Page 12 of The Treasure House

He gave me a sour look. “I can’t let you inside that house.” He didn’t sound regretful in the slightest. In fact, he sounded like he was a cop who’d caught me spitting on the sidewalk. “And Gail had no right telling me to give you the key.” The sound of Flo popping the can punctuated his words.

“Are you kidding me?” I was bewildered. “We just drove twelve hours from Pittsburgh. You gave me the directions here.”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “But I didn’t know you were you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” What was wrong with me?

“Oh, this is seriously gross.” Flo made a noise like a cat vomiting as she handed the orange can back to Jake. “Your state has problems.”

“I warned you.” He put it down and grabbed a lemonade from the fridge. “Here. Go drink it out on the picnic tables while I talk to your mom.”

“Please,” Flo scolded him. “Don’t you have manners in Maine?”

“Please,” he added tersely.

“Wait,” I protested as I followed him back out of the kitchen. “I don’t want to talk. I just want the key.”

“Here, take a popsicle too.” Jake slid open an ice chest and pulled a popsicle out for Flo. “You might see some whales if you look out to the bay. There were minkes out there yesterday.”

“Thank you,” Flo said pointedly, raising her eyebrows at him to illustrate that her manners were better than his. “And what’s a minke? Is it like a mermaid?”

“It’s a whale.”

“Oh. Cool.” She headed eagerly for the porch.

“Don’t settle in,” I warned her. “We’re about to go.” Because I was seeing this house come hell or high water. On principle. All my nerves about the state of it had evaporated.

“Look, Mrs. Copeland—” the impossible man began.

“Ms.,” I corrected him, seething. A sexist aging fisherman was one thing, this surfer dude with a superiority complex was another. This man had zero charm. “And you called me Zoe on the phone.”

“Right.” He ran a hand through his salt-tousled hair and pulled the cheap sunglasses off. His eyes were the clear, pale blue-green of marble glass. Faint lines radiated beside his eyes, making it seem for a moment like he was smiling, even though he clearly wasn’t. “Zoe. You don’t want that house.”

“What?” My voice came out louder than I expected. “Excuse me? What is going on here? I’m seriously confused.” I crossed my arms.

“Ah…” He drew a deep breath. “Look. The house is a mess.”

“I know. I saw the photos.” This guy was playing some kind of game, and I wasn’t having it. I wasn’t letting him win.

“Sure. You saw photos. But… in real life, it’s… worse.”

I considered him, trying to control my temper. “I know. That’s why I can afford it,” I said bluntly. “Even then, I don’t understand why there aren’t developers lined up.”

“It’s just…” He made an inarticulate noise. “The realtor didn’t tell me you were this young. I thought you were middle-aged, with a teen. Not, like, a first-time home buyer with a kid. I would have…”

“What? You would have what?”

“It’s a lot,” he said helplessly. “The house. And you’re—”

“Excuse me,” I cut him off. “I don’t see how this is your business. It isn’t even your house.”

He swallowed and turned his head to look up at the ceiling. Eventually, he nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Jake cleared his throat. “I’m just the key guy. I’ll lock up and throw some shoes on and then we’ll go.”

“We’ll go? I thought you were just giving me the key.”

But he’d gone already, padding barefoot off to the kitchen to close up shop.

“What was all that about?” Flo leaned through the open sash window, her mouth red from her popsicle, the open lemonade can in her other hand. She was gleeful with sugar.