Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

There was a time in her life that Lori thought of as the "hard years," the time after her husband had passed away and she'd found herself struggling to raise two girls as they all worked through the grief of losing someone they'd loved so much. Fortunately, Lori had gotten endless support from her mother, the girls' Grandma Abby, and had been extended helping hands from many of her neighbors in Whale Harbor.

Still, there had been times, during those years, when Lori had felt so completely overwhelmed that she felt that, if she didn't get a few minutes of peace and quiet and calm, she would scream.

It was during those moments that she had visited a little bench in a tucked-away corner of the public park in Whale Harbor. Though the bench was shielded from the path by trees on three sides, it wasn't silent. Sitting there, she'd always been able to hear the gleeful shrieks of children on the nearby playground. Even so, it was extraordinarily peaceful. Taking a half hour or so to sit on that bench, feeling the soft breeze and just letting herself be had always been a balm for Lori, even at her times of greatest stress or sorrow.

Life had gotten easier. Her girls had grown up, the pain of losing her husband had become less acute, although it never disappeared. Lori hadn't needed to visit the bench in a long, long time.

Dorothy Burrows had sent her back to the bench.

In fairness, Lori allowed, she had returned to sit in the idyllic quiet of the park for reasons less emotionally intense than the loss of her spouse. There was that summer, for example, when her next-door neighbors had been mired in a construction project that seemed like it would go on forever and Lori had felt that if she had to listen to that drill bit whirring for one more minute she was going to say some mighty unneighborly things about using heavy equipment early on a Sunday morning. She'd returned to the park when both her girls had gone to college, which had been bittersweet rather than merely sad.

Today's visit was a frustration visit. Today's visit was a ‘hold your tongue' visit too, because it was not good business to tell a client "You're being unreasonable!" at top volume.

She felt her stress start to diminish the moment she sat on the cool, worn wood, familiar after years of this little ritual.

She closed her eyes and dropped her head back. The best part about her little hideaway was its privacy. In all the times she'd come here, to this one place where she didn't need to act like she was in control of everything, she'd never seen another soul.

"Lori?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. No. Surely, she'd imagined it. Surely, she hadn't just been thinking of the blessed privacy of this place only to conjure…

She opened her eyes.

"Hi, Hudson," she said.

He had, apparently, been out for a jog. He was wearing a long pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt that said Whale Harbor High School , which meant that it had to be at least fifteen years old, since Claire was in her thirties. For some reason, that made Lori smile.

Hudson didn't return the expression. His brow was creased with worry.

"Feel free to tell me to mind my own business," he said. "But are you okay?"

For some reason, his invitation to tell him to go away made her more accepting of his presence. Or maybe the bench really was magic. Who could say? Either way, she found herself nodding to the seat beside her, even scooching over a little so he could join her.

"I might be a little sweaty," he warned with a chuckle. "I used to be a great runner, but I think I might be getting old, Lor."

"Watch yourself," she teased, grateful for the momentary lapse back into their usual rapport. "If you're old, I'm old, and I know I'm not old."

"Certainly not." He laughed. "Now. Tell me. What's going on?"

She let out an exaggerated groan. "You still want that Burrows listing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He gave her a sympathetic grimace. "A tough one, then?"

She fixed him with a serious look. "Hudson. This morning, I organized an… I don't even know what to call it, honestly. A staging? A fashion shoot? I don't know, but there were photographers, and fifteen models who were pretending to be buyers."

Hudson looked confused. "But… why?"

She threw up her hands. "That's a great question! It's a really great question! Dorothy said it was to ‘create buzz' around the house. Now." She waved at herself. "Some established real estate professionals might say that photos of the house were sufficient, but what do I know! I've only been in the field for thirty years."

"Buzz," he echoed, looking as though he were still trying to put the pieces of this all together. Lori could deeply relate.

"And do you want to know the best part?" she asked.

"Absolutely I do."

"These models? Not a single one of them was over twenty years old. Not one ."

His confusion had melted into clear amusement. "So your target demographic for this house."

"Right?" She shook her head, but sitting here, sharing the story with him, she was able to laugh about it a little. "When I was twenty, I could barely afford to split a pizza with my roommate. I wasn't buying a multimillion-dollar house, I'll tell you that."

"When I was twenty, I worked at a pizza place," he shot back. "So, the only thing I did have was pizza. We should have hung out."

She was laughing in earnest now. "I don't even think I can compare myself when I was twenty to these kids, truly. They're only, what, a decade younger than our kids, but I felt like I was talking to aliens from another planet. I asked one of them to go stand by the French doors and he said…" She paused because she couldn't believe she was recalling this correctly. "'Bet?' What does that mean ?"

"What does that mean?" Hudson echoed. By this point, they were practically howling with laughter. For a long moment they sat together, practically lost in hysterics, like kids consumed with an inside joke whose origin they couldn't even properly explain.

When their mirth finally faded, Lori felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The daunting task of selling Dorothy's house remained, but she felt… lighter. Better.

She wasn't sure if she should thank Hudson or the magic of the bench for that.

