I said to the handsome man who’d just come strolling up my mother’s front walk. Selling the house had been an absolute nightmare. Not just because the building brought so many memories to the surface, but also because it wasn’t in the best of shape. It was a great house in a wonderful neighborhood. If only I could get just one person to see past all the ugly linoleum, godawful paneling, and circa 70’s shag carpet. Twisting to look over my shoulder, I shot the man—who happened to be well dressed and gorgeous—a quick smile. “But if you give me a minute, I’ll make a quick phone call and then let you in.” “I’d appreciate that. Thanks.” His voice was a low, rich rumble. For some reason, it resonated through my body, and the feeling of familiarity sparked inside me. Did I know this man? Once I had the lock engaged, I click-clacked out to my car, my pinched toes probably blistered, and flounced into the driver’s seat. I dug my phone out of my purse, and studied the strange man who didn’t seem to be a stranger as I called my best friend Jill to let her know I’d be a little late meeting her for lunch.
