Mine (8 page)

“Good business, my ass. I’m telling you, the girl has opened the door for you. All you have to do is step through.”

Was Amelia right? Courtney knew she and Rachel hadn’t exactly started things on a positive note. Even during their business transactions, the realtor had been professionally detached, not venturing very far into personal conversation. Oh, she wasn’t mean or standoffish. She was simply…coolly professional. Today, however, she’d seemed a bit out of her element, a description Courtney would bet money wasn’t one that was applied to Rachel Hart, Million Dollar Producer, very often. She wondered what that had been about.

She wandered into the kitchen and refilled her glass, wanting very much to go back out onto her porch, but grimacing when she peered out the window and saw Bob working in his front yard. Instead, she got a folding lawn chair from the basement and took it out into the driveway, putting her house between her and her neighbor. She felt guilty doing it but just wasn’t in the mood for small talk at that moment. She wanted to think about what Amelia had said.

*

What the hell?

Rachel entered her top-floor apartment and tossed her keys onto the small mahogany table along the wall. She fell back against the closed door and blew out a breath, trying unsuccessfully to clear her mind.

She felt like a pod person from
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
, barely recognizing herself. What the hell had she been thinking today? She never personally visited a client after the sale. Never. When it was done, it was done. End of story. Sure, she always sent something…a fruit basket or a bottle of champagne or whatever…to say thanks and to ensure that the new owners would pass Rachel’s name around to friends and family looking to buy or sell. It was a smart thing to do, good business. But she never just popped in like she had today at Courtney’s. Her clients were her clients, not her friends. But she’d felt…compelled. It was the weirdest thing and she had no explanation for it. She thought of Courtney, setting up house in a new place, and she just…wanted to see her. And she’d taken gifts, for Christ’s sake.
Personal
gifts. A handcrafted bird feeder? Seriously?

She pressed her fingertips harshly into her eyelids and wondered in disbelief as she recalled the mother horror of all horrors: by outing herself, she’d practically thrown herself at Courtney. Thrown herself! Like a schoolgirl! She might as well have shown up in a T-shirt emblazoned with I Like Girls across the front. What the hell had she been thinking? Once she realized what she’d done, she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It was all she could do to keep from having a full-fledged panic attack right there in Courtney’s new living room. She was barely able to stop her hands from shaking and she was still surprised she hadn’t sprinted to her car once she’d cleared the front door. Courtney must think she was a complete whack job, not to mention pathetic and prone to oversharing.

“God, could I have been more obvious?” she chastised herself aloud.

She flopped onto her leather couch, thoroughly disgusted with herself. Her client’s face invaded her mind unbidden. Courtney had looked so cute in her shorts and ratty T-shirt, all settled in and ready for a glass of wine. She seemed so much better than when she’d signed the papers for the sale or when Rachel had picked up the keys. Today, she’d been relaxed, happy even. It was a nice change.

Rachel stood up and crossed the large, open living room to the French doors on the outside wall. They led to a roomy balcony that overlooked the intersection of Goodman and Park from four stories up, and it was her favorite spot in the world to sit and watch the world go by. This balcony was a large part of the reason she’d not only purchased the building, but decided to renovate the top floor for her own living space, taking two midsized apartments and remodeling them into one big one that she lovingly referred to as “the penthouse.” The three floors below housed her six tenants.

Sundays were usually very busy for her, but today being the day before a holiday, she had no appointments or open houses scheduled and was blissfully happy to have the day to herself. She pulled the doors open and let the warm late-summer air flow into the room, inhaling deeply in the hopes of grounding herself, of shaking off the inexplicable weirdness that had caused her uncharacteristic behavior today. A soft breeze lifted her hair and rearranged it before setting it back down against her head, and she relished the feeling, gentle and pure.

A glass of iced tea and a good book seemed to be the perfect order for the day and a good way to get her mind off the questions poking at her to which she had no answers. The lounge chair on the balcony might as well have been calling her name, its pull was so strong. She headed for the kitchen to get herself the iced tea, passing her answering machine on the way and noting the blinking red light that indicated a message.