"It's just been overwhelming," she admitted as their laughter quieted and the soft sounds of nature filled the space again. "Every time I turn around, she's asking for something new. I thought I'd seen it all as a realtor, but apparently not. Next week I have to meet an antique teacup appraiser. Did you even know that was a job?"

Instead of answering her question, however, Hudson gave her a serious look. That surprised Lori, given that the energy between them had been so light and silly, but it did not surprise her nearly as much as what he said next.

"Let me help you."

When Lori just blinked at him, her light eyelashes gleaming with the tears of laughter she'd only recently dashed from her eyes, Hudson wished, just a little, that he could take the offer back. Not because he hadn't meant it. He had. But she looked a bit more puzzled than he might have liked.

"Help… me," she said slowly, like the concept was entirely foreign to her.

He forced a nonchalant grin to his face.

"Just a professional courtesy," he clarified, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "And maybe the tiniest bit of curiosity about what kind of person becomes an antique teacup appraiser. I mean, how many chances in life do you get to satisfy that particular curiosity?"

When her expression relaxed a little, he knew this had been the right strategy to take. He and Lori Sims might not be friends, not yet or not ever, but they'd recently established something of a jokey rapport that at least allowed for less hostility and more casual banter. He was not too proud to admit that he liked this new way of communicating far more.

And he didn't want to risk it by being too personal, by pushing too far. Which was why there was no way that he would admit that the real reason he'd offered to help Lori was that he had just hated how defeated she'd looked when he'd jogged up to where she sat in this little tree-lined alcove.

Lori was many things. She was determined. She was fierce. She was funny. She was even, a good chunk of the time, a real pain in his behind. And yes, Hudson knew that even strong, fierce, brilliant women were allowed to be sad sometimes.

But that didn't mean he couldn't try to combat that sadness, given the opportunity.

"I mean…" Lori said hesitantly.

He swooped in for the kill. "Come on," he cajoled. "I'll make you a good deal. I won't even ask for any part of the commission if you let me put my name on the listing."

In truth, he would have done it for no return payment at all. But he had the feeling that Lori's pride would be more receptive to his offer if he framed it like he was getting something in return.

"I could use some help," she admitted grudgingly.

He glossed over this with a quick nod, knowing this admission would cost her.

"And I'll get to show off that I was attached to such a great project," he said. "Everybody wins."

She arched an eyebrow at him and, goodness, he liked that so much more than seeing her looking like she was close to tears.

"You say that now," she warned. "No taking it back once you see the pile of things that Dorothy has given me to do for this sale."

"On my honor as a Boy Scout," he said, holding up his hand in the pledge signal.

She looked at his gesture. "That's the Girl Scouts sign."

"Is it?" He glanced at his hand and shrugged, dropping it back into his lap. "Well, I have a daughter. And, to tell you the truth, I wasn't actually a Boy Scout. But my promise remains. Now, what are we working with?"

As Lori relayed the very, very long list of tasks that Dorothy had laid out for her, Hudson began to have doubts. Not that he was still willing to help, of course. He had no plans to go back on his promise.

But he started to have doubts that even with two of them, it wouldn't be enough manpower to get all this done.

"Wow," he said when she'd finished.

"Regretting your offer?" she asked wryly.

He brushed off the question. "No, no, of course not. Nothing can pull me away from meeting that teacup appraiser now. Just… wow."

"Wow," she agreed.

It was going to be a challenge, to be sure… but his mind was already whirring with the possibilities.

"My first thought," he said slowly, still thinking as he spoke, "is about how we're going to find a way to incorporate Dorothy's demands without compromising the integrity of your staging. I've always thought you did a great job staging, making the houses look like cohesive spaces while also emphasizing their diverse possibilities."

"Oh. Thank you." She sounded a little surprised at the compliment, which he supposed reflected poorly on him. Had he let their rivalry get in the way of giving her the credit she was due? He supposed he had.

He was about to offer a sheepish apology for that when she cleared her throat. "And I suppose," she said, haltingly. "That you are also good at your job. And that, ahem, your experience and outside eye might be invaluable. In this case. With this client," she tacked on, as if worried that he might get any ideas about this compliment going too far.

He laughed at the pained expression on her face. "Did that one hurt?" he joked.

She rolled her eyes, but she smiled too. "You have no idea. Don't get used to it."

"Never," he promised. "So, I'm guessing you have photographs of the site?"

"Ones with and without models that will make you feel a thousand years old," she confirmed.

"I'll take the without, please. If you email them to me, I'll look them over and start thinking. And then maybe we can meet up in a few days to talk about our ideas?"

The smile she gave him wasn't just pleasant… it was grateful. Hudson couldn't deny that it felt good to be responsible for taking her from feeling discouraged to hopeful.

"Yeah, that sounds great," she agreed. "What does your schedule look like this week? I have a light Thursday… you know, assuming Dorothy doesn't need me to come measure all the tiles on the patio or something."

He laughed. "Thursday sounds great. Should we meet at Seastar Espresso? Maybe around ten?"

"That works. I'll see you then." He got to his feet, preparing to head out. "And, Hudson?" she added.

He looked back.

"Thanks," she said, her tone heartfelt. "I really… just thanks."

"Anytime, Lori," he said.

When he continued his jog, he found that he felt that he could run for about a million miles.