Forever Home Page 6
“You wince every time she says them.”
Well, yes, they were atrocious. He could only hope whoever adopted the dogs did a better job and didn’t inflict flower names on the poor things. But he had told Ana she could name them. The carnage was on him.
“I just don’t think the names reflect the dogs’ personalities,” he said, his voice low, not wanting to hurt Ana’s feelings. He curled one side of his top lip. “Especially Buttercup.”
“What were you calling her?”
“V. I.” Using a plastic knife, Brad cut off two more pieces for him and Ana, deposited one on the kid’s plate. “As in V. I. Warshawski.”
Izzy pursed her lips, making the plump flesh even rounder and more tempting. “Is that a cop from a book?”
“Private detective,” Brad corrected her, but was still impressed she’d gotten close. “All the dogs Gabe and I name have detective names. And V. I. was one tough broad, just like our girl back at the shelter.”
“And now she has a flower name. You’ll just have to suck it up.” Izzy shook her head. “And she’s your girl. She’s not mine.”
Not yet.
“It must be tough coming up with female detective names.” Izzy took a sip of her soda. “There can’t have been that many.”
Brad stopped chewing. “Are you kidding me? There’s Miss Marple, Nancy Drew, Kinsey Millhone, Eve Dallas, Stephanie Plum, and plenty more. If you go to the TV side, there’s all of Charlie’s angels, Cagney and Lacey, Jennifer Hart—”
“Okay!” Izzy held up a hand, palm out. “Jeez, I get it. I underestimated my sex, apparently.” She tilted her head, and a sheaf of silky, shiny hair slid off one shoulder. It was down today, and Brad could see that it wasn’t actually black, but a brown as rich and deep as his favorite dark roasted coffee. “How do you know all that?” she asked. “Are you some sort of mystery buff?”
Brad shrugged. “I do like mysteries. But I read anything and everything I could get my hands on when I was a kid.” There’d been nothing else to do but read and watch TV. When stays at the hospital became commonplace, his friends stopped coming to visit him. And his parents both had jobs they couldn’t miss.
Izzy slid a glance at Ana, who was pulling cheese apart into long strings before sucking them down. Leaning over the table again, Izzy whispered, “Are you okay? You looked sad all of a sudden.”
Jesus, he really did need to work on his poker face. His hand crept to his side and he rubbed the edge of his scar. “Fine.” He hated this part. Telling new people about his old health problems. They went from seeing the strong man he was to looking at him as if he might break. But if this relationship went where he wanted it to, Izzy would have to know. Clothes would be coming off and she’d see the large scar.
“In high school and college I spent a lot of time in hospitals and dialysis centers. I had something called polycystic kidney disease. When I was twenty-one I got a kidney transplant that changed my life.” After his recovery, he couldn’t believe how much energy he had. He’d forgotten that feeling tired all the time wasn’t normal. He’d actually been able to run and play sports, stay awake later than ten o’clock, had the time to date. Life had begun again.
Izzy’s face creased in sympathy. He didn’t like it, didn’t want her feeling bad for him, but knew hers was a normal reaction.
He pushed his plate away. “There wasn’t much to do when I was lying in those hospital beds, so I was very grateful for whatever books were on the traveling library cart. Mysteries, biographies, even romance. I didn’t care—if it was on the cart I read it. But mysteries were my favorite. Those were the books I could get lost in, forget where I was for a couple of hours. That, and when the therapy dog came around.”
“They let a dog into the hospital?”
Ana perked up at that. “What dog went to the hospital? Was it Buttercup?”
Brad ruffled her hair. “No, sweetie. Not…Buttercup. It was a dog named Harriet, a great big black dog. But her fur was so soft and she was so sweet that when she’d come visit me, my spirits always lifted.” He looked at Izzy. “You don’t understand the power that a dog has to change a person’s life. Make him happier, better. Harriet visited me for four years. She was what I looked forward to, what gave me the patience not to yell at the nurses just for doing their jobs and the doctors for not fixing me.”
Izzy gave him a small smile of understanding. “And now you own a dog shelter.”
