Stef Ann Holm by Lucy Back (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

kitchen, he crossed terra-cotta tile that felt cool, yet good, after a hot shower. He didn’t have a lot of clutter on the countertop. The large range, with its professional hood and stovetop grill were barely ever used. There was a cook island with a black-and-white-speckled marble top. He usually tossed his mail on the surface, and there it sat until he was ready to open it and pay a few bills or answer letters.

He still got fan mail diverted to his P.O. box. Technically, he was supposed to go to the Timberline post office and collect his mail, since the Knolls didn’t have rural mail delivery. But Drew had made a deal with the postmaster—he got delivery to his home in trade for free home plate tickets to a Dodgers’ game for anyone working at the post office and taking a vacation to Los Angeles.

There wasn’t a whole lot Drew Tolman didn’t get, and damn if he wasn’t aware he could get away with most anything. He knew he had a way about him, but he didn’t think he abused anyone. He did a lot for charities, hosted events at no charge. He made anonymous donations to causes he felt worthy—the local city center was one of them. The town had been short a few thousand to put in a fountain and he’d taken care of it.

He didn’t need or want any recognition. He liked to do things for the sake of doing them. It made him feel good.

He stopped at the chef-size, stainless steel refrigerator with its two double-wide doors, took out the milk carton and drank from the plastic spout. The icy-cold liquid coated his parched throat. He’d been slugging balls before he came in to shower.

He only bought skim milk. Hated homogenized. It tasted like cream.

Glancing at the clock in the library off the kitchen, he noted he had fifteen minutes to get dressed.

His cell phone rang with a basic ring tone that echoed off the cold countertop where he’d left it. He’d finally had its settings changed. When he was at the phone store, he’d decided to add Mackenzie to his plan. He’d overnighted her the new cell, then had the clerk program his phone to play Kelly Clarkson’s “Since You’ve Been Gone” whenever her number was incoming.

He’d asked Lynette what Mackenzie’s favorite song was, and she’d said Mackenzie had just bought the Clarkson CD. Drew had checked it out, found that song on the playlist, and figured it was the perfect choice for his daughter’s ring tone—considering he had been gone.

“Tolman,” he said into the receiver.

“Drew, it’s Jacquie.”

He’d spoken to Jacquie twice since the breakup, but had seen her only once. She’d shown him some investment properties just before they’d parted ways, and he’d opted to buy one in Hailey. He saw no reason to get a different Realtor to complete the transaction, so he’d had Jacquie do so.

Their conversations started out strained, but always ended up a little more loose by the time they were ready to hang up. He didn’t want her out of his life completely. Three years was a long time to throw away without even salvaging a friendship.

Since they’d broken up, he’d owned up to the fact that he had to take partial blame. He’d even mentioned failing the relationship by taking his heart out of it the last time he and Jacquie had talked on the phone—only she didn’t want to discuss it. Just the same, he’d said he was sorry.

Drew didn’t hate anyone, couldn’t see himself never talking to Jacquie again. Polite exchanges would be inevitable. The town was small. They would run into one another.

“Hey, Jacquie.”

Her raspy voice was seasoned, professional, as she continued. He knew her well enough to know it was an automatic response. “I have the counteroffer from the owners on Bear Creek. They made one minor change regarding the closing date, but I don’t see it as a problem.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

Muted noise sounded on her end, as if she’d tucked the phone to her ear to read through the legal documents. “They’re asking for a forty-five day escrow rather than the thirty you proposed. Oh, and comps came in higher than the asking price.” She gave the Jacquie laugh, the one he recognized as a marketing strategy. “So you’ve already made money.”

“That’s cool.”

She exhaled, obviously smoking a cigarette. “You’re probably the only person I know who can be so indifferent about an extra twenty grand in your pocket.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s true. I’m thinking about how I’m going to turn over the property and make even more money off it.”

“I should have known.” Then she must have smiled, because her tone changed. “So I’ll need you to sign the revised offer. I have to present it to the agent first thing in the morning, and this has to be taken care of a-sap.” She paused, almost hesitant. “I was hoping you’d be home tonight so I can stop by and get your signature.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Good.” She audibly sighed. “I’m still at my office, tying up a few loose ends for some other people, and I shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Whenever.”

“Okay. Good.”

The line went quiet, and Drew stared out the back windows to the expanse of green grass, tall trees and a familiar mallard duck walking up to his patio.

“How’re you doing?” he finally asked.

“Busy,” she responded lightly, casually, with no undertones of emotion. “Summer really heats up.”

For a flicker of a second he thought about how her slender body heated up when he’d kissed her, made love to her. But the thought was gone before he could remotely grasp it, or visualize her naked, or even remember what her mouth tasted like.

They talked a few minutes longer, then Drew’s doorbell rang.

“Oh, shit! I forgot something. Jacquie, I gotta go.” He clicked off the phone, tossed it to the counter and strode to the front door, still wearing his towel.

He hadn’t planned on doing this, and he realized how it would look.