The Dream Comes True Page 8

  “I was going to stop in and see how you were doing,” Lee explained, “but when I saw that, I figured you already had a guest. I never thought it’d be John Sawyer.” Her eyes narrowed in play. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  “Nothing at all,” Nina said, cool and composed from the top of her shiny black hair to the toes of her shiny purple shoes. “John Sawyer is someone I work with. He knew I was moving, so he stopped by to help.”

  “I thought he drove you nuts.”

  “He does when it comes to work. But he’s good for lifting cartons, So I used him.” More pointedly she said, “That’s what you have to learn to do. Turn the tables on Tom. Use him for a change, rather than the other way around.”

  “I’m not moving.”

  “Then use him for something else. Ask him to bring the wine and dessert if you’re the one who’s cooking dinner. Ask him to give you a lift to the service station when you have to pick up your car.”

  Lee wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

  “Probably not.” Her voice gentled. “He does things on his terms, and his terms alone. That’s not good. It’s not fair.”

  Lee shrugged. “Maybe not, but that’s the way it is.”

  Not for me, Nina thought. Never for me. She had her work. It, and the reward it brought, were all she needed.

  With that reminder, she swiveled around to face her computer, punched up the current listings and got busy.

  5

  Out of sight was not out of mind. Nina tried not to think about John. She tried not to think about the way he looked or the way he acted. Mostly she tried not to think about the way he kissed, but it didn’t work. Memory was insidious, wending through her mind in brief but potent flashes.

  She hadn’t had a kiss like that since … she’d never had a kiss like that. In her experience, men kissed women either rapaciously, showing their hunger and proud of it, or timidly, showing their fear, hoping to pass it off as sensitivity. John hadn’t kissed her either of those ways. His kiss had been forceful in a quiet, thoughtful way, which was pretty much how he was himself. He’d known what he was doing. His mouth had conveyed the attraction he felt. The fact that the attraction was unbidden made it all the more special.

  But it was over, and she had put it from her mind, so she immersed herself in her work for all she was worth. It wasn’t hard, since she loved what she did. And there was plenty to keep her busy. If she wasn’t out showing a piece of property, she was working with the newspaper on fresh copy or doing paperwork for an impending sale or tracking down a competitor with a co-broke offer. When she was in the office, her phone was forever ringing.

  None of those calls were from John. As the week wore on, during those brief in-between times when she thought of him, she began to wonder why he hadn’t called. He had been so persistent at first that they discuss Crosslyn Rise, and though the decision on pricing had been made, the consortium had very clearly asked them to continue to work together.

  She wondered whether he was as bothered, after the fact, by that kiss as she was.

  She wondered whether he was embarrassed. Or disappointed. Or disgusted.

  She wondered whether he hated her.

  By Friday afternoon, she’d just about had it with the wondering. Picking up the phone, she punched out his number.

  He answered, his voice deep and pleasantly resonant. “The Leaf Turner.”

  “John? It’s Nina. Am I getting you at a bad time?” Heart pounding, she waited.

  His voice came back a little less deep than it had been. “No, not at all. There’s actually a comfortable lull here right now. How are you?”

  She chose to believe he was pleased that she’d called. “Fine,” she answered lightheartedly. “And you?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “How’s J.J.?” she asked, knowing it was the one thing that would guarantee a positive response.

  “Great. The girls took him out for ice cream. He loves that.”

  “Girls, plural?”

  “Two. Twins. What with J.J.’s problems, I like knowing there are two of them, so that one can keep an eye on him at any given time. You know how baby-sitters can be.”

  Actually she didn’t. An only child herself, she’d never had a babysitter, but had been left with a neighbor or, at a frighteningly tender age, alone. Her mother hadn’t had the money to pay a sitter. By virtue of that same fact, when Nina had been old enough to work, she had bypassed baby-sitting in favor of a supermarket job with more regular hours and higher pay. It hadn’t mattered that the supermarket didn’t hire kids under fifteen. She had talked them into hiring her. Even back then, she’d had a persuasive mouth.

  “Do they talk on the phone a lot?” she asked.

  “It’s not as much that, as getting distracted cooking pizza or watching television. Actually, these two are pretty responsible. And they think J.J. is adorable.”

  “I’ll bet he is,” Nina said, because if he looked anything like John, she was sure he was. “Did you get all the mustard and stuff out?”

  “The what? Oh, that. Pretty much.”

  Again she pictured him doing the wash and felt admiration. He was a good father. A good man.

  Aware of the silence, she cleared her throat and said, “Uh, I’m actually calling about work, John. I picked up the finished brochures from the printer today. They’re the ones we’ll be handing out at the open house, and then, after that, in the office to anyone interested in Crosslyn Rise. I thought you might like to see them.”

  “That would be nice,” he said with what she could have sworn was a touch of caution.

  “I’ll be working most of the weekend, so I’ll be in and out, but I have to man the front desk at the office Sunday morning from ten to twelve.” She had thought it all out. Her calling him was a business move. She didn’t want him thinking it was anything else. Hence, the office. “Do you want to stop by then?”

