“Right.” She answered the phone, sliding into a professional voice. “Hi, Andy. What’s up?”
She traced a finger along the edge of his table. “Mm-hm,” she said, “Okay.” She paused, her hand coming to a halt on the table. “That’s great. Your clients will be very happy.… Thank you, Andy! No, I can’t get a drink to celebrate,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll have Bree draw up the paperwork and get it over to you first thing.” She paused. And then she said softly, “Seriously—thank you, Andy.” She hung up the phone. She whirled around as another crack of thunder rattled the windows. She threw her hands up in the air, bent backward and laughed. It was not a chuckle, not even a chortle. Madeline’s laugh was deep, from the belly. It was a laugh of pure joy, of happiness.
“I sold it, Luke!” she cried. “I sold that sorry piece of expensive shit!” She suddenly threw her arms around him and did a little quickstep to one side, then the other, hugging him. Luke managed to hang on to his chair. He also managed to catch the scent of her hair. It reminded him of the lilac trees that grew in his mother’s garden.
Just as suddenly, Madeline let go. “Do you know what this means?” she cried, and punched him in the arm. “It means I’m going to make a huge commission!” She gasped. “Oh my God, I am! And it means people will have to take me seriously! Oh! I almost forgot! I have to call Mr. DiNapoli!” She grabbed up her phone, punching the Call Return button as she walked out of the kitchen, away from Luke, her smile radiant, her eyes brilliant.
Luke stood up from the bar and turned around to the window. He stared at the deluge of rain, hardly seeing it. He didn’t really hear Madeline in the other room, talking about closing dates.
He was thinking about lilacs. He really liked lilacs. He had no idea until this moment just how much he liked lilacs.
TWENTY-ONE
The rain was falling so hard that if Madeline could have reached her mother, she wouldn’t have been able to hear her. She put her phone aside and turned around—and saw Luke beneath the arched entry into the kitchen and dining area. He was leaning up against it, holding a frozen pizza. He smiled at her. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” Madeline said gratefully.
She followed him into the kitchen, watched him turn on his oven, then slide in the pizza. He then reached into his fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. He twisted the top off of one and put it in front of her. “We should toast your great sale,” he said.
Madeline stared at the bottle as he took the top off the second one.
“Don’t tell me you don’t drink beer,” he said.
“Rarely.” She glanced up at him. “Okay, never. I drank it once.”
“Don’t like the taste?”
“No, that’s not it. I don’t drink very much. I spent too many years cleaning up after my mom’s drinking.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “But this is good beer, and your big sale deserves a big toast.”
He was right. If Trudi were here, she’d be yelling at Madeline to step outside her bubble, pick up the beer and drink. She smiled at the image of Trudi and picked up the beer. How ironic that of all the people in the world who should be here to share this moment with her, it wasn’t Trudi, it was Luke Kendrick.
“To Blue Eyes Pruett,” Luke said, lifting his bottle aloft, and nodding at her to do the same. “The best realtor in Orlando, Florida.”
Madeline grinned. “Here, here,” she said, and tapped her bottle to his. She drank hesitantly, but was surprised that the beer went down smoothly. “Hey,” she said. “It’s good.”
“Of course it’s good,” Luke said. “It’s made right here in Denver with pure mountain water.” He gave her a wry smile and turned back to the stove.
Ten minutes later, they were sitting side by side at his kitchen bar, eating pepperoni pizza, drinking beer, and chatting. Luke was great company, Madeline had to admit. He was easy to talk to, and seemed genuinely interested in her.
He asked how she got into real estate.
“Looking for something,” she said picking at the pepperonis on her second slice. “I wanted to go to college. I had grand dreams of being a doctor or a lawyer. You know, something important,” she said with a laugh. “If I could have figured out how to do it, I would have, but unfortunately, we didn’t have the money for me to go to college.” She bit into her pizza. The lack of money was a sore spot for Madeline. Her grandparents had saved for her college, but they’d made the mistake of leaving her mother in charge of it. It was the story of her life—her mother abused her parents’ trust and their resources time and again, and time and again, her grandparents kept trying to pretend their daughter was a stand-up adult.