Sparing the Heart (Pastime Pursuits #3) (25 page)

I’m waiting for her to tell me I’m wrong, to insist we turn the car around so I can proclaim my love and hold onto something, someone, I’ve wanted for so long.
 

But she doesn’t.

She nods her head in agreement and says something that shocks me. “I understand.”

I raise my head and meet her gaze. Her face is full of such compassion. Even though she isn’t smiling, a rarity I’ve found, her round cheeks and hazel eyes glow. I soak up her warmth and sincerity.
 

"Hey, want to do something fun to get your mind off of it?"

I’m not sure anything will take my mind off of losing Kellan, but if anyone can prove successful, Tiffany will. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”
 

“You need to change. We’ll swing by your place so you can grab shorts and a sports bra.”

“It’s like ten degrees outside, and snowing! Where on earth are you planning on taking me?”

“Don’t worry about it. Get your stuff and let’s go.”

••••••••••

“I’m not so sure about this.” The room is filled with people of all shapes and sizes and they couldn’t look any happier to be here. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Well then, now’s the perfect time to try. I go every Saturday.”

"I hope people don't stare at me." I love dancing, but I’m a hot mess when I do.
 

"No one will even be paying attention," Tiffany assures me. “Everyone is too busy having fun and keeping with the flow."

Not only do I have two left feet, but I'm uncoordinated and can't imagine this is going to go very well. I wait impatiently as the other participants stretch, standing there, uncertain of myself. I copy Tiffany, placing my hands on my hips, and then raising one arm over as I extend to the side. She repeats on the other side, so I do as well. Next she grabs her foot and pulls it to her butt in a quad stretch. I reach behind with my right hand and stumble, catching my footing before I fall over. If I can’t even warm up correctly, I certainly can’t be expected to dance.

I am, though, as the instructor, Amy, races onto the slightly elevated stage with Gloria Estefan blasting through the speakers. She, and the rest of the class, sway their bodies and move without even an introduction. The women turn to the right and step back, one, two, three steps. I try my best to keep up, but the person in front of me is almost stepping on my toes. I wiggle my body, not even close to matching what everyone else is doing, but I’m moving. No one seems to care I’m stumbling all over the place. Tiffany is in the row next to me, shaking her hips and her wild, curly hair flying everywhere. I catch her contagious smile, and as I twist my arms and circle them around, I realize I’m starting to enjoy myself.
 

After the first song is over, I stop and breathe slowly to steady my breath. "I guess that wasn't too bad." I’m huffing through the words, my shirt changing to a deeper blue as the sweat starts to soak through.
 

“The moves take a bit to get down, but if you’re dancing and enjoying yourself, that’s all that matters!”

“Awesome job, Tiffany!” A petite woman slithers in between us. Her brown hair is in pigtails and freckles cover her face. “I’m Ellie.” We shake hands and I introduce myself.

“Glad you could join us.” She’s bouncing even though music isn’t playing.
 

"How long of a break do we have?" Tiffany or Ellie must know — they’re both regulars.
 

As I ask, the music starts, and answers my question for me. These thirty to sixty second breaks end much too quickly in the hour-long class. By the time we finish the last song, I’m relieved it’s over so I can breathe again, though disappointed because I’m having so much fun.
 

“I’ll admit, I was pretty scared when you brought me here, but I think I’ll come again.”
 

We sit down on a bench right next to the door. Tiffany waves goodbye to a few ladies as they leave. ”It's a blast, right? Thanks for coming. Zumba is an awesome way to blow off steam, and not give a damn who’s watching you dance.”

And no one was. Every person in class focused on themselves. No one cared if I couldn’t do the moves. No one judged me. I could just be me. I took a chance on myself and came out better for it. All my struggles — moving to a new home, starting my career over, dealing with my dad’s death, and even breaking up with Kellan — they seem so small now that I’ve done this. I spend a ridiculous amount of time worrying and planning that I never take life in the moment. I never let go off all the negative so I can appreciate the positive. I love my home, I’m pretty successful at my job, I had many wonderful years with my father, and Kellan, well, Kellan filled a void if even for a short period of time. A positive spin can be put on anything. With enough determination, focus, and creativity, I can do anything.
 

