More Than Want You (More Than Words 1)

Her grousy attitude is kind of adorable. “All right. I will. It’s so my fault.”

“Thanks. I don’t feel better. What’s my second lesson?”

“Don’t look at what it is. Consider what it could be.” I lead her out the door from the family room onto the lanai. “This place could benefit from a fresh coat of paint. They’re selling it furnished, so that saves money.”

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“A lot of this furniture is really beat up.”

“Smoke and mirrors. Buy some slipcovers, learn to reupholster. Add bright accents. You’d get the most out of this view by taking half the crap out of the crowded space, anyway. Spend the money to replace some of the old windows with an accordion glass door and maximize the view. That’s why vacationers come here, not for the sofa. That other stuff can wait.”

We walk the place one more time, and I give Keeley the more logical breakdown of how this property could be a moneymaker. She’s not having it. In all fairness, when she points out that none of the bedrooms have a view of the water, I can’t refute that. That’s something else customers want. Her realizing that enormous flaw is a bonus.

We hit the next place, this one about three hundred thousand more expensive than the last. It’s got five bedrooms…but only two baths—awkward for guests who don’t know one another. It’s smaller than the last place. Nicer views, sure. But the house is a turquoise-colored cracker box in need of repair with a giant satellite dish in the front yard.

“No.” Keeley doesn’t even want to go inside.

“The house has redeeming qualities,” I argue.

“I don’t care. The dirt road up here was so jarring I don’t even know how many teeth I have left.”

“You’re being stubborn,” I point out.

“You’re being ridiculous. Who puts this giant hunk directly between the house and the beach?” She points to the dish. The existing owners have tried to cover it by planting a bird of paradise…but there’s really no disguising something this ugly. “And it’s so far away from civilization. Is this place even connected to the island’s sewer system?”

“It’s completely off the grid, but you’ve got solar panels and a fresh water well that’s certified. If you’re looking to appeal to green-minded guests—”

“But I have to live here, too, and that’s a lot of hassle. Let’s go.”

With a sigh, I escort her to the car and drive her to the last location on our tour. It’s in Haiku, perched on the side of a cliff. When we pull up, the views are absolutely majestic but…

“How do you get down to the—” Keeley frowns as she looks over the edge. “There is no beach.”

No, just black rocks below, which guests would undoubtedly kill themselves trying to reach. “You’d have to see about building a great pool.”

“I doubt the ground is level enough since this place is built into the side of a mountain. Besides if I’m on vacation, I’ve come to the islands to feel the sand on my feet, to splash the ocean salt on my skin.”

I can’t argue with that. “At your price point, you have to compromise. This house has more than 180 degree views of the ocean.”

We head through the front door. The layout is immediately freaky because we’ve just walked into a disaster.

“Someone call the 1980s. I’m sure they want their kitchen back.” She’s getting tart now. Feisty.

“I’m just the messenger. This place is already close to one point four million. Three bedrooms, two baths, two thousand square feet. And hey, water, electrical, and sewer are part of the bargain. Besides, the kitchen isn’t that bad. Lots of windows. Good view. The marble floor is classic. Gut or paint what you don’t like.”

“Why is the refrigerator on the far side of the room, next to the breakfast table?”

I shrug. “You’re nitpicking because you’re still attached to the first place.”

Keeley doesn’t say anything for a long time. “All right. I am. I’m not sure how to get past that.”

“Time. Perspective. Thinking about what’s really important to you in a property.”

“But it was as if I could see my whole life at that first place, entertaining guests, walking in the sunlight, teaching yoga, raising children…”

Normally, I would pfft that and tell her to get practical. But if Keeley was more practical…she wouldn’t be the woman I know. And want. And oddly I can picture being in that big house. I can imagine living there with her.

Crap, I need to get my head screwed back on straight.

“Lunch?” I ask. “There’s a great fish place not far from here.”

She shakes her head. “I need to get back and study before we start working on…whatever we’re going to work on tonight. Tests begin Monday.”

“Sure.”

I take her home. She’s absolutely silent. I see the pensive thoughts roll across her face. Instead of reminding her of her own sage words—I understand wanting what you want when you want it—I reach across the car to squeeze her hand. She doesn’t stop me. In fact, she squeezes back.

I’m silently celebrating my small victory when we hit my front door. But the moment we enter my condo, she runs into the spare bedroom and shuts herself in. I hear the lock engage. I’m not sure, but I think I hear sobbing ensue, too. I want to comfort her, but I think she needs time to reconcile her dreams with the reality of property value on Maui. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’d tell me to fuck off.

When seven o’clock comes and goes, I still haven’t heard from her. This time is supposed to be mine. We still have so much about Griff to discuss…but I don’t want to be a bastard and add to her burden right now. I order some pizzas from room service in case she gets hungry, then take my laptop out to the lanai.

The view really is spectacular. Being out here clears my head. Even if I don’t have Keeley beside me, I can thank her for the appreciation of my outdoor space. That’s something.

But I’d rather be holding her right now.

CHAPTER NINE

The next morning, Keeley teaches her seniors’ yoga class, then returns. About the time she pops in the door, I receive a frantic call from a client whose neighbor advised them that their investment property sprung a leak and there’s water everywhere. By the time I arrive at the house, located on the other side of the island, it’s flooded. I know the exotic hardwoods are toast, and this will be a major remodel before we can market the property again. I get the emergency cleaning crews out there and deal with the mess the owner can’t manage because he’s half a world away, then I look up. The sun has already set.

I haven’t eaten since seven a.m. and I’m exhausted.

When I open the door to my condo, the smells of Italian greet me. I inhale, so damn glad I don’t have to call someone for mediocre food that takes an hour to arrive.

“Lasagna?” she asks.

“Please.” I grab a beer from the fridge, then notice an apple on the counter. I rarely have produce around the house, and I need to eat something now before I fall over. I bite into the fruit and hold in a moan. When did apples start tasting that good?

“Rough day?” she asks.

“Terrible. You?”

“It was all right. I got in a lot of studying. I feel ready for my tests.”

My logic tells me that’s good. We can spend time this evening discussing my brother and exactly how to trip him up. But I’m so wiped out. It’s unusual for me—I don’t normally like TV—but all I want to do is curl up with Keeley on the sofa and feel her soft body beside me while we watch something mindless.

“That’s good.” I take another bite of the apple as I open my beer and wash it down.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I will be once you feed me. How about you?”

Keeley pauses as if she’s gathering her thoughts. “Yes. I apologize if it seems like I threw a hissy yesterday. I was overwhelmed by how far apart my dream and my pocketbook are. It’s not your fault, and you were trying to show me alternatives, the bright side, other ways to look at this. I was being a brat. I’m sorry.”