“I worked as an engineer for a couple of years after college, but I knew this was what I wanted to do.” He shrugged. “Once I had enough seed money to start the shelter, I quit my job and never looked back.”
Without taking her gaze from his, Izzy said, “Ana, honey, how about calling Buttercup Violet instead. Vi for short.”
The little girl’s shoulders raised and lowered, and she turned back to her pizza. “I guess that works.”
Vi. V.I. Brad grinned and mouthed ‘thank you’ across the table. Maybe a little sympathy was a good thing. In fact, he should milk this moment for all it was worth.
“About that award ceremony, what day works best for you? Are you generally free on Fridays?”
Izzy narrowed her eyes, but finally agreed. “Yes. I can do Fridays.”
“Super.” Brad rubbed his hands together, and wondered how far, exactly, he could push this. “Now, about poor Vi and her puppies—”
“I am not getting any dogs!”
Apparently, Brad had reached his limit.
Chapter Six
“Now, this is the life.” Lydia crossed her ankles, the toe of her wedge sandal knocking into Izzy’s jaw, and Izzy smacked it away.
“When you’re not kicking me in the face.”
“Sorry about that.” Lydia didn’t sound sorry. She sounded five seconds away from taking a nap. And who could blame her? Izzy and her friend were lying head to toe on the biggest hammock known to man, a soft breeze gliding over their skin as the sun warmed them. It was a beautiful afternoon, and the gentle sway of the cloth hammock was making Izzy’s eyelids feel like they were weighted with concrete.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Izzy yawned and toed off her pumps, hearing them plop softly to the lawn below.
“You don’t send me a picture of this super-sweet backyard setup for an empty house you’re selling and not expect me to show up.” Lydia lifted the stemless wineglass off the small belly she was always trying to diet away. She wasn’t fat, but she was big: big hair, big boobs and butt, bigger personality. There wasn’t a fad diet that she didn’t try, but thankfully, her willpower lasted no more than three days before she was back to chocolate and cheese. Lydia swirled a pale white wine in her glass. “You know the rules.”
“That’s a really weird rule.” Izzy raised her own glass and took a sip of the crisp Riesling. When Lydia had crashed the preparations for Izzy’s showing this Saturday, bottle of wine in hand, she’d said that a swing in the hammock was definitely paired with a white.
“How much are you listing this place for?”
“Two fifty,” Izzy said. The owner had wanted three hundred thousand, but Izzy had advised a lower asking price. There was a crack in the foundation, and the roof would need replacing within five years. The house was like a movie star after plastic surgery; it looked great on the outside, but inside it was aging. But swinging lazily in the drop-dead gorgeous backyard, she hoped she hadn’t undervalued it. Sometimes a stunning exterior was enough to make the sale.
Leaning over the side of the hammock, Lydia plucked up the half-full bottle and poured herself another glass.
Izzy held on to the edge of the hammock and made sure she didn’t topple off it as it swayed. The chains holding them up in the metal frame creaked loudly.
“So,” Lydia said, “Ana’s been talking about this Brad guy a lot. And a bouquet of puppies. But I’m more interested in the man. Is he hot?”
Lydia squealed, and wine sloshed over the rim of her glass. The bunch of grapes printed on her burgundy T-shirt with the Tannert Winery logo got wet and stuck to her breast. “You lie! I know your lying voice.”
Izzy tried to jackknife up, got sucked back into the cradle of the hammock, and contented herself with an awkward curl. She swiped the bottle of wine from her friend and poured herself another couple of inches. She rested the bottle and glass on her stomach. “I don’t have a lying voice,” she grumbled.
“Yes, you do. It’s the same voice you use on your clients when they aren’t doing what you want.”
Hell, that was a disconcerting thought. Especially as she never lied to her clients. Just…persuaded them to see her point of view when they were being stubborn.
“Nevertheless,” Izzy said, and yeah, she could hear the cloying note in her voice that time, “Bradley Cohen isn’t the man for you. He’s impulsive and careless, and the two of you together would be a menace to Crook County.”