Knowing instinctively who it was because everybody else called her cell, she punched the Play button as she walked by. Her little sister’s voice filled the room.

“Hey, Raich,” Emily said, in her always cheerful tone that would forever sound little-girlish to Rachel, despite the fact that Emily was now married and seven months pregnant. “Just calling to say hi, see what you’re up to. I saw a Sold sign on that gigantic house in Pittsford the other day. Congratulations. Anyway, give me a call when you get a free minute so we can catch up. Oh, and I talked to Dad earlier in the week. He said to say hi.”

That last bit was added quickly, like somebody turned up the speed on Emily’s speech and made her talk faster. Rachel rolled her eyes as she poured her iced tea. Rachel barely spoke to her father. More accurately, she tolerated him and she had every intention of keeping it that way. Emily was always trying to get them to talk in-depth, to visit, to have dinner. She was never successful, but she kept at it. And once she became pregnant after years of trying, their father was around even more often. She was now expecting baby number two, so Rachel knew their father would become an even more common presence in Emily’s life, especially now that his second wife was gone. Rachel mentally shrugged. He could say hi all he wanted; Rachel didn’t care.

On her way back through the living room, she picked up the remote and clicked on the plasma television that adorned one wall. It was football day, and though she loved to watch the games, it didn’t yet feel like fall to her and the draw of the balcony was just too great. She turned the volume up so she could hear the play-by-play, then went outside and stretched her legs out on the lounge. She sipped her tea, listened to John Madden comment on the plays, and tried her best not to think about Courtney McAllister.

Chapter Five

Mark Benetti’s small Cape Cod house was surprisingly well decorated, considering it was inhabited by a single, straight male. His furniture was tasteful and comfortable, with modest pieces purchased from Pier One and Eddie Bauer. His artwork was colorful and interesting, and blended well with the overall look of the place, and he had several lush plants scattered about the living room. Not surprising were the flat-screen television that was a bit larger than necessary and the theater-quality surround sound that was wired throughout the entire first floor.

Mark was a handsome man in a little-boy way. His hair always looked tousled, even after he spent time taming it. He stood just under six feet tall, with a lean, solid build and broad shoulders. His face was soft and gentle, and his eyes so reminded Courtney of Theresa’s that she often caught her breath in surprise. His smile was huge as he waved Courtney and Lisa into the living room. He kissed Courtney on the cheek and his gaze settled on Lisa.

“Mark, this is Lisa Whitney. I invited her to tag along today. Don’t worry, she’s a Bills fan. Lisa, my brother-in-law, Mark Benetti.”

The two shook hands a bit longer than necessary and Courtney suppressed a smug grin. She snapped her fingers in front of Mark.

“Hey. Beer?”

Mark blinked. “Oh. Sorry. Sure. Lisa? Beer?”

“That would be great,” Lisa answered and Mark, clad in a Bruce Smith football jersey that had seen better days, disappeared into the kitchen. Kickoff had already taken place and she took a seat on the well-worn, comfortable couch next to Courtney. “He’s cute,” she whispered in Courtney’s ear.

Courtney nodded, boosted by Lisa’s exuberance. She was glad her new friend had chosen to tag along. Lisa had called earlier that day, knowing Courtney had her first day of school the next morning, and asked if she wanted to go out for her last evening of summer vacation. Since Courtney had already made plans to watch the game with Mark, she invited Lisa to come with her, knowing Mark wouldn’t mind. Now she was really glad she had, unexpectedly pleased with the obvious chemistry between the two.

Mark returned with their drinks and the three of them made small talk throughout most of the first quarter of the game as the Buffalo Bills started surprisingly strong. Lisa pointed at the new quarterback.

“You know, he’s young, but he’s got great potential. Another season or two and he’ll be reading the defense like a pro. I hope we give him that long.”

Mark blinked at her, then shifted his attention to Courtney as a sad grin split his face. Courtney squinted at him, trying to put a finger on what his expression meant. “I think so, too,” he responded. “And he can move.”

“Scrambling’s a plus,” Lisa confirmed with a smile. “We haven’t had a scrambler in quite a while. He could be good for us. Now all he needs is some protection and we’ll be in good shape. Last year’s offensive line was a joke.”

