Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Lori Sims was not prone to weeping, but she really thought that the sight of Dorothy Burrows might move her to tears.

Because this house! It was the stuff of dreams. Really good dreams. The kind that made you want to throw your alarm clock out the window when it went off for daring to break you out of them.

Lori might have pinched herself, except she did not want to wake up.

The house was gorgeous, a Cape Cod style building done up in light brown brickwork, the occasional, irregular spot of red bricks hinting at the house's historic provenance. As she drove up the pale pebbles of the driveway, she could see a long expanse of green lawn which dropped off dramatically at the rear of the property, making it look like the grass connected all the way to the churning beauty of the ocean beyond. The picture windows in the front of the house were mirrored by French doors in the rear, which created such abundant natural lighting that Lori could see straight through the house and out the other side to the Atlantic beyond. Two pristine Adirondack chairs, the hallmark of any New England seaside property, stood in silent welcome off to one side.

The gardens were just the right level of manicured so that they were neat, but not overly done up. A wind chime drifted in the breeze, tinkling pleasantly but not loud enough to be annoying. The cool salt breeze tempered the heat of June.

It was perfect. Perfect .

She took a steadying breath before she grabbed the leather portfolio she always took to listings and got out of her car. Just as her foot touched the driveway, the door to the house opened, and a woman who had to be Dorothy Burrows exited.

Lori didn't just think this because the woman had a sleek silver pixie cut that somehow both looked effortless and like it had been styled to perfection. And it wasn't just because the woman was exiting the house either.

No, Dorothy Burrows had an aura about her that screamed that she was the kind of woman wealthy enough to own a house like this… and who used her wealth, in part, to dress however she wanted. Her outfit wasn't outlandish, per se. She was wearing a flowing coral top and slim-fitting white capris that Lori might have seen on any Whale Harbor tourist. But Dorothy had paired this with about a dozen chunky blown glass necklaces, all in different shades of blue. On her wrists, she wore enameled bracelets, also in blue, at least six of them. She wore large glasses with thick black rims. These might have looked dorky or nerdy on someone else, but on Dorothy they seemed almost… powerful.

Lori made a mental note to describe every element of this outfit to Darla, whose quirky, eclectic style meant she would likely be a huge fan of Dorothy's entire aesthetic.

"Ms. Burrows, hello," she greeted as she made her way across the pebbled drive.

"Lori, darling," the older woman said brightly. "Do call me Dorothy, please. Ms. Burrows makes me feel positively ancient, and while the outside of me may agree, the inside of me remains young."

Lori's polite, professional smile morphed into a grin. Dorothy had quite the energy about her.

"Dorothy," she agreed, coming close enough to shake the woman's hand. The bracelets clacked with the movement. "Well, thank you again for inviting me to come out and see your property. From what I've seen so far, it's gorgeous."

"Ah, yes, my little cottage," Dorothy said, patting the door frame like it was an old friend. Lori bit her tongue. ‘Little cottage' her left foot. "I do adore it so," Dorothy went on. "But alas, the seasons change and so do we, and tis now time for this little bird to fly on to a new nest."

Lori had plenty of experience with clients who were poetic about the houses they were set to sell… but Dorothy Burrows already took the cake.

"Anyway," Dorothy said, coming back to herself, "let's head inside and you can prepare to do fierce battle with your competition."

She said this cheerfully, but Lori lurched in surprise.

"My, ah, competition?" she asked lightly as she followed Dorothy into the airy vestibule of the house.

"That would be me," came an all too familiar voice.

Hudson Boone grinned at her. And then had the sheer audacity to give her a jaunty little wave.

Lori couldn't help it. Her professional demeanor dropped, for a fleeting moment, into a fierce scowl.

"Whoops!" Dorothy said, seeming entirely unconcerned. "Did I forget to mention that I've asked dear Mr. Boone to come see the house as well? Drat this memory of mine." Then she brightened. "But I'm sure it's no trouble, is it? I simply want the best man or woman to win the day."

She was, Lori decided, having just a little bit too much fun with this.

But Lori made sure that emotion didn't touch her expression.

"Of course it's no problem," she said, ignoring Hudson completely. "Ever since Hudson joined us here in Whale Harbor, we've encountered each other many times. It keeps things so much more interesting than they were when I was the only agent in town."