That wedge sandal knocked into her again, intentionally this time. “I wasn’t thinking about for me. Although if you don’t want him, I’ll call dibs. A hot guy who helps dogs?” She fanned herself with her hand. “Oh, Nellie.”
Lydia and Brad could actually make a good couple. Both fun-loving, high-spirited individuals with a core of kindness. Both more interested in the moment than growing their 401(k)s. Yes, Lydia was a partner in a winery—Izzy took a sip of the Riesling and admitted it was a pretty damn good winery for Michigan—but she didn’t seem interested in growing the business. She was content to accept the status quo, while Izzy was always striving for more.
If Lydia ever had kids, then she’d understand better what drove Izzy.
The sandal nudge again. Izzy was starting to hate wedge sandals. “So, do you want this Brad or can I go for him?” Lydia asked.
Izzy’s stomach coiled tight as a spring. “He’s free game.”
Lydia laughed. “It’s a good thing you are a bad liar, or I would have poached on your turf and you’d hate me.”
“Not feeling all that friendly to you right now,” Izzy muttered. “And I’m not lying. I’m not interested. I just don’t think he’s right for you.”
Lydia nodded, her hair coming free from her loose topknot. “Yeah, it sounds like he needs someone more grounded. Someone to talk sense into him while he can talk some fun into her. A yin-and-yang type of situation.”
Izzy rolled her eyes. “You’re as transparent as this Riesling.”
Lydia shrugged. “I’m just saying you’ve got to let loose and have a little fun once in a while. If Brad’s the man who can show you a good time, great. If not, it’s time you started looking for someone who can.”
“I’m having fun now,” Izzy defended herself. “I should be back at work after setting up the house. But I’m kicking it out here with my homegirl. Being completely irresponsible.”
Lydia groaned. “First of all, don’t say homegirl. You sound like one of those sad parents trying to talk hip to their kids. Secondly, if this is your idea of irresponsible…”
“Fine. What about you?” Izzy toed her friend’s shoulder, eager to get off the topic of her own love life. The nonexistent one. Which was how she wanted it. “Any hot new dating prospects?”
“Well, there’s Jeremiah, the butcher. He offered to take me hunting. And Joe Rodriguez, who owns Grains and Grapes in Pineville, asked me out.”
Izzy did a little more of her own toe kicking. “Ooh, that’s a good place. Date him and maybe he’ll comp us free drinks.”
“I think he only wants to sweet-talk a good deal on Tannert wine.” Tucking a hand behind her head, Lydia raised an eyebrow. “I ran into Tariq at the Gas and Shop. He’s a couple years younger than me, but he is awfully yummy. Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”
“No. Nada. Uh-uh.” Izzy put both the bottle and her glass down on the lawn and pulled herself up. “Tariq is my archenemy, and besties don’t date archenemies. That is a rule.”
“Jeesh, another rule.” Lydia swatted at a fly buzzing around her head. “And who has archenemies? He’s only giving you a little competition.”
“He’s a vile little worm who hates me and tries to sabotage me every chance he gets.”
Lydia shook her head. “Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll keep my hands off your Lex Luthor.”
“Thank you.” Izzy settled back down. “I notice you didn’t mention Kevin in your list of potentials.”
“Kevin? Kevin! He’s like a brother to me,” Lydia said. “A boring older brother. I want zip in my relationships, and for all of Kevin’s good qualities, he doesn’t have zip.”
Izzy thought Kevin could have plenty of zip, for the right woman. And the way the co-owner of Tannert Winery looked at his business partner when Lydia’s back was turned, he clearly thought she was his right woman. But Lydia wanted some mythical dream man, a mogul with an eight-pack who’d take her skydiving from his private plane on their way to Paris. She wanted a fantasy and blinded herself to the good man in front of her.
Izzy sighed. She knew all about wanting a fantasy guy. But eventually a person had to grow up and realize that fantasies didn’t exist. And men, even good men, eventually left and looked for greener pastures. It was in their nature.
Perhaps she shouldn’t encourage Lydia when it came to Kevin. Why set her up for something that was likely to fail?
