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“Can he purchase his sister’s half from her?”
“No, he can’t afford to do that.”
“Right,” I mumble.
“I know that this situation is not traditional, and I know that your buyer was probably not counting on having to pay for those extra costs. Believe me, I didn’t even like putting that in my counteroffer, but as you know, I have to do what my clients want.”
“I understand. I’ll present the offer to my client and see what he would like to do.”
“I’m really sorry,” she says, sounding like she is genuinely sorry.
“It’s okay. Hopefully I’ll be in touch with our counteroffer soon.”
“I look forward to seeing it.” She hangs up, and I lean back in my chair.
“Do you want me to get an estimate of what those costs will be so that you can tell Wyatt?” Mom asks.
“That would be great, thanks.”
“No problem, honey.” She wanders over to her desk and takes a seat while I look down at the phone still in my hand.
I was hoping that Wyatt was like everyone else in the world and would prefer to communicate over text. But after he asked me to put in an offer on Lavender Hill yesterday, I asked him if he’d want me to call or text with any information, and he told me to call.
Who even likes to talk on the phone anymore? Apparently, him.
I pull up his phone number and type out a message to him, asking if he’ll be available to talk in a few minutes, and just seconds after I press send, he texts back that he’ll be around for the next hour.
Great.
Not.
It doesn’t help that I now know, after reading over his financial information for the preapproval for his loan, that Betty and the make-believe family I gave him only exist in my head. Wyatt Foster is not married and doesn’t have any kids. He has been a deputy at the county sheriff’s office for just over four years and is currently renting a small house in town that is actually on the same street as the house I’m staying in. His truck, the one that I assumed was broken down out front of the house yesterday, is unsurprisingly paid off, he has zero debt and a hefty savings account. On paper he looks as good as he does in real life.
“All right, here you go.” Mom passes me a sheet of paper, and I look at the number, which is not exactly small, and sigh before I dial Wyatt’s number.
“Hello.” His deep, rough voice answers, and my insides twist.
“Hi, Wyatt, it’s Genevieve.”
“I know. I programmed your number in my cell.”
“Right. Sorry, I just wanted to call to let you know I received the counteroffer for Lavender Hill.”
“Okay.”
“They have accepted your offer but would like you to pay the title and transfer fees for the property.”
“How much is that?” he asks, and I give him the number Mom wrote down.
“Of course, that is just an estimate. It might be a little different when we get to closing.”
“All right, what else?”
“They are asking for twenty thousand dollars in earnest money.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope, that’s it.”