Then it hits me.
 

I think I have a plan to finally sell Janice's house.
 

One of the greatest things about being a realtor is the contacts I make. I come across people from all walks of life and different occupations — from in-home sales (once a sex toy saleswoman) to pharmaceutical sales (one customer I’m certain dallied in illegal drugs), to home improvement contractors. Contractors are pretty common, most in the search of a house to flip, and I think I have the perfect one.
 

My goal from day one was to sell the home to a young couple ready to start a family, or someone out to make a quick profit with a flip. Janice’s dad’s home is located in an ideal neighborhood, but she’s demanding a sales price too high for a new homeowner who will have to make improvements
and
for a flipper who needs to make money. The $190,000 listing is still much too high, in my opinion. Alas, I’m determined to stick a SOLD sign on this house.

I contact my colleague Charlie Schmit, and at first he's a tad weary on my marketing plan, but eventually he agrees. I found potential buyers for Janice's place, but their budget tops out at $185,000 and with renovations needed, the house isn’t a realistic option. Charlie and I can resolve this issue.
 

"Rodney and Danielle, thanks for meeting me today." I open the door to the house and Charlie is already there. "I know you toured the house about a month ago and liked what you saw but don’t have much room for renovations with your budget. I think I can convince the seller to let this place go for the $185,000." I really hope I’m right in saying that. In the whole scheme of things, what’s five thousand dollars, especially once Janice pays realtor fees, she’s earning a one hundred percent profit.

"That's wonderful, Kate, but that doesn't leave my clients any room to make any changes. They need to replace the carpeting and cabinets at a bare minimum." Their realtor, Gary, can be a tough sell. This isn’t my first time dealing with him.

"I realize the house is a fixer-upper and I came up with what I think is a win-win solution. Charlie Schmit is the lead contractor at Schmit Home Renovations.” Charlie introduces himself to everyone. “We’ve worked together many times. He's prepared to offer you a significant discount on renovations if you use him for this home."

"Miss Hayes, did you clear this with your boss? I'm not sure this is even legal." Gary never refers to me by my last name. He crosses his arms, and purses his lips disapprovingly. His light mustache is in complete opposition of his bald head. I don’t understand why he chooses to shave his hair off. And I mean
all
of it. I can practically see his skull.
 

"Yes, I spoke with her. This would not be written into the contract, but would be a private transaction between the Reinders and Schmit Home Renovations."

Gary is shaking his head and places his thumb on his chin. "I still don't like it."

"No one has to make a decision right now.” Danielle is holding onto Rodney’s arm. I can’t mistake the glow in her face. She’s sold on the idea. Rodney, well, he’s clenching his jaw and staring at Gary for direction. He’ll be more difficult to convince. “I know how much you two love this house, and my seller wants this off her hands. I may be able to talk her down to $180,000."
 

Nothing but crickets. Charlie isn’t even chiming in and he’s the one who will earn the extra business. I clap my hands together. "Tell you what. Why don't you and the Reinders take a walk around the property and make a list of what the renovations will be. You can speak with Charlie for a rough estimate of the costs. Everyone can discuss this privately and contact me if you’re interested in the offer. I’m available day and night."

Gary pulls his clients aside and I try not to listen to their whispers. They’ve turned their backs to me so I can’t read on their faces. A few minutes of discussion later, Gary returns while the Reinders remain in the kitchen.
 

"We’ll do as you suggest and work with Mr. Schmit. Please allow us to view the property on our own. I’ll call you tomorrow with my client’s decision."

We shake hands and I exit Janice’s home excited I’ve finally put my marketing mind to some use. Zumba on Saturday, a potential offer on Tuesday, and my birthday is on Thursday. A slight change of attitude and my week is already looking up.
 