Mark beamed in Courtney’s direction as Lisa was focused on the television screen and Courtney almost laughed out loud. She knew they’d get along, but had no idea about Lisa’s football knowledge. Nothing turned Mark on more than a woman who knew her sports.

She purposely withdrew a bit to let the two of them get to know each other better. As she tried to focus on the game, she was startled to find her thoughts taking her back to the previous day’s visit from her realtor. What was it about Rachel Hart that kept her in the forefront of Courtney’s thoughts? It certainly wasn’t that she was open and approachable; she was quite the opposite. And she was about as warm as a chunk of ice, so it wasn’t that. Courtney’s brows knitted together as she struggled to come up with a suitable explanation for why she couldn’t get this woman off her mind.

As if reading her thoughts, Mark pulled her out of her own head. “Hey, Courtney, any more hot realtors come to visit you recently?”

Lisa turned her smiling face in Courtney’s direction, a clear expression of “what’s this?” written all over it. Courtney felt her face warm.

“Not since yesterday, smart-ass, no.”

“Okay,” Lisa said. “Somebody fill me in.”

Mark took up the story before any sound left Courtney’s mouth, telling Lisa about the beautiful woman who had simply shown up on Courtney’s doorstep unannounced and offering presents.

Lisa’s gaze met Courtney’s and she tossed her a mock-scolding glare. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this story.”

“It was no big deal,” Courtney said, brushing the incident off. “Besides, the real entertainment came when Mr. Benetti here tried to be suave and cavalier with peanut butter on his face. Very funny stuff.”

Mark shook his head and took a swig of his beer to cover his embarrassment.

“Didn’t work, huh?” Lisa asked him teasingly.

Mark gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “No. Not even a little. Smooth I am not.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Courtney added smugly. “She plays for my team.”

Mark’s head whipped around and he blinked at her. “Seriously?”

Always up for teasing, especially when it came to Mark, Courtney cocked her head to one side. “Why do you say that? She doesn’t fit the stereotype so she can’t be gay?”

“What? No!” he sputtered. “No, of course not. I just—”

“She’s hot and feminine so you wouldn’t expect she’d be a lesbian, right?”

Mark pursed his lips as Lisa’s head followed the conversation as if the words were a tennis ball being batted back and forth. “Cut it out, Court,” he said quietly. “You know I don’t think like that.”

She let him off the hook. “I know. I’m just teasing. But yes, Rachel is gay.”

Mark snorted. “Amelia told me to ask her out.”

“She told me the same thing,” Courtney replied. She stared for several seconds at her beer, feeling two pairs of eyes focused on her, before muttering, “God, I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

“Courtney, you should
totally
ask her out,” Lisa said with jubilance, then reined herself in. “I mean, do you want to? She sounds attractive. Do you have anything in common with her?”

Courtney looked up at her. “I have no idea,” she answered honestly.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of dating,” Mark said, leaning across the carpet to touch his beer bottle to hers with a clink. “Enjoy.”

“Coffee’s a safe bet,” Lisa suggested gently. “It’s not too constricting. It can last for hours if things are going well or just a few minutes if they’re not.”

Courtney nodded, knowing Lisa was right and wondering if this was possibly the dumbest idea she’d ever had.
I don’t even know why I want to put myself through this. What is it about Rachel that has me even considering it?
She tried to shake the blue eyes and wavy blond hair from her thoughts, hardly successful. She forced herself to focus on the television screen, trying her best not to dwell. That’s when she realized a blue-jerseyed player was streaking down the field untouched and her attention returned to the game. “Go! Go!”

To their credit, both Lisa and Mark seemed to understand the uncertainty of Courtney’s situation and knew it was better to leave it alone for the time being. Soon it didn’t matter, because all three of them were cheering the Bills’ touchdown.

*

Keep ringing…keep ringing…voice mail would be really, really good here.
Courtney kept her fingers crossed and held her breath as Rachel’s cell phone rang for the third time.
One more and I’m home free.
She chose not to analyze why the idea of Rachel actually answering the phone terrified her so much, opting instead to pour all her energy into superstition, crossing her toes as well.