Maybe someone complained about the old tatty brown one.
Was ultra-determined, super-persistent Ella Davenport buying new doormats now too, or would Harvey Begg say that was all part of the Begg & Robertson package?
Jake kinked his neck to one side, then the other, and tried to force his shoulders to relax, and that was when he realised something was off.
The solid front timber door was open, but the screen door was locked shut.
‘Hello?’ he called inside.
There was no answer.
Jake frowned. It was hardly the most responsible thing for a real estate agent to do, leaving the front door open even if the screen door was locked. If the last person to lock up at the hardware shop missed locking a gate, he’d have hauled them over the coals.
He took Nanna’s spare keys from his pocket and opened the screen door, stepping through into a house that smelled nice enough to stop him mid-stride and make him take another sniff. Cinnamon? Apple pie?
Since when did they make cleaning products that smelled good enough to eat? It must be something Ella had used to polish the old timbers.
Moving quickly, ignoring the growl of his stomach, Jake plugged his extension cord into the power outlet in the hallway and ran the line back outside, letting it wedge the screen door open a crack. He fit the 100 grit into the sander, pulled a mask over his mouth and let it rip, sanding flakes of navy paint off the balustrade, keeping his head down.
* * *
Not again!
‘Jake?’ Ella tried again, louder. ‘Jake!’
Her infuriating, cockatiel-loving client had his big burly back to her, and Ella couldn’t get closer without getting covered in a cloud of old paint and sawdust. Her hands were full with a tray of cheese and crackers, plus she was wearing her favourite white shirt and a crisp pale pink skirt, and all that dust would totally ruin the efficient, classic, agent-in-control look she was searching for so desperately.
Ella checked her watch. She was five minutes early; the Home Open began at 4:30 pm. She didn’t need any extra time to air out the house because she’d already opened the windows earlier when she’d called in to offload the wine and wineglasses. That was when she’d done her cinnamon stick trick.
But what did it matter if the house smelled relaxing and sweet when the place currently had the jackhammer vibe of a city building site?
Ella ducked through the screen door and raced into the kitchen to put the cheese platter on the kitchen table. Then she dashed for the laundry cupboard and the broom she knew was there. Running back out to where that bloody sander continued to roar, Ella extended the broom and jabbed Jake in the kidney. Well, she aimed for his kidney, but with the weight of the pole extended plus the full length of her arm, she miscalculated.
Ella jabbed Jake square in his butt, and he couldn’t have turned faster if he’d been a bear in the woods and she’d poked him with a broom. The mechanical roar died to a mechanical quiver before it cut out completely, and those midnight-blue eyes kind of speared her to the spot.
‘Ella?’
‘Jake. Hi. Sorry about poking you in your bottom. We’re doing a Groundhog Day here, though. You’re doing it again. You can’t do that now,’ she said, indicating the sander in his hand and the dust in the air.
‘I own the house, and you suggested the verandah posts needed sanding.’
He purred it nice enough, but danger danger alarm bells crashed in her brain.
‘You are completely right that I suggested sanding the posts, but you can’t do it now, Jake. I have a Home Open starting in exactly two minutes. I have wine. I have cheese. Can’t you come back later?’
‘You have a Home Open in Chalk Hill on a Friday night?’ His eyebrows shot high in surprise.
‘Yes. Didn’t you get my phone message? Didn’t you see the sign?’
‘Yes, I got your message. You didn’t say anything about a Friday Home Open. You said a whole heap about the neglected state of this property though.’
Oops. So the big lug of a bloke was house-proud. Who knew? ‘They were just a few suggestions, trying to give you feedback. And I told you about the Home Open.’
He shrugged. The age-old ‘doesn’t matter’ male shrug. ‘Who has a Home Open on a Friday night in Chalk Hill? The whole town goes to bowls.’
‘I’m trying something different.’
‘And look at them all lining up,’ Jake said, swinging around to the empty street.
‘They’ll be here,’ Ella said, spinning her broom like a ninja so she could sweep dust from where it had pooled near his feet. ‘Now please, can you do that later?’
Jake’s eyes narrowed. ‘You poked me in the arse, Ella.’
‘I’m sorry about that. I was trying to get your attention because you couldn’t hear me over the noise of that bloody thing …’
‘First you throw shoes at me. Now you hit me with a broom.’
Ella stood the broom between them like it might protect her with its magic powers. ‘Poked you. Let’s not exaggerate.’
A car slowed on the street and they both watched it, Ella with hope in her heart that maybe this time it would be the buyer.
The car passed and Jake relaxed. Ella swallowed her disappointment by glancing out at the gum trees towards the branches where she’d first seen Perkins III. Tears stung behind her eyes, and tears just wouldn’t do. Red, puffy eyes weren’t good for super-efficient saleslady mojo.
‘Tell you what? I’ll just finish this section here, okay? Then I’ll call it quits,’ Jake said, watching her closely. There was a rough edge to his voice, and his eyes wouldn’t leave her face alone. ‘I’m sorry about doing this today. I didn’t know you had this open thing planned.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, stepping away. ‘Maybe if you returned my phone calls we could talk about these things and we’d all be on the same page.’
She couldn’t