Lori had been in business for eleven months longer than Hudson, and she would never, ever let him forget that she had been there first, no matter that this had been nearly thirty years ago at this point.

Hudson, annoyingly, didn't seem to register her jab. "Lori here keeps me on my toes," he agreed pleasantly.

Dorothy was looking between them, a look of utter delight on her face.

"Well, then," she said slowly. And then again. "Well, well, well then."

Lori had no idea what that meant, but she wasn't about to ask for clarification… not in front of Hudson.

And, indeed, Dorothy quickly moved on, clapping her hands briskly. "Well, let's get to business, shall we. I've prepared some nibbles in the kitchen so we can snack while we talk."

She led the two rivals into the kitchen, which had a large, freestanding island in the middle as well as the most adorable breakfast nook off in one corner. On the island sat a platter with mini quiches, fresh fruit, nuts, and small shortbread cookies, with cocktail napkins and small plates sitting next to it, ready to be used. A pitcher of lemonade sweated, ice bobbing on the surface. It all looked delicious.

Lori did not end up eating a single bite.

The moment they were arranged around the table, Dorothy launched into a litany of questions, which ranged from the usual things to some that were impossible to anticipate.

"So," Dorothy asked, propping her chin in her fist. "Tell me. First impressions: who do you see living in this house?"

Hudson's answer was, in Lori's opinion, way too typical for a customer like Dorothy. He drew out the obvious vision: a young family, a couple of kids, maybe a dog. He highlighted the yard and the beach access for rambunctious, joyous family outings.

Lori chose a different tack.

"A family would no doubt love this property," she said, drawing Dorothy's attention. "But I see this house as best suited for someone whose kids are older, if they even have them. Teenagers maybe, or adults. Someone who is ready for all the peace and quiet this place can afford. I mean, just listen," she said, drawing out a long pause. "That silence is bliss ."

Dorothy granted her a thoughtful, approving nod.

Ha, Lori thought. Take that, Boone .

Hudson, for his part, did not waver in his confidence. Not even when Dorothy asked her most unexpected questions.

"Say you're having a cookout at the beach," she said thoughtfully, gazing off into middle distance. "Not at my beach, but at another one. A beach in… Texas. Gulf of Mexico, yes, that's lovely. What do you bring to the cookout?"

Lori had no idea what a cookout in Texas had to do with selling a house in Rhode Island, but she wasn't about to tell her potential client as much.

Hudson said he would bring his "world famous" potato salad.

"Umbrellas," Lori said promptly. "There's never enough shade on the beach, and nobody wants to eat with the sun in their eyes. If I can bring two things, I'd add chairs too."

"Umbrellas," Dorothy echoed, eyes wide.

It was, all told, a really weird interview. When it was done, Lori felt like she was emerging from some sort of strange labyrinth.

"Well," Dorothy said at long last, clapping her hands together over the food that sat untouched between them. "That was wonderful. You are both so wonderful. Thank you for indulging an old lady." The two realtors made the vague, obligatory noises of protest.

"Now, now, none of that," Dorothy said. "I shall muddle over all I have seen and heard here today and let you know whom I choose, shall I? Very good. Toodle-oo."

And with that, Lori and Hudson found themselves ushered out the front door and back into the cheerful sunshine. It was only when the door had closed behind them that Lori realized they hadn't even gotten a proper tour of the house.

For a moment, Hudson and Lori merely blinked at one another, in a rare moment of perfect agreement.

"That was…" Hudson began.

"Unconventional?" Lori supplied.

He nodded. "Yeah, that's a good way to put it."

They both laughed, the relieved, baffled laughter of people who had just woken from a dream that seemed unspeakably strange but all too real. They began walking toward their cars. It only took a few paces for Lori to remember who she was dealing with. This was not the time for camaraderie.

"I'm still going to get the listing though," she insisted, pointing a finger in Hudson's direction to clarify her point. "As I said inside, I've been in business longer. Experience always wins out."

He furrowed his brow, pretending to think deeply. "You know, you always bring that up, Lor," he said. Lori didn't normally mind the shortening of her name, but from him, it was somehow deeply irritating. "But in the years since I intruded on your territory, I've sold more properties."

"Oh sure," she scoffed. "But quality is more important than quantity, and I've sold a higher value of properties."

