Everything Changes (Creek Canyon #3) - Catherine Bybee Page 0,22

like this, they’re looking for more space.”

“More space means less profit.”

“I know.” She lifted a hand in the air. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about this community, it’s that change comes slow. Maybe not as slow as mid-Texas, but slower than, say, the valley. Dividing these lots up will have to go before the city council.”

“Our team didn’t think that was going to stop anything.”

“It won’t stop. But if you don’t want to get tied up, and that’s why you wanted this meeting today, you come in with a compromise plan if in fact there is pushback on lot size. Ask for the world, but be prepared to scale it back. Unless you want to be attending city council meetings for the next two years.”

Dameon stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket and lifted his face to the sky. “We don’t want that either.” The first droplets of rain started to fall. “I have a set of plans in the truck I’d like you to take a look at,” he said.

“Okay.”

They picked up their pace as they walked to the cars.

It didn’t take long for Grace’s hair to turn to wet curls.

He grabbed the plans out of the truck and fiddled with a set of keys as he attempted to find the right one for the bolted chain-link fence.

“Let me hold that,” she said, taking the tube with the plans from under his arm.

By the fourth key, the rain was taking a steady beat.

Grace pulled up her collar to try and keep dry.

Finally, Dameon sprung the lock free, and the two of them half jogged to the front porch of the house.

She shook off the water and waited while Dameon repeated the process to find the correct key for the front door.

Once inside, they both did their best impression of a shaking dog.

Grace wasn’t sure who laughed first, him or her.

Dameon stopped laughing and stared at her. The kind of look that was going to be followed by something that shouldn’t be said, or happen.

She turned around and took in the space. Seventies construction with low popcorn ceilings and orangeish carpet that should have been put out of its misery twenty years ago. Someone had left a couch in the middle of the room that reminded her of Grandma Rose’s motif. Brown flowers and dark green accents. “This is perfectly awful,” Grace said, looking at the sofa.

“My mother would love it,” Dameon said from behind her.

“I thought the same thing about my grandmother.”

The room opened to a kitchen that had a large enough counter to spread out the plans. “This will work.” Grace opened the canister and removed Dameon’s drawings.

He walked to the window and pulled open the blinds to let some light in the room. “I should have kept the power on,” he said.

“And encourage squatters?”

He moved to the sink and turned the faucet. Nothing happened. “This is as good a space as any to house the construction office in the first phase.” As he spoke, he opened cabinets and walked through the room.

“Is this the first time you’ve been here?”

“Yup.” He walked down the narrow hall.

Grace found herself following him. “How does anyone do that?”

“Do what?”

“Buy a house without seeing it?” She knew it happened. But she’d never felt at liberty to ask someone like Dameon how they did it.

“We bought the land. The house is incidental.” He looked above his head and then opened a closet door in the empty room. “And most of the time, they’re not in this good of shape.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. This was a repo. The owners defaulted on the loan. It went to the bank. Banks hate owning real estate. Most never recouped after the housing market crashed.”

“So you came in and bought it sight unseen.”

“The land value out here is cheap. Once we’re done with it, it will be worth money again. I know the existing neighbors are going to voice opposition, but chances are my PR department will tell them the facts about how we’re going to add value to their homes.” He skirted past her in the narrow hall and opened another door. “Ohhh,” he said, looking inside.

“What?” Grace ducked her head through the doorway. A king-size bed sat in the middle of the room. There wasn’t any bedding covering the stain-filled mattress. She turned her nose.

“Do you ever look at a bed in an old house and wonder what stories it can tell you?”

She realized she was standing entirely too close to the man when she

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