He's just a shadow at first, hovering in the doorway of my office before stepping into the light. My eyes are drawn inexplicably to his feet—those tiny, almost delicate things trapped inside leather shoes. There's something off-putting about the way they barely make a sound on the carpet. Why are they so small?
"Miss Woodworth," he begins, adjusting his tie. "My client and I are offering you $500,000." He pauses, like I’m supposed to be impressed with that number. "It's a great deal. Anyone who takes on that house will have to put a lot of money into it, and no one else is going to take that on. Help your client—don't let that house sit on the market."
A chuckle escapes me as I lean back against the leather of my executive chair. Tiny Toes stands before me, a hint of triumph in his eyes, unaware that he and his client aren’t even on my radar. I'm not biting. Not at that price.
"In the condition that house is in," I begin, "it's worth no less than $800 thousand."
He shifts uncomfortably, the muscles in his jaw workingas if he's chewing on what I just said and finding it bitter. "Sawyer," he finally says, using my first name this time, in a way that almost makes me feel sorry for him. Almost. "You don't understand the market right now. You need to jump on these things, or at least counter with something reasonable. Women can react with emotion instead of using their brain, and their clients suffer because of it."
Amusement ripples through me, and it's all I can do not to laugh outright. Reasonable? His blatant dig at women? The very audacity of his offer is a slap in the face. Tiny Toes has balls, I'll give him that. I let the silence stretch between us, savoring the subtle shift in power as he stands there, waiting for a response.
"I’ll consider countering when you bring me an offer that reflects the true value of that property. We've got a full week of showings scheduled. Bring me something my clients can actually consider, and we will make a decision with lack of emotion."
He opens his mouth, maybe hoping to change my mind, but then thinks better of it. His tiny feet carry him backward, retreating as he looks down at his phone. "Gotta take this," he murmurs, thumb swiping the screen. "Talk soon."
I turn my gaze to the skyline of Downtown Chicago—the traffic, the people, the bustling sounds that never seem to comfort me like I thought they would. Life and ambition constantly pass by my window, while inside, I continue to live the corporate dream. Except, it doesn’t always feel like a dream. Does any job?
My phone rings in my pocket and instinctively, I curl my fingers around it, but I don’t let it stop me from my city gawking.
"Knox," I answer, "glad to know you're alive."
My brother joined a bull riding team a few years ago—atop-ranked powerhouse in PBR, according to him. I’ve never seen him ride. It’s not just because I haven’t been home in years—it’s because I’m a little terrified of watching him get hurt.
On the other end, a chuckle ripples through the line. "I train with the best. I'll always come out of that ring alive, baby sister."
"Is that so?" I muse, watching below as a woman desperately sprints before getting into a cab. "I hope your guardian angels are getting paid overtime."
I drum my fingers against my phone, knowing my brother is about to ignore the suggestion I am going to make. "Why don't you ditch the bulls for a while? Come see Chicago," I offer. "I could hook you up with a real estate job here. It's a lot safer than spending your days around those hazardous animals."
"Ah, Sawyer," he drawls as if he can picture me here in my sleek office—a world away from what he’s used to. "You know city life ain't for me. But hey, speakin' of real estate, that's actually why I called."
"Okay..." I wait patiently for him to continue.
"Listen," Knox's voice is a gritty whisper, snagging my full attention from the cityscape. "I think you need to come home for the summer."
The request hits at something I’ve spent years tucking beneath tailored dresses and skyline views. My grip on the phone tightens, and suddenly, it feels hot—like it knows exactly how I’m feeling.
"Talk to Dad about selling his land," he continues. "I'm doing everything I can, but I’m coming up short. It's bigger than me. He can't keep up with his property by himself anymore. Bills are piling up, and he won't talk to me about it."
He has a desperation in his words that makes my heart clench. I close my eyes as the city blurs into memories—the scent of fresh hay, the way a corn field calms you as you pass by it, and all the old responsibilities I thought I gave up the moment I left.
It's been years since I've allowed myself to even think of Weston, Tennessee as home. Now, all it takes is a phone call, and it's as if the city shrinks, the distance isn’t far enough, and I'm standing at the edge of my old front porch, squinting into the sunlit land that was once my world.
"I've got showings lined up all week, Knox. With real estate, you can’t just pick up and leave." Although that’s true, I know I'm reaching for excuses, avoiding any reason to ever go back.
"Please, Sawyer." There's a rustle on the other end of the line like he's running a hand through his hair, that gesture of his that I remember all too well.
I trace the edge of my desk with a polished fingernail. "You think I have any shot at changing his mind, anyway? We haven't spoken since I left for Chicago."
There's a pause on the line. "I know," Knox finally replies. “But it's been enough time. I know he said some things he shouldn’t have. But, used to be you were the only one Dad would listen to. You don't have much time left to make things right with him. He's getting older. Grumpier than a cornered honey badger, but..."
My heart clenches again. I'm not ready for this conversation. Not ready to face the fact that the iron-willed man who raised us could be frail or fading, even if we aren’t on good terms.
"He always checks on you," Knox continues, breaking into my thoughts. "Makes me give him updates on you."
"You give him updates?"
"Come on, Sawyer," Knox presses, and I can almost see him leaning on our father's broken fence, squinting into the distance with those eyes that miss nothing. "I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. I know you’ll be able to get through to him."
