Dad looked like he was about to have a stroke. “Sell the place? Heavens, no. It’s been in the family for too long. I wouldn’t sell this place even if someone came at me with a signed check for a million dollars.”
“What about two million?” Thorin pressed. “I own a chain of car shops. I specialize in restoring old, vintage cars and motorcycles. Keeps me entertained when I’m off the field and out of trouble, too. I’ve always wanted to own an old fillup station like this one and do it up nice and proper.”
“Some things money just can’t buy, son.”
“I can understand that, but if you ever decide to change your mind or if you just want to talk about baseball, here’s my card. That’s my personal cell phone number. Call me day or night. I won’t always answer, but I’ll always get back to you.”
Dad took the card. “Really? Anytime?”
“Anytime,” he confirmed. “That goes for you too, Hazel.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said while stuffing my hands in the pocket of my jumper. I didn’t want to do any stupid gestures, embarrassing myself. Blushing was bad enough. But why was I blushing at all? The guy was just being polite — nothing more. If he was trying to flirt, I was sure he wouldn’t do it in front of my dad.
“In the meantime, would you two be interested in taking on a project?”
“A project? What kind of project are we talking about here?” My dad was quick to jump on any business transaction.
“I couldn’t resist. I bought an old Chevy Chevelle that’s in desperate need of some love. Instead of shipping it out to one of my shops, why don’t I bring it here? It would just be a personal car, anyway, so I don’t want to burden my boys with the additional work. They have their hands full building cars for my paying customers. Plus, it might be better if I keep this car a secret. The guys are starting to think I have something of an addiction.”
“Do you?” I asked.
“I might,” he answered.
“So, you want us to enable your addiction by fixing up this Chevelle until she purrs?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When’s the deadline?”
“A year.”
“It won’t take us that long,” I said. “Unless we have some major trouble coming up with parts, but my father always knows a guy who knows a guy.”
“I’m traveling this offseason and then I’ll be leasing a condo in the city once April rolls around. I won’t be back until next November when the house is built. I figure I can drop by then, pick up the car, and make another stab at buying this place from your dad.”
“You’ll need to pay us a storage fee,” I said.
“Of course.”
“And a 25% deposit —”
“How about I just pay in full? You two seem like honest people.”
“If that’s what you want to do, let’s take this to the office. It won’t be but a minute and then I’ll let you go off to meet those contractors of yours.”
Dad smiled knowingly because where negotiations were concerned, I wasn’t one to be messed with. Although, Thorin made my life easy because, in the end, he actually overpaid us. That’s right. I told him he had made a mistake, but he just winked and took one of my business cards off the desk. “Looks like I’ve got your number now, too. Mind if I give you a call now and then?”
And just like that, he was gone.
1
Thorin
One year later.
I was back in that sleepy town of Elk Haven. Nothing about it had changed. The rolling fields of corn, long since harvested, remained the main attraction as I cruised along the winding roads. As I neared my destination, something foreign to my last visit loomed in the distance.
And that something was home, sweet home.
The best designers and builders money could buy had been hard at work for the better part of a year constructing what could only be called a masterpiece — and I’m not just saying that because I was going to live there. It really was a work of art with its Greek-inspired design. Parthenon columns framed the front door, kept stark white to contrast with the blue of the door. A water fountain stood guard outside the garden. The marble statue looked like it had been pulled right from a museum gallery. Window balconies. A tiled roof. Suffice to say, I pulled out all the stops because when I was off the field and actually allowed to relax, I liked to do so in the lap of luxury. It wasn’t about showing off to the locals. It was more about reaping the benefits of my hard work.
I eased the Alfa Romeo into the garage and chose to go through the front door even though it would have been easier to go through the garage entrance, but I wanted that experience of fitting the key through the lock and hearing it click. Of course, this wasn’t my first home nor did I think it would be my last. But it marked a milestone in my life. I was moving through my baseball career and the future seemed hopeful. My first year with the Rockies had been a smashing success with my batting average nearing the record-breaking level. My contract had been renewed and my paycheck doubled.
Now, it was time to celebrate.
Lucky for me, my in-house staff had stocked my fridge with single-serving banana cream pies. No one made banana cream pie quite like my grandma, but this brand was a close second. I snatched one up and ventured onto the back porch. The hot tub had been left