Her phone rang, and Izzy reached into her blazer pocket and pulled it out. She saw the number and a ping of excitement zipped down her spine. She fluttered a hand at Lydia. “Shush. This could be important.”
Ignoring Lydia’s narrowed eyes, she hit Answer. “Hello, Mrs. Gianapolis. How are you this afternoon?”
The older woman buzzed in her ear, and Izzy’s heart pounded faster with each word.
“Of course I can meet you. Yes, your office? I know where it is. I’ll see you in a little bit.” She ended the call and punched her fist into the air. “Yes!”
“What’s up?”
“That was an investor I sent a big sales proposal to. She’s interested and wants to talk it over.” Izzy tried swinging her legs to one side of the hammock and a button on her blazer got caught in the mesh. She twisted the other way, levering her torso up. The weight in the hammock shifted, the fabric rolled, and the blue sky flashed across her vision as she and Lydia flipped ass over teakettle.
She landed facedown in the grass.
“Well, that was graceful,” Lydia said, pushing up into a seated position. She wiped at the wine that had spilled again across the chest of her T-shirt.
“Sorry!” Izzy found her pumps, the wine bottle, and the glasses and clambered to her feet. “Come on, I have to lock up.”
“I guess our relaxing afternoon is over.”
“You bet your ass. This commission could fully fund Ana’s college tuition. Would let me afford a tutor to help her with her reading issues.” Dollar signs danced in her head, and Izzy let herself dream for just a moment what all that money would mean to her life. To hers and Ana’s security. “Come on.” She prodded her friend across the lawn and brushed grass off Lydia’s and her clothes before entering the living room through the double French doors. She snatched her purse from the hallway console table and locked up after them. “Thanks for the wine. I’ll see you Saturday at Ana’s game?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Lydia gave her a quick hug and strolled to her yellow VW bug. “Do you need me to pick her up after practice today?”
“No, I’ll get her, but thanks.” Izzy raced to her SUV. With a wave out her window, she pulled a U-turn on the street and sped to Mrs. Gianapolis’s office.
The woman owned three strip malls in the area and had rec
ently purchased a three-story office complex in Marysville, which was where Izzy was headed. If Mrs. Gianapolis wanted to buy Burker’s lots, that could be good news for the current tenants. She might keep the strip malls in place.
Mrs. Gianapolis had an office for her investment company in the bottom floor of her building. Izzy hurried across the tiled lobby and pushed open the glass doors with “A. G. Properties” stenciled across the front. A polished receptionist greeted her.
“Hi, I’m Izzy Lopez. I have an appointment to see Mrs. Gianapolis.”
The young man nodded and made a phone call. Then he pointed down the hallway to the right. “It’s the second door on the left.”
She thanked him, smoothed a hand down the front of her blazer, and marched to the office, purse slung over one shoulder and a leather portfolio in her hands. Pasting on a professional smile, she stepped through.
A fireplug of a woman looked up from her computer screen and stuck out a hand. She didn’t stand. “Mrs. Lopez? Thank you for coming to meet me.”
“Of course.” The grip was cold, dry, and Izzy worried that flakes of the woman’s skin would rub off in her hand. She must have been in her sixties, but her face looked at least a decade younger. Either she took care of her olive skin, or she had a very good plastic surgeon’s number. But the skin on the older woman’s hands was covered in liver spots. She wore jeans, a bulky sweater much too warm for the weather, and a “don’t mess with me” attitude.
Izzy was impressed and cowed all at once but didn’t let either show. She sat across from her and crossed her legs. “You have a good eye. I just sent out the property details and already have some interest.” Mrs. Gianapolis was the first to show interest, but that qualified. “I think the lots are going to go fast. If the owner decides to sell. He’s still up in the air on that.”
The woman leaned back and laced her fingers together over her broad stomach. “I don’t want to get in a bidding war. If you have a lot of other offers, I’ll probably back off.”
“Interest but no firm offers as yet.” Izzy recrossed her legs and relaxed back into the seat, trying to look more confident than she felt. “Now, what questions can I answer for you?”