The Second Chance and The Auctioneer (The Love Equation, #3) Read online

  Bailey smiled and waved at the handful of people she passed between the bank and the art gallery near the end of the block. The decor inside was a subtle array of beige and taupe. Photos and paintings decorated the walls. Pedestals and easels dotted the floor, displaying sculpture and pottery.

  “I’ll be right down.” Margaret’s voice carried from the loft above.

  Bailey followed the call to the open second floor and found the older woman sifting through a series of canvases stacked against the far wall. “Pay day.”

  Margaret jumped and whirled, her hand flying to her chest. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

  “It’s more fun this way,” Bailey said in a teasing voice. “I found buyers for the silver and the two mirrors. I’ve got your money.” Because of her connections with various auction houses, she helped the people around town move valuables from time to time. Margaret was slowly getting rid of everything she didn’t think would move well with her to North Carolina.

  “Come to the counter.” Margaret led the way downstairs.

  Bailey handed over the cashier’s check when they reached their destination. Margaret examined it and furrowed her brow. “Did you take your share?”

  “Of course.” Bailey didn’t hesitate to lie. She was supposed to keep a commission, but the older woman needed this money. Margaret was about to take on a huge expense, and when she was tired or having an off day, she tended to let slip how much the move was really going to cost her. Bailey made enough off her other dealings; she could afford to take a hit here and there.

  “Are you sure? What kind of total minus fifteen percent equals exactly three-thousand dollars? Isn’t that an odd coincidence?”

  “I suppose.” Bailey laughed, not having an excuse for the round figure. Maybe she should have thought of that and had the bank throw on a couple odd numbers at the end. “Anyway. I need to run. Working on cataloging Nana’s place.”

  A shadow passed over Margaret’s face. “Of course. How are you holding up?”

  “Fine.” This time the deception was more difficult.

  “If you’re sure. But stop by if you need an ear.”

  “Thanks.” Bailey wasn’t doing that. They exchanged a few more goodbyes, and she was gone again. She made a couple more stops in town, but her mind was already wandering to what waited for her. Not only the conversation with Jonathan, but the trip into the past. It was harder to force her smile in the grocery store and post office, and by the time she returned to Nana’s, she felt drained.

  Jonathan’s car wasn’t there, but a couple new trash bags sat outside. He cleaned out the fridge. That brought a little smile to her lips.

  Inside, she found a note from him on top of hers. He’d gone to his hotel to change, but he wanted to talk too. He promised to be back before she was. She glanced at the clock on her phone. Twelve-fifteen. Something must have held him up.

  She stashed the groceries in the fridge, then threw together a couple of sandwiches for lunch, and set them to chill as well.

  Should she start working, and risk not hearing him come in, or wait a little longer?

  A knock answered the question for her. “It’s your house,” she called. “You can just walk in...” She trailed off when she opened the door and found a couple on the front porch instead of Jonathan. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m looking for Nancy?” the man said.

  Bailey’s grief slid back in. Not the steal-her-breath mourning she felt yesterday, but a gray cloud that mocked her. “Are you friends of the family?” She was pretty sure they weren’t, but didn’t know what else to ask.

  He intertwined his fingers with the woman next to him. They were probably five or so years older than Bailey, and the way they stood near each other radiated affection. “Yes, and no. We vacationed here a few years ago. Separately. She introduced us, and we’ve been together since. We finally made it back this way and wanted to stop by and thank her.”

  “She passed away about a week ago.” The words filled Bailey with pain. Nana was responsible for a lot of hookups in town, involving both locals and tourists. That was another thing to miss now she was gone.

  “Oh.” The woman’s face fell. “We didn’t realize. I— I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. Since you’re here, would you like to come in? I’d love to hear about how you met.” That was the polite thing to say.

  The man shook his head. “Thank you, but we can’t intrude on your mourning. Again, our sympathies.”

  “Thanks.” Bailey let the door drift shut, as they walked back to their car. The longer she stood there, the more heavily sadness weighed on her. She needed something to take her mind off this. Work. Sifting through those things upstairs she’d decided weren’t attached to memories.

  She made her way back up to the attic and dove into sifting through boxes. For the next couple of hours, the mindless cataloging distracted her. Until she opened a trunk and found inside a treasure map sitting on top of an eye patch and a Jolly Roger flag. Damn it. Where was Jonathan? It was almost three. She let irritation slide in. It helped fill the hole growing in her chest and gave her a new focus. Apparently, he wasn’t as serious as he claimed about talking or helping.

  Chapter Five

  Jonathan alternated his attention between his laptop, his cell phone—which was currently on speaker, sitting on the desk in his hotel room—and the muted Weather Channel. He only meant to return a couple of calls, but one follow-up led to another and created yet more issues. Now the clock crept up on four. The National Weather Service upgraded the incoming tropical storm to a hurricane, and the roads to the Keys would close again soon. Ride this out in his hotel room and piss Bailey off, or potentially lose a multi-million-dollar connection with the vendor they were talking to? He wanted to call her, but only had Nana’s landline number. Bailey might answer, but it would be hard to call while he was still on the phone. Fuck.

