Stormy Surrender - By Nicole Andrews Moore Page 0,14
think I like that.” She smiled and held out her hand once more. She didn’t know what made her do it, it was so unlike her. “Nice to meet you, Joey. I’m Marti.” And with that she turned and sauntered out the front door and down the steps. It was only as she reached the driveway that her self-satisfied smile had faltered. Caught up in the moment, she forgot she needed directions. Too embarrassed to return, she set out on her own.
Had she been asked, she would have had to struggle to explain what had made her behave as she had. Perhaps the south was changing her already. She shook her head to dismiss that notion. Marti found herself heading towards the gazebo with no plan, and no idea what she was doing. She chastised herself. She was a married woman who had just had a momentary lust for a handsome man. No big deal, right? Wrong. She had felt more for that stranger in those few moments than she had for her husband in the last several years, or maybe even ever. There was no denying that had been powerful, but she had to dismiss it and focus on her future. Joey would clearly be a distraction.
It was a gorgeous December morning. For the first time, she understood what Carolina blue was. The clear sky was a shade she could only have imagined in the past. There was still grass, not as green and vibrant as it was in the spring and summer no doubt, but at least it wasn’t brown and patchy or covered in a thick layer of snow, mud, and ice like the grass was back in Vermont. She sighed, a sound of pure bliss. And that’s when she realized she had found her destination: a realty office.
She quickly glanced in both directions before she crossed the street. Posted in the window were some of the listings offered in the area. Some of the homes in the outskirts of the town were more contemporary, and therefore easily dismissed. She would know her house the moment she found it. There were others that were older, but completely refurbished. She frowned at that idea. She really wanted something she could put her mark on, something she could make her own. Nothing in the window seemed right.
Turning to walk away, Marti paused when a woman walked out of the realty office and stopped her. “I can see you have very discriminating tastes,” the woman explained. “I watched your reaction.” She nodded to the postings as explanation. “I’m Deborah. Why don’t you come in and give me a chance to help you find your dream home.”
Chuckling, Marti smiled. “I’m not sure you’d understand my idea of a dream home,” she said.
Giving her a reassuring smile, Deborah coaxed her through the door and into a worn leather chair next to a large old wooden desk. “Honey, you’d be surprised what I understand.” She shook her head.
Tilting her head at the comment, Marti studied Deborah. She was a beautiful older woman, silvery blonde hair, tall, thin, and tan. She was stylish in a way Marti only dreamed of being. And, clearly, she could apply makeup perfectly. At the same time, as she studied the woman, she could tell that she carried a heavy burden, maybe several. Mind resolved, she threw back her shoulders and held out her hand, “I’m sorry. I never introduced myself.” She smiled widely. “I’m Martha, but some people call me Marti.” Well, it was partially true. After the meeting, she was certain that Keely would be calling her Marti now, too.
Deborah reclined in her chair with a friendly smile on her face. “So, Marti, tell me about your dream house.” She reached for a pad and pen to take some notes.
“Well,” Marti began, trying to decide how to describe precisely what she was looking for.
“I guess I want a fixer-upper.” She watched as Deborah nodded and wrote down what she said as she continued. “I want something old and big, with a porch. And I want a yard that’s large enough for me to have flowers and vegetables and even a pool.” Her eyes squinted as though she was imagining it as she spoke. “Inside, I want fireplaces, plural. I’d love for all the bedrooms to be together, too. Oh, and some nice high ceilings, big windows, some architectural details. I love all the things that so many of the new cookie-cutter homes lack.” She sighed. “Tough fit,