Samreached out to grip the shoulder of his new wife. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Clarke. We don’twant a house that was owned by a dead person.”
Margonodded apologetically, frowning and reaching for her husband’s hand. “We want ahouse with history, but notthatmuch history,” she explained flimsily,and I fought hard against the roll of my eyes.
“Thehomewasbuilt in the late-1800’s,” I reminded them. “It clearly statesthat in the newspaper listing.”
Samnodded. “Right, but … we just …” He looked to Margo for backup.
“Wejust thought everybody had moved out before they had passed away. I’m so sorryfor wasting your time,” and before I could give them my card, they turned andwalked out the door.
Sonof a bitch. The day wasn’t going nearly as planned, and I couldn’tput my finger on what exactly I was doing wrong. The place was stagedbeautifully, the coffee was fresh, and the doughnuts were fluffy. Greyson washanging out with Sandy the chinchilla, so I couldn’t even blame his less thanchipper attitude for scaring potential buyers away.
Ikept telling myself that it was just an off day, but dammit, I wanted to sell thishouse. Ineededto. I was desperate for the boost to my confidence and Ihad no idea where else I was supposed to get it, if not from making this sale.
Itipped my head back and allowed myself a moment to groan. I ran my hands overmy face, just as the pocket of my nicest black pants began to vibrate. My personalphone erupted with the chorus of the Foo Fighters’ “M.I.A.” and I pulled it out.The number was unknown, and I rejected the call.
“Iswear, I get more spam calls than—” Just as I was pocketing the phone, it againbegan to ring. Same number. “What the hell?”
Clearingmy throat, I accepted and pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello. This is TabithaClarke. May I ask who’s calling?”
Athroaty chuckle drifted into my ear and I narrowed my eyes. Before I could askthe no-name caller what exactly was so funny, they replied, “You know, in aworld of bullshit callers who are justdyingto phish for yourinformation, do you really think it’s the smartest thing to answer with yourname?”
Itwas a man’s voice. Warm and smooth. If I wasn’t too busy being taken aback, Imight’ve marveled in the attractive quality of his tone.
“Excuseme?” I replied brusquely. “Whoisthis?” I certainly had no idea. I’dremember a voice like that.
“Right,I probably should’ve answered with that first. My bad. No filters.” He clearedhis throat. “Here, I’ll give you a hint: You wrote me a letter.”
Myeyes widened and I smiled with the realization that I was actually talking toGreyson’s father. “Oh my God, is this Sebastian Morrison?”
Icouldn’t believe my letter had gotten there so fast. I mean, it’d been severaldays since I had written it and dropped it in the mail, but I never expected aphone call so soon. He must’ve onlyjustreceived it.
“Well,it’s SebastianMoorenow, but yeah, that would be me.”
SebastianMoore? Was he married and changed his name?I wondered if I shouldask, and then thought better of it. It wasn’t any of my business. I didn’t knowhim and he knew even less about me. So, instead, I prepared myself to jumpright into asking him when we could meet, when he started talking again.
“Yeah,you’re probably wondering about that. So, it’s nothing crazy or anything, justwhen I was younger, I went by Sebastian Morrison, but my manager thought I’dget more jobs as Sebastian Moore. Sounds better, right?”
Well,that piqued my interest, as I headed toward the kitchen. “More jobs?”
Amoment of silence clouded the space between his line and mine before heanswered, “Wait. So, you know nothing about me?”
“Notreally,” I shamefully replied, kicking myself for not thinking to do a Googlesearch on this guy.
“Hm,”he grunted, probably judging me for the very thing I was berating myself for.“I’m a drummer.”
Ofcourse, he was a musician. Sam always had a thing for musicians, especially thedrummers. “They keep the rhythm better,” she’d tease me, and I’d roll my eyesat her. And I rolled my eyes to the ceiling then, asking her why it couldn’thave been an accountant or a doctor.
“Ofcourse you are,” I muttered, not intending to say it aloud.
Sebastianhit me with that throaty chuckle again. “What the hell doesthatmean?”
Layinga hand over my eyes, I winced. “Nothing. I’m sorry. Um, so you got my letter?”
“Idid, and as you can imagine, I kinda shit myself when I read it,” he repliedjust as another young couple walked through the door.
Dammit.Professionally, I should’ve been running to greet them, but desperation wastaking over and I wanted nothing more than to speak to Sebastian.
“Onemoment,” I said politely into the phone before lowering it to my shoulder. Iapproached the couple and quietly introduced myself. “Tabitha Clarke, realtor.I just need to take this important business call for a few minutes, but if youneed me, I’ll be right in the kitchen.”