  “With the supply issues, we can’t offer delivery for three more weeks,” someone said, catching his attention.

  Jonathan turned back to the phone conversation. “The deadline was last Thursday.” He let an edge of warning slide into his words.

  “I get that, but sometimes things like weather have an unforeseen impact.”

  That was an understatement. He glanced at the TV and the large swirl of satellite imaging over the southern part of the peninsula. The digital radar image filled him with a dread he couldn’t shake. A lingering ill-ease from when he was younger. Why the fuck did there have to be a hurricane now? Out of season? While he was here?

  His Skype chimed, pulling his gaze back to his computer.

  I thought you hung up. Why are you still online? Liz asked.

  He typed out a response. I have to handle this first.

  I’ve got it covered, she said. Go, or I’ll kick you off the conference line.

  He smiled. You’re not the moderator.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt.” Liz seized a pause in the conversation. “Jonathan needs to drop off the call.”

  Don’t you dare. He clacked the keys harder than he intended, grinding his teeth the whole time.

  She kept talking. “He’s dealing with his grandmother’s estate and needs to tie up some loose ends this week.”

  A chorus of sympathy chimed through his speaker, and he sighed. You set me up. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, but it didn’t stave off his tension. Ten more minutes—that was all he needed to wrap this up. But he couldn’t stay on the call after a sendoff like that.

  Liz replied, You’re welcome. Go. Don’t call back until you’re officially on the clock again.

  As if there was any way he’d keep his distance for that long. He’d make sure she couldn’t cock block him next time. He wished everyone a good afternoon and hung up. He hated the idea of leaving any issue unresolved, but he had to walk away for the evening, after what Liz said.

  He could make it back to the Keys before the storm warning went into effect. He swallowed the discomfort tha
t churned inside at the thought of being stranded out there during a hurricane. Nothing to do for it, and he needed to move past the old memories anyway. He grabbed a change of clothes and moments later was on the road again. Getting out of town was easy. Everyone headed in the opposite direction, so he had no traffic to contend with. He made a quick stop for groceries, and was on his way again.

  The several miles of highway running over the water gave his mind a chance to wander. His mother hated this part of the drive in the summers. It was part of the reason his parents said they weren’t vacationing out here anymore when Jonathan was fourteen. He refused to dwell on the fact he almost drowned the year before, or acknowledge that had anything to do with their decision. The larger part was that his father and Nana didn’t get along.

  On top of that, fourteen years old was when Jonathan advised his father to pull out most of his clients’ investments, as they related to the dot-com bubble. Dad didn’t think a kid knew anything about the market, and months later, lost millions as the crash spread and consumed more and more tech startups. Which was about the time Jonathan took the money he’d saved, bought himself a bus ticket to Florida, and ran away to live with Nana.

  He shook the memories aside. The reminder of bad business deals made him itch to dial back into the conference call. He restrained himself with the decision to check in tonight, once Bailey left for the evening. There was a ninety-nine percent chance the storm would pass around them, leaving nothing more than light rain in its wake, and tomorrow they’d be done with this damn road-closure business.

  He cranked the stereo, to drown out any more mental rambling, and let the shock of metal guitar rattle his skull. It was almost five when he parked in front of the house. Clattering and banging from above greeted him when he stepped inside. At least Bailey was still here. Something crashed into the floor overhead, shaking the room. “Bailey?” He dropped the groceries and sprinted upstairs, pulse hammering in his ears when she didn’t answer.

  Another house-rumbling boom greeted him. “Bailey?” He climbed the attic ladder as quickly as he could. Why wasn’t she answering? Had she hurt herself? Did something fall on top of her? A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting long shadows around the room and blending with the evening light.

  “What?” Her irritated question came from behind him.

  He spun and found her standing in the middle of stacks of boxes. Strands of hair had come loose from her ponytail and flew in wisps around her face, and dirt smudged her cheeks. His hammering heart slammed into his ribs. Despite the pursed lips and pink flush of exertion, she looked—

  Furious. Nothing more. He cut off all other notions. “I heard a series of crashes. I was worried.”

  “I’m surprised you made it back to hear anything. I figured you’d hole up until the storm blew over, rather than risk getting stuck here again.”

  “I got held up. Things happen. I don’t have to be here.” He clenched his jaw. This wasn’t how he wanted this conversation to go.

  She scrubbed her face and moved closer. “I didn’t mean to go off on you. I’m glad you made it.”

  “That was almost an apology. Are you feeling all right?” He held his hand to her forehead, and she swatted it away, a smile peeking through her scowl.

  “Bozo.”

  He grabbed her fingers, and a jolt raced through him, sliding along his skin and lighting up his nerve endings. He pushed the reaction aside and tugged her toward the ladder. “I brought iced tea. Come downstairs, cool off, and we’ll talk.”

  “No.” Despite the protest, she didn’t pull away. “I let you talk me into that last night, though I’ll admit I wanted to be convinced. But I’m a day behind because of it. So now you’re going to grab one of these boxes, and then another, and help me sift through everything, while I apologize.”