  After a pause, he said, “I could do that.”

  “You could bring J.J. if you want.” He certainly didn’t have to hire a sitter for something as innocent as a brief office meeting. “We won’t be long. You’ll probably want to take the brochure home to study. I’ll be passing out copies to all of the members of the consortium at our next meeting, but I thought you might want to see it before then. There may be some things that you think are stronger or weaker, that we can compensate for in person at the open house.”

  “Okay. I’ll drop by.”

  “Sometime between ten and twelve?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She shrugged. That was that. “See you then.”

  * * *

  She told herself that it was nothing more than another business meeting and probably wouldn’t last longer than two minutes, still she took care in dressing, again passing over some of the more outlandish of her outfits in favor of a relatively sedate slacks set. Granted, the pants were harem-style and the top short and loose, but the color was moss green, the neck barely scooped and the sleeves as voluminous as the legs.

  Well, hell, he didn’t expect that she’d dress like a schoolmarm, did he? At least, the outfit wasn’t neon pink, like some of hers were, and her nails weren’t red now, but beige.

  Ten o’clock came and went. She talked with a couple who walked in off the street, people who thought maybe they’d look for something new but only if they could sell their old place and what were their chances of that. Ten-fifteen became ten-thirty. One of Martin’s clients came by to drop some papers he’d signed. A potential buyer called to check on the time of another open house. Ten forty-five passed and eleven arrived.

  She was beginning to wonder whether he’d forgotten, when, shortly before eleven-thirty, he came leisurely through the door. He was alone; she felt an unexpected stab of disappointment at that. But the disappointment was brief, because he looked so good. His hair was damp, freshly combed back over his ears and down over his nape. He was wearing a white shirt—open at the neck,
with the sleeves rolled—and a pair of jeans that looked relatively new. She wondered if it was his Sunday best.

  When he planted himself directly before her desk, she smiled. “You’ve been at the beach again.” His skin had a golden glow, a bit of new color over what she’d seen the week before.

  He nodded. “This morning. J.J. is still there.”

  Her face dropped. “Oh, I’m sorry, John. I didn’t mean to drag you away from him. This wasn’t so important. We could have done it another time.”

  “You didn’t drag me away. He’s with friends. He’s happy.”

  “The same friends who took him out last week?”

  He shook his head. “Different ones. They have a daughter with special needs. She’s just about J.J.’s age. They’re in the same play group.”

  “Do all the children in the play group have similar handicaps?”

  “Roughly.”

  “How many children?”

  “Twelve.”

  She was stunned. “And they all live around here?” She couldn’t imagine so many four-year-olds with similar problems in the immediate area. As populations went, the local tally was low.

  “No. Some of them come from pretty far, which means that we go pretty far to see them in return. But it’s worth it. Socialization is critical, but it’s hard for kids like these to get it through regular channels. I tried J.J. in a local play group when he was two. I figured that he was doing all the same things the other kids were, playing with blocks and all. But he wasn’t talking. Since he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t react to the other kids the way they expected. And he made the mothers nervous.”

  Nina thought that was awful. “Screw them.”

  He gave a lopsided grin that created a dimple in his cheek—and sent a ripple of awareness through Nina. “I felt the same way. Actually, I felt worse. I was furious. Then I thought about it, and I talked it over with J.J.’s therapists, and the way we reasoned it out, it wasn’t so awful. Those women were nervous because they didn’t know how to communicate with J.J. They kept expecting him to be just like their own kids, only he wasn’t. Isn’t. And it didn’t matter how angry I got, no way was that experience going to be positive, and that’s the name of the game. So now he’s with people who understand him. They understand me. We’ve all been through the same things. We help each other.”

  “Like watching kids at the beach?”

  “Like that.”

  Nina reached for the brochure that she’d tucked safely to the side. “You’ll probably want to take this and leave, then.” She held it out, trying to be a good sport. “It’s a beautiful day for the beach. You’ll be anxious to get back.”

  He closed his hand around it, but rather than turning away, he arched a questioning brow toward the chair by the desk. She was surprised, and delighted. With an enthusiastic, “Please,” she watched him lower himself into the chair, stretch out his legs and open the brochure.

  He really was handsome, she decided again. He wasn’t urbane or sophisticated looking, certainly not slick, still he was handsome. Today there was something western about him. With his fresh jeans and his damp hair and the color the sun had painted on his skin, he looked like a cowboy newly off the range and showered. With high-heeled boots, the picture would have been complete. Then again, she preferred his deck shoes, particularly the way he wore them without socks. She wondered what his ankles were like, whether they were as well formed as his hands and wrists, and half wished he’d cross one of his legs so she could see.

  But he didn’t. Looking perfectly comfortable as he was, he took his time reading the copy, studying the drawings, closing the brochure to look at the piece as a whole. “This is very professional,” he said at last.

  She felt inordinately pleased. “Thank you. Do you think it’ll impress the people we want to impress?”

  “It should.” He turned to the last page, where the price guides were listed. “I was wondering whether they’d get these right.”