Instead of looking defeated, he grinned. "Yeah, but that margin isn't big enough that this old place couldn't make up that difference," he said, jerking his chin at Dorothy's house. "So enjoy that lead while it lasts, Lori, because I'm coming for you."

He sauntered off toward his car.

"In your dreams!" Lori called after him, annoyed at the weakness of this retort.

She got into her own car, fuming… but also strangely invigorated.

Hudson managed to hold his laughter in until he was safely in his car.

That Lori Sims drove him nuts… but she also cracked him up. He couldn't help teasing her. It was just so fun to see the way her face scrunched in irritation at him as she tried to hide how mad he made her. It was, if he was telling the truth, kind of adorable. And if battling with her gave him an extra push to work harder, do better as a realtor, sell just one more property?

Well, his wallet thanked him.

He hadn't been lying when he'd told Dorothy that the competition made them better. Yes, he'd said it mostly to yank Lori's chain, but it was the truth too.

Sometimes he thought half the satisfaction of selling a property was getting to tell Lori Sims all about his successes.

Maybe, he allowed as he drove back toward Whale Harbor, having a rival was sort of… fun.

The ring that signaled an incoming call from Claire played through his car's stereo system, which connected to his phone. He pressed the dashboard button that would let him answer without taking his eyes from the road.

"Hey, sweetheart, can you hear me?"

She laughed in response. "Yes, Dad, I can hear you. I don't know why you always ask that when the car system works perfectly every time."

"How did you know I'm in the car?" he demanded.

She laughed harder. "Because that's the only time you ask if I can hear you!" He huffed out an indignant breath, although he secretly enjoyed the sound of his daughter laughing. No matter how old your kids got, he had learned, their laughter was a special thing.

"Yeah, yeah, you got me, Sherlock Holmes," he grumbled. "What's up?"

"I was just calling to see how that property viewing went," she said. "Didn't you say the house was a big deal?"

He knew his daughter wasn't into architecture the way he, by virtue of his profession, had become, but he couldn't help but gush a little about the property, which really was astonishingly beautiful.

"But," he concluded after he'd given her the rundown of the incredible building, "you'll never guess who else was there?"

"Who?"

"Lori Sims! Apparently the seller wanted to interview us both to see which agent she wants selling her house. She asked us all kind of crazy questions. Like, get this: she asked what we'd bring to a cookout in Texas."

"Well, you'd bring your potato salad, obviously," Claire said, although there was something a little strange in her voice.

"Obviously," he agreed, pleased at how well his daughter knew him. "But Lori said she'd bring umbrellas , since nobody wants to eat in the hot sun. I'll give her this," he allowed. "The woman is creative."

There was a pause long enough that Hudson glanced over at his dashboard to see if the call had disconnected.

Then his daughter said, "You sound like you're in a really good mood."

He frowned. Something about the way she said that implied that she had more to say, but he didn't know what that could possibly be.

"Well, yeah, sweetheart," he replied. "I mean, I might get this incredible listing. Why shouldn't I be in a good mood?"

There was another notable pause before Claire said, "Well, because you're still competing. With Lori."

He frowned harder. That was a weird detail for his kid to get caught up in, wasn't it?

"Sure," he allowed. "But that just means I'll bring my A-game. Nothing like a good, old-fashioned competition to get the blood pumping, right? Keeps life exciting."

"Sure, Dad," she replied, and Hudson found himself flashing back to her teen years, when everything he'd said was like, so totally uncool. It wasn't that he thought his adult daughter was teasing him for being excited about work, since she also loved her job. It was more that it felt like she was… humoring him.

He decided to gloss over it. Maybe she was just distracted or something. Or tired. Or maybe the phone connection was spotty.

"Who knows," he said slyly, changing the trajectory of the conversation. "Maybe a rival florist shop will open up and make you up your game."

She gasped theatrically and, just like that, his regular Claire was back. "Oh my gosh, Dad, bite your tongue! I'm serious, if that happens now, I'm blaming you. Although, speaking of the shop, something hilarious happened the other day."

He listened pleasantly as his daughter launched into a story about a customer who kept calling creeping myrtle "creepy myrtle," enjoying how Claire clearly loved her new career as her earlier strangeness drifted from his mind.