  He studied her face—her crystal blue eyes, staring back; dirt-smeared freckles; full lips, half-pouting in the middle of her smile. Not furious. Simply beautiful. Letting his gaze drift lower—over a tank-top that hugged perky breasts, and faded jeans that followed the curve of her legs—would be a mistake. “Don’t do that.”

  BAILEY LET HER FURY grow for hours, while she sifted through contents of the room. Heat and dust amplified her irritation, as countless minutes ticked away and Jonathan still didn’t show. When the stack of boxes tumbled down on her, slamming her square between the shoulders, she snapped and kicked the lot of them. She cursed him from here to hell for being too... something to come back.

  Then he had to rush up here, concern etched on his face, and be worried about her well-being. It disrupted her anger and knocked her off balance.

  “Don’t do what?” she asked.

  He took one of the boxes nearby, slid it between them, and crouched next to it. “Don’t apologize.” The flaps scraped against each other when he pulled them apart.

  “But—”

  “There’s bottled water downstairs. It’s still cold. Go grab one, so you don’t get a heatstroke or dehydration.”

  Controlling. Arrogant. Despite his annoying command, his distress over her well-being made her insides flutter. “I’m not—”

  “Go.” He looked up from the contents of his box.

  She huffed but didn’t have a reasonable argument. And water did sound good. She brushed past him. When she got downstairs, she found two plastic bags of groceries spilled across the entryway. He really had been worried. She smiled in spite of herself, stashed the food, and grabbed two bottles to take upstairs. When she moved behind Jonathan, mischief and the tiniest hint of spite snaked through her.

  He was focused on a collection of trinkets in front of him. “Welcome back.”

  “Thanks.” She dragged the chilled bottle along the back of his neck.

  He let out a long groan that blended into a laugh and reached back for the water. “So mean.”

  “Maybe. But you’re bossy.”

  “Yup. And you love it.”

  She strolled back to where she’d been working, twisted the top off the drink, and took a long swallow. She finished half of it before she was ready to admit he was right. She needed that. She realized he was watching her, a smile playing on his face. “I do not,” she said.

  “You have a system in place. How is this all arranged?”

  She nodded at the different sections of the room she’d already organized. “Trash goes to the left, stuff to keep to the right, and sellables in the middle. And why shouldn’t I apologize?” She refused to be distracted from the original point of the conversation.

  “Because you don’t mean it.” He moved the box to her sellable location, then grabbed another one.

  Measure her response or bite back? “What I didn’t mean were the things I said last night.”

  “You did.” His even, infuriating tone was one she recognized after all these years. He was working hard to keep his thought and emotion in check. “We both know the liquor doesn’t make up anything except the notion that what’s already there is okay to say.”

  She wasn’t interested in being analyzed. “Your note said you wanted to talk. Was that simply to berate me?”

  “No. But I don’t want to gloss over it with false platitudes and I didn’t mean it and it was the booze speaking.” His expression cracked, and a mixture of sadness and amusement slid in.

  She’d never seen him break before, but it had been a long time. “Then what’s the point?” She dug into the next crate. Stacks of clothing. She started a new pile across the room. “To donate.”

  “Admit it happened, don’t hide from it, and move on.”

  That was entirely too reasonable. Rain drove against the siding, rattling its agreement.

  “And now that’s out of the way...” He trailed off when he looked inside a wooden crate. “Oh.” He sank back to the floor, and dust rose around him.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. To sell.” He pushed the lid back on and shoved the box away. It screeched across the wood.

  Curio
sity piqued, she pried open the top again. Inside was corrugated cardboard and bubble wrap. She reached for a piece on top of the pile, and he grabbed her wrist. It didn’t take much effort to shake off his grip. She pulled off the wrapping, to reveal a delicate China saucer. “Pretty.”

  “Put it away.” An edge lined his words.

  Confused and concerned, she looked at him. “What’s up with you?”

  Thunder crashed. Lightning brightened the room for a flash before the window darkened again. Drops of water splattered against the glass. “Donate it if it’s not worth anything.”

  “Tell me.” She set the plate on top of the wrapped dishes. She wasn’t sure why it was important, but she needed an explanation.

  The emotion vanished from his face, and the blank nothing rushed back in. “Not a big deal. Family heirloom. She was saving it for my wedding. Doesn’t hold the same meaning if she’s not here to—” He shook his head. “What’s next?”

  Bailey swore she felt the grief spill from him. “I’m sorry.”

  “See, now I believe you.” His smile was weak. He pushed the crate to the other side of the room, somewhere between the donate and keep piles. The storm kicked up, and gales slammed into the side of the house.

  Would every other stack of belongings bring this much pain? It was going to be a long week. She nodded at the boxes that fell on her earlier. “Those attacked me. They’re probably next.”

  They worked in silence for a while, raindrops against the roof taking the place of conversation.

  “How long do you want us working, boss?” Jonathan’s question startled her.

  With the storm, it was hard to tell what time of day it was, but if the sun hadn’t set yet, it was close. She made a show of looking around the room. “We got a lot done. I guess we can call it a night.” And she desperately wanted to wash the grime from her face and arms.