“Hold on a moment, Natalia.” He loomed in the kitchen doorway and gestured to his cell. “I need to take this. Can you show the last realtor around until I’m finished?”
He’d barely looked her in the eye since that fleeting moment at the funeral, and even the dull weather outside and terrible lighting inside couldn’t dim the luminescent hue of his irises. They reminded her of a photograph she’d seen of the Blue Lagoon in Iceland taken at night, all magical depths and rich turbulence. She swallowed, hard.Remember he’s a jackass. Remember he’s a jackass.
“Pretty please, Leah?” She hoped she’d managed to banish the unwelcome yearning from her voice.
“I’m sorry?”
“I was imagining you meant to say ‘please.’”
Those eyes flashed. “Please. I would appreciate it.”
There. That wasn’t so hard.“Sure.”
“Continue,” he demanded into the phone and, turning on his heel, disappeared upstairs.
“Leah!”
It turned out she’d met the third realtor before when Florence had dragged her along to a summer street party for local tradespeople. Pine Springs was like that.
“Sam.” She greeted him with a genuine smile and a hug. Sam Archer—from Archer and Desai Realty Management—was ridiculously easy to get on with. “How’s things?”
“All the better for seeing this gorgeous house today. And may I say it frames you to perfection?”
Leah wrinkled her nose. “I think I was just a little bit sick in my mouth.”
Sam grinned. “I get that a lot.”
They completed a tour of the two upper floors, talking non-stop, and Leah got a kick out of viewing the old house through his experienced eyes. Reaching Jackson’s room, where the door was open, they found him pacing, shoulders hunched, ear to his cell, and quickly left him to it.
By the time they’d covered the first floor and basement, she’d filled Sam in on everything that had happened since Esther’s passing. The opposite of Jackson in almost every way, he gave off golden retriever energy, with tousled blond hair and relaxed enthusiasm. Re-entering the house from a swift walk around the grounds, faces rosy and hands chilled, she was pretty sure she’d agree to bail him out of jail if he asked and she had the funds.
“How about a coffee to warm up?” Leah offered, when there was still no sign of Jackson.
“My savior,” he said, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “I could murder one.”
In the kitchen, Leah took two mugs from the cupboard.
“This house is something else,” Sam murmured, taking it all in again. “It blows my mind to think how many people have leaned an elbow on that mantelpiece over the years. Or climbed the basement steps. One hundred and fifty years of life inside one set of walls.”
“I often imagine pausing on the stairs in a kickass evening dress and saying, ‘So kind of you all to join me!’ to a host of people gathered in the foyer.” Leah waved a mug as if it were a crystal flute and giggled.
Sam grinned. “Kash will be crushed he missed out. Victorian properties are his passion.”
She pushed the sugar bowl toward him. “Sorry if it’s too weak. I make terrible coffee.”
“If it’s warm and wet, it’ll be perfect.” Sam took a gulp, with an appreciative groan.
Leah blew across the surface of hers. “I don’t have any say in the house sale, but I hope Jackson lists with you. Esther would approve. This was her home for over thirty years and she adored it. Neither of the other two realtors were the right fit.”
“You know what they say.” The lift of Sam’s eyebrow was no less appealing for its confidence. “Third time’s the charm.”
Chapter 6
Jackson
Jackson ground his teeth. He didn’t know why it niggled him to hear their laughter, but it made his chest feel tight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found anything very funny.
Sam Archer was a good-looking bastard. Positivity in a suit, comfortable in his own skin. Right now, he was directing an engaging smile at Leah and she was lapping it up. Jackson swallowed down his aggravation and strode into the kitchen.