  “You mean, you were wondering whether I’d hike those prices back up between the time the consortium voted and the printer printed?” She couldn’t quite tell if he was kidding. Rather than overreact if he was, she kept her voice light. “I wouldn’t do that, John.”

  He shrugged. “You never can tell with typos.”

  “There aren’t any typos in that brochure. Not a single one. I’ve been over it with a fine-tooth comb dozens of times. It’s perfect.”

  Taking several more minutes, he looked through it again. Then, unfolding himself from the chair, he stood. “I like it, Nina.”

  She hated to see him leave so soon. “I thought maybe you’d have some suggestions.”

  “This is pretty much a fait accompli, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s all printed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t approach things differently when we’re talking with clients, if you think a different approach is called for.” She was feeling a little foolish, because he was right. The brochure was done and printed. Everything major was correct. To change something small and reprint hundreds of copies would be an absurd expense.

  Still, the consortium wanted them to work together.

  Eyes on the brochure, he said, “Why don’t I take this home and read it again—” his voice dropped and slowed “—when I’m not so distracted by the piles of soft stuff you’re wearing.” With each of the last words, his eyes rose a notch until finally they met hers. “I’ll call you if anything comes to mind.”

  She swallowed. “That sounds okay.”

  He nodded. Raising two fingers in a wave that could have been negligent, bashful or reluctant, he left.

  * * *

  Nina made a point not to wait for his call. She figured that after the way she’d invited him over when she could as well have put the brochure in the mail, a little aloofness was called for. So she ran around as usual, confident that if he called the office, she’d get his message, and that if he called her at home, he’d keep calling until she was there.

  It wasn’t until Thursday night that she picked up her phone in response to its ring and heard his voice. “I still think the brochure is fine,” he said after the briefest of exchanged hellos. “But I thought maybe we could go up to the Rise and take a look around. I haven’t been there in a while. If you’re looking for the reaction of an everyday Joe, I’m your man.”

  Not even at the beginning, when Nina had broken into cold sweats over John’s pokey ways, had she thought of him as an everyday Joe, and she certainly didn’t now. He was different. He marched to his own drummer. She did concede, though, that of all the consortium members, he was probably the one to give the most off-the-cuff response, so she supposed in a way he was right.

  “Okay. When can you go?”

  “Tomorrow morning, actually, but I know this is pretty last-minute for you. You probably have appointments all over the place.”

  She did. She didn’t have to dig out her appointment book to know that, and when she did open it, she saw that her schedule was even worse than she’d thought. But John was free, and he was right. They really should get up to see Crosslyn Rise.

  “I may be able to shift things around,” she said, her mind already at work. “Can you give me half an hour to find out?”

  “Sure. I’ll call back.”

  During the next thirty minutes, Nina phoned four clients, one other broker and Lee. By the time John called back, she had cleared a two-hour stretch starting at ten. They agreed to meet then.

  * * *

  No matter how frequent a visitor Nina was to the Rise, she was always amazed at the progress she found with each return. Most impressive this time was the mansion. It had long since been scooped clean of its innards, with little left but structural elements such as the grand staircase and period details like ceiling moldings and chair rails. Renovation was well under way. Woodwork that had been stripped and sanded was now being stained. Walls were being modified, doorways shifted from one spot to another. From the large first-floor room that w
ould serve as an elegant paneled meeting-room-lounge-library, to the large back room that would be a health club, to the totally modernized kitchen, the two private dining rooms, and the charming suites on the second floor that could be rented out to guests, the place was suddenly taking on the feel of something on the verge of being real.

  “Does this ever look different,” John said as he stood with his head tipped back to take in the height of the huge front hall. “Very nice.”

  He wasn’t bubbly. His voice was as quiet as ever. But Nina, who had studied his face closely in the recent past, could read the subdued excitement there. Taking excitement from that, she waved him on. “Come.” She led him from one room to the next, pausing in the middle of each, letting the feel of the place seep in. At spots where there was active construction going on, they had to watch where they stepped and moved, and at those times, John either went first and took her arm to guide her by or cautioned her to take care.

  Nina had never been one to cling to a man, but John’s touch felt good. Particularly on bare skin. In deference to the June warmth, she had worn a sundress. It was bright yellow, actually little more than a long tank top that, once hiked up at the waist by a wide leather belt, grazed the top of her knees. She had also worn flats for the sake of walking, and the overall effect was to make her feel that much more delicate next to John, who, wearing jeans and an open-necked shirt—a horizontally striped one this time—looked surprisingly rugged.

  She stayed close, under the guise of safety, until they reached the outdoors and the danger of flying wood chips was gone. She would have given him more room then, but he didn’t move away. He stayed close by her side during the walk down the path toward the duck pond, where the first of the near-completed condos were.

  “Such a gorgeous place,” he said. “I don’t know how Jessica was ever able to give it up.”

  “She had to. She couldn’t keep it as it was, and we couldn’t find a single seller who could afford the whole thing. So rather than seeing it broken down by a developer who didn’t care a whit about the glory of the Rise, she decided to form the consortium and be the one to call the shots.”