Everyone should be jealous of me. I can't think of a better way to spend my birthday than standing in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles. Okay, I can think of plenty of other things to be doing. Maybe, I'll actually be able to do some of them today. I take my number, 205, and find a chair on the right side of the waiting area. The digital sign shows number 150 is currently being served. Sigh. This is going to be a long day.
 

Every day I’m trying to accentuate the positive. Today, while I celebrate thirty-six years on this Earth with the associates of the DMV, I’m thankful I can take my job anywhere. I’ve been going into the office more often lately and sitting at my desk, so having the opportunity to use my laptop or iPad anywhere and still work is something I’m grateful for. Today I brought my iPad and once I’m connected to the free Wi-Fi, I scroll through my email.
 

Two full days have passed since I met with Gary and the Reinders.
That sounds like a band name
, I think as I scan the from column searching for his name. Nothing. I check my phone and no missed calls. Gary told me to expect an answer Tuesday. Well, Tuesday has come and gone. I’m channeling my positive energy, though, and convince myself I’ll hear a “Yes!” today.
 

"Is this seat taken?" A gentleman who must stand at least, if not over, six feet tall, points to the solid blue chair next to me.
 

"No." I snatch my purse off the chair and wrap the strap around my knee. "Please, sit down."

He’s still much taller than me when he’s seated. I tap my tablet to brighten the now dimmed screen, but he interrupts me before I can begin working again. ”We sure are blessed with a beautiful day today."

Small talk is awkward. Why am I forced to hold a conversation with someone I’ve only known for the ten seconds it’s taken me to move my purse? Is there some sort of obligation to speak with whomever sits next to me? He is right, though. For mid-February the thirty-eight degree temperature is rare. The sun is shining and the snow is beginning to melt, the promise of Spring lingering in its aftermath. Though living in Wisconsin, I know better than to assume this means winter is over. We could very well drop into the twenties, teens, or even negative wind chills with another foot of snow in a matter of days.
 

"We sure lucked out,” I agree with him.
Now can I go back to what I was doing?

"Well I, for one, am not going to complain. I don't like to complain anyway." He crosses his legs and folds his hands in his lap.

"I don't think anybody
likes
to complain.”
Why? Why am I continuing this conversation? Shut up, Kate.

"Then why do they?"

I can’t believe he’s asking me this. Is he honestly searching for an answer? I’ll humor him with a response, and then bury my face in my electronics. ”I suppose because they’re frustrated and complaining is a way to voice that emotion."

He ponders my reply. Can I look away? No, that’s rude. He’s planning on saying something, so I scoot back in my chair and swing my arm around the back while he gathers his thoughts. “Yes, complaining is most certainly a response, and I suppose an acceptable one, but haven’t you heard the phrase ‘Be part of the solution, not the problem’?”
 

That’s precisely what I’m trying to do this past week and every day going forward. He doesn’t need my autobiography, though. “I’m Kate,” I respond instead, touching my hand to my chest before offering it to him to shake.

“AJ.” His hands are strong and warm. “Good to meet you. What are you in for?”
 

"What am I in for?" The DMV may be annoying and a pain, but it’s far from a prison cell, I’m sure.

“No one comes to the DMV to hang out. This may be the worst place on Earth."

"I thought you didn't complain." I hate to point out the obvious. Well, I don’t
hate
it. I’m not entirely against proving someone wrong.

"That wasn't a complaint. I'm only stating a fact." He straightens his posture and pulls his leg in further over his knee. His hand is firm against his kneecap, and I’m noticing how big his hands really are.
Huge
. My eyes move up his body and while he’s wearing a slightly baggy jacket, I can tell he’s fairly thin. His sandy brown hair is styled so the front lifts in an upswing, and he’s wearing thin glasses.

I’m familiar with his type. He’s not quite an Eeyore. No, not AJ. He doesn’t drown himself in sorrow and make people pity him. He’s a different type of downer. “Ah, right. You don’t complain. You only state facts. Much like people who claim they aren’t pessimists when they say something negative; they’re realists.”