“Ha, no, it’s fine. I’m actually doing quite well . . . but not in Broadlands. There’s a lot of growth surrounding the university, and I wanted Dawson to grow up in a small town. Plus, one thing you can get out here in the ‘sticks’ is land. We bought the Slatterys’ old place in Randall.”
Amelia crunched up her nose at the term “sticks.” She hated being looked at as backward because she grew up in a town of two thousand. Ellie was the first to develop this automatic response to any reference to their tiny town and limited experiences. At least Amelia left for college for a few years and experienced something outside of these invisible borders.
“Wait, some giant house is going up on that land. Is that your house?” Second rude question in a row. It was nearly as bad as asking about how much money the stranger made selling real estate in Broadlands. But he didn’t seem to mind.
“Yeah, so much for going back to basics. I don’t know, got the builders out there and everything just sounded so amazing. We are living in the farmhouse until construction is finished. I guess the house is a good advertisement. You can’t exactly claim to be a great real estate agent if your own house is a hovel . . . a newly painted hovel, mind, but still.”
Amelia had always adored the Slatterys’ ancient farmhouse. She used to have silly dreams when she was dating Caleb that they’d buy the house one day when he was a famous painter and that she could practice her cello out on the wraparound porch in preparation for her tour with the London Symphony Orchestra.
New paint job, sure. The old place probably needed ten coats of paint and definitely a new roof with some of Steve’s fanciest architectural shingles, but other than that? Amelia’s dream house.
Her hand shot out and grabbed Randy’s biceps, squeezing. “You aren’t going to tear it down, are you?”
Randy glanced at her hand like he was trying to hide the fact that he noticed it on his arm and then continued. “No, no, I could never. That place is a part of Broadlands history. But I am thinking about turning it into a rental after I do some updating and repairs.”
“Oh thank heavens,” Amelia responded emphatically, making Randy chuckle and look at her a little closer. When their eyes caught—those uncomfortably unfamiliar blue eyes—she dropped her hand, blushing. She’d been holding on to his arm far longer than she’d intended, but he wasn’t annoyed or mad; he was trying to hold back a smile as he watched the kids on the playground equipment.
“I’m glad to find someone else so passionate about the housing market.”
“Oh yeah, you got my number. Real estate is for sure my passion . . . ,” she said, trying to make a joke but worried that she sounded nearly serious. “It’s not. I mean, I’m glad it is yours, but I’m a cellist. I play cello.”
Only seeming to be half listening, he gestured to his little boy, mouthing, “Time to go,” before responding to her.
“Well, I guess I know both now.” Dawson reached his dad, out of breath and with far more dirt under his nails than when she’d seen him ten minutes earlier. “Now, all I don’t know is your name. I can’t call you ‘Kate’s mom’ forever.”
“Oh my goodness, I’m so rude.” For the third time in their short conversation, Amelia felt like running away out of embarrassment. She was just too used to seeing the same two thousand people over and over again. Meeting someone new was . . . novel. “My name is Amelia Saxton. I live just two streets over on Lark Lane. My husband and I own Broadlands Roofing. I can’t believe I spaced on that, Randy.” She said his name deliberately so he knew that she did remember something.
She put out her hand and they shook, and this time Amelia remembered to let go. By now, Dawson was hanging on his pant leg, spinning around his father’s leg in circles like he was dancing the Maypole. Randy patted him on the head.
“Did you have fun, bud?” When Randy placed his hand on his son’s head, it was like he pushed a button. The spinning stopped, and he looked up at his father with the same unfamiliar blue of his father’s eyes.
“Yeah, Kate is funny. She knows knock knock jokes; she likes it when I make weird sounds. She taught me how to play this game called wood chips . . . Do we really have to go?”
Randy ran his hand through Dawson’s loosely curled blond hair, talking to him in a deeply serious way, like he was carefully considering the thoughts and feelings of his little boy. She’d never seen Steve talk like that to their girls. He was either playful dad or grouchy dad. Pretty much no in between. Amelia enjoyed watching this sweet interaction and the way Randy’s soothing tones wrapped around Dawson like a blanket.
“We’ve gotta get home and make lunch, and then Alice is coming over to play so I can go show some houses to some nice people. Remember, before we came, I told you we only had a few minutes to play . . .”
“But, Daddy . . .”
“Hey, how about this? Go say bye to your friend, and I’ll talk to Kate’s mommy.”
Dawson considered the idea for a second and then muttered, “’Kay.”
Randy turned to Amelia, reaching for his back pocket. He pulled out a crisp white business card and held it out to her. “Listen, these kids play really nicely together. Maybe we could do a playdate or something?”
She took the card and glanced briefly at the simple but handsome black-and-white photo of the man she’d been chatting with for the past ten minutes. Mraz Real Estate. So, he was a small business owner just like Steve. She tapped the card on the palm of her hand and then looked up at Randy. He was watching her, studying her carefully like he really cared what her answer was. Then he looked away and called out for Dawson. She must’ve been imagining things.
“Uh, sure. I’ll text you my number, and you can tell me your schedule.”
“Sounds good. We will see you soon, then . . .” He seemed to search his memory. “Amelia.”
“Yeah, sounds good, Randy.” She said his name nice and clear, friendly but official enough to sound like two colleagues saying good-bye at the end of a workday. As he walked away, Amelia looked down at the card one more time, a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach telling her that saying yes to this playdate might get her more than an afternoon of fruit snacks and juice boxes. She let out a sigh and licked her lips, still unsure if she’d send that text.
When she looked up, Randy was walking away, hand in hand with Dawson. He turned back briefly and gave her one last quick wave before hopping over the wooden railroad ties that bordered the park. She smiled and returned the wave, watching the pair with curiosity. Maybe it was because of a father-son bond or because Randy was such a hands-on dad, but there was something tender there that she was jealous of. It was something she wished Steve could tap into, not just in his relationship with Kate and Cora but in their marriage too.