covers that mean the most to us regarding matters of the heart. This day is all about love, after all. Whatever you do tonight, whether you came with someone or not, and wherever you go after we’re done here, just remember there’s someone out there who loves you. You may not know it, but I promise, someone loves you. Your task is to make sure everyone you love knows it, okay? Raise your glasses if you’re with me!”
The crowd raised glasses and beer bottles in response and hooted back at Lana as Jon counted off a four-beat with his drumsticks to get their first song started. Lana could turn a crowd in a minute, and she knew it. Tonight they’d open with “All You Need is Love” to get everyone in the mood before shifting into a few originals and closing with their special version of “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.” Lana had written a new fourth verse just for tonight, just for Jessica. She was excited to unveil it and nervous at the exact same time. She couldn’t wait to see the look in Jessica’s eyes as she sang to her, as she told her she loved her. It was undeniable that she was in over her head with Jess, madly in love and unable to turn back now, and the song was her special way of showing it—putting her feelings on display for everyone to see. They’d rehearsed this song for weeks, determining who’d sing which verse, whose voice fit the lyrics of each stanza better. They were ready. The only thing t
o do now was sing.
# # #
From the stage, Lana couldn’t see much. The room was dark and there were spotlights beating down on her, the heat of the overhead light drawing droplets of sweat to the surface of her skin. Chuck was singing an original song he’d written about his wife and son, his tenor voice so smooth as it permeated through the sound system. She always thought Chuck had the most beautiful singing voice; there was a reason he was the band’s lead singer. He was also a talented songwriter. He could turn a phrase with the best of them.
Though she was outwardly confident, though she rocked her bass player attitude on stage all night—she had that role nailed—deep down, nerves were starting to take over. One more song and it would be time to do the closing number, to bring out a classic power ballad, to hopefully bring the house down.
All of the spouses were in attendance—even Renee—though Lana still suspected something was off between Jon and his wife. They’d split up the verses to their special song, deciding that Josh would sing first, then Jeanine, Chuck, and finally Lana. Alternating the pitches of their voices made sense; it kept the song interesting. Chuck had mastered the violin piece, Jeanine played the piano part with the skill of a piano teacher—fitting since she was a piano teacher—and Lana owned the bassline. Jon’s steady tempo-setting from the drums and Josh on guitar completed the score. They had it dialed in; they were ready. So why did she feel the butterflies fluttering in her stomach as Jeanine finished her part and Chuck started to sing? Why were her knees suddenly a state somewhere between liquid and solid, bordering on a feeling that could only be described as Jell-O? Get your shit together, she told herself silently, and did her best to act like nothing was bothering her, like she was about to sing in her shower without an audience.
