As if we’ve agreed on it beforehand, the three of us act as if we can’t hear him at all. I usher them through the door and we proceed without Adam.
In all, the showings aren’t half bad. While Adam is the absolute worst, moodiest client I’ve ever had to work with, Diane and Kathy are a pleasure. They listen to my short spiel about every property and ask questions I know the exact right answers to. I am definitely convincing them of the advantages of each property we tour, but unfortunately, they aren’t the ones ultimately purchasing a house through me. That would be Adam, the man who is taking a phone call out on the back patio as we walk through our fourth home of the afternoon. I’m disappointed; I saved the best for last.
“Wow. I’m SOLD,” Diane declares, waving her hand around the spacious kitchen. “This one is my absolute favorite.”
I smile—and since Adam isn’t the room—admit that it’s my favorite too. The property is located a few minutes north of downtown Hamilton and sits on two acres of land with a shallow creek that runs through the back yard. It’s a redone white farmhouse with a metal roof and a wraparound porch, and it has four bedrooms, three full bathrooms, and top-notch finishes throughout the house. The builders were meticulous about design details, and if I had even one penny to my name, I’d be putting in an offer on the house in a heartbeat. As it is, I probably won’t ever get the chance.
The house went up on the market two days ago and word on the street is that there are already a few buyers buzzing around, prepared to send in offers. I would hurry Adam along in the purchasing process if he seemed even halfway interested, but I don’t even think he’s bothered to look inside.
“Who is he talking to out there?” Kathy asks.
Diane and I shrug.
“Maybe I should have let him know you two were coming along.”
Diane levels me with a hard stare. “Don’t you let his little tantrum sway you. He doesn’t get to just stomp his foot and have his way. I’ve been easy on that man his whole life, and maybe it’s time to start pushing back a little.”
While I can agree with her tough-love stance, I’m not related to Adam. I’m his real estate agent—at least for right now—and it’s my job to ensure he’s getting the most out of the showing.
I let myself out onto the back patio just as he’s wrapping up his phone call.
“Work,” he explains with a curt nod, stuffing his phone back into the pocket of his scrubs before he tries to move past me.
“I invited them as a buffer,” I admit, hoping to end the tension between us. My words stop him in his tracks. “After last week, I was nervous to be around you…and I thought if they came along, you and I wouldn’t be in danger of picking up where we left off.”
His green gaze catches mine, and I see that amusement has taken up where anger has left off.
“We’re in other people’s homes, Madeleine,” he mocks. “Even I have some self-control.”
Like that’s stopped anyone before.
I mash my lips together and nod.
He steps closer and presses his hand to the small of my back. “C’mon, show me the house. I like what I’ve seen of the exterior.”
“You do?!”
“It’s my favorite so far.”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
I lead him back through the house while Diane and Kathy wait for us in the kitchen. We weave through the three bedrooms and the living room, and then I sweep my arm around the massive master bedroom.
“It’s great, isn’t it? The French doors open up right out onto the porch and there’s a ton of natural light.”
He nods. “It’s a little big for one person.”
“The room?”
He smiles. “The house.”
Does he think I’m pressuring him into a big house? Maybe he doesn’t want children. Maybe I’m assuming too much.
“I know four bedrooms seems like a lot, but you’ll fill them up quick. You could have a home office and a gym if you wanted to.”
“Until kids.”
I avoid making eye contact at all costs. “Yes, err…until that.”
“Madeleine?”
“Hmm?”
“Why can’t you look at me?”
I focus intently on an old oak tree I can see through the French doors. “I’m just really enjoying the view.”
“I’m not asking you to have children with me.” He laughs.
“Ha! I know!” My voice sounds strained, and I want to hide my face from his view. “This is just all so awkward. I don’t usually have hardcore make-out sessions with clients before I show them houses.”
He steps closer. “Weird. I always make out with my real estate agent before I let them show me homes.”
I try to laugh at his joke, but it sounds hollow.
“You’re overthinking this.”
“Am I?” I finally turn to face him. He’s standing a few feet away, his hands propped on his hips. There’s a playful gleam in his eye and a smile waiting to break free across his lips. “Maybe you’re not thinking enough. Have things changed? Are you suddenly ready to date? Or are you just done trying to keep your distance?”
He smiles ruefully. “Both? Neither? Madeleine, it doesn’t have to be so black and white.”
Maybe not for Adam, but for me, it does. I’m done playing in the gray area. I don’t have the luxury of romping around with Adam until he comes to his senses. I spent most of my 20s dating the wrong kind of guys: the bad boy, the egoist, the womanizer. No more. Now, it’s time to go down a different path. I need someone who doesn’t balk at the idea of marriage, who isn’t going to cringe every time I bring up children.
“Can’t we just take it one day at a time?” he asks.
If I were 22 and fresh out of college, his proposition would sound like a dream. Now, I need to know what to expect in the next month, the next year. I have to start planning for the future or I’m going to wake up 40 and alone with Mouse as my only companion.
I sigh and shake my head. “Let’s just focus on real estate for right now. You only have a few more minutes before you have to get back to work.”
“But when am I going to see you again? Can I take you out?”
Out? On a date?
It sounds too good to be a true. Because it is. I drag my hand down my face. “Adam, c’mon. This isn’t the right time.”
“Madeleine.”
He steps closer and I shake my head. He’s doing it again—crowding my space until I give in. Twice this has led to an inappropriate make-out session; I won’t let it happen a third time.
I turn back to the porch and he comes to stand beside me.
“There’s a mixer thing that my agency is hosting,” I relent, focusing on the oak tree. “I have to invite three people. You can come.”
“When is it?”
“Next week.”
He shakes his head. “That’s too far away. Let me come and run Mouse.”
Run Mouse is nothing more than a euphemism at this point.
“Adam, I’m giving you the mixer.” I cross my arms to emphasize my point. I’m not budging. “Take it or leave it.”
I can see him smirk out of the corner of my eye. “I’ve never had to beg a woman to spend time with me before.”
I smirk. “You haven’t been on the market in a while.”
He reaches out and smooths his hand beneath my hair, resting it on the base of my neck. Goose bumps bloom down my spine, but he plays coy. “Maybe I’ve lost my touch.”