Off The Market by 12 NA's of Christmas, Magan Vernon Page A
Authors: 12 NA's of Christmas, Magan Vernon
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dorm food, but that should have gone away by now.
I saw the familiar blue house with its white picket fence. The old basketball hoop was even still hanging over the garage. It wasn't the same house that Andrew's dad had taken so much pride in, but its shell was still there. I could still see some sparkle left in the broken shutters and knew there had to be someone special that could breathe some life back into the boarded up windows.
I pulled into the driveway, thinking about the last time I was at the Lawson house for Christmas. Andrew had greeted me at the door wearing a white wool sweater and smelling of cinnamon and egg nog. I could still recall the way he smiled down at me with a hint of mischief in his eyes and the cockeyed grin on his face. I remembered pushing a blond curl out of his eyes and the way he snuck in a quick kiss before his mother emerged from behind him, her arms wide open and always welcoming.
But Mrs. Lawson wouldn’t be there today , just me and whoever had the gall to call and request a showing on Christmas Eve. The snow crunched under the tires of my car and I prayed I wouldn't get stuck in the sloped driveway. Luckily the little car plowed through the snow and I was able to park facing the old basketball hoop.
I looked over the garage at the now rusted backboard. It seemed like only yesterday that Andrew stood on the ladder, wearing his new Bulls jersey, forcing me to stand in the driveway to make sure he got it centered over the garage. The backboard was still crooked, just like it always was since I didn't have a keen eye for getting it level. But Andrew didn't move it. He said he loved it just the way it was because it was my version of straight and he loved me.
Love. That was a word I hadn't heard in a long time. I had a brief string of bad dates in college and my mom always tried to set me up on dates with her friends’ or co-workers’ sons, but none of them worked out. None of them had that spark. That thing that made my stomach do somersaults.
I stepped out of the car, shaking the thoughts of my past life out of my head while my heels dug into the freshly fallen snow. I cursed myself for not putting on some sort of winter footwear. It was a holiday after all, so the client couldn't have complained about my footwear when he was the one inconveniencing me.
I walked up the small path way, now lined with broken solar powered lights, to the big white door. Quickly, I swiped my broker card in the realtor lock box. The green light blinked and I pushed open the door.
There hadn't been more than a handful of showings in the year the house had been listed, but I never once showed it. I was always afraid to come back. Afraid it would have the same feeling as it had now. Like I was coming home.
I 'd spent more time in the now faded foyer, underneath the broken chandelier, than I did in my parents’ house. There were prom pictures taken on the grand staircase and nights I spent cuddled with Andrew on the living room couch across from the now dilapidated fireplace.
Mrs. Lawson used to keep the house so nice. She always had candles burning and every single light fixture would shine. The owners after the Lawsons obviously didn't have as much pride in their home. It didn't take long for the bank to foreclose on it and for my real estate company to get tapped to re-sell it. I almost wished I could buy it myself, fix it up and restore it back to its former glory. But I had neither the money nor the time for such things. My life had become my work and without a family of my own there was really no need for the grand four-bedroom house.
A soft knock came at the front door.
"That must be the client. He'd better put in an offer," I muttered, smoothing out my skirt and walking to the front door.
"Hello, I'm —"
I stopped, my mouth still wide open, because standing in the doorway was one of the former residents of the house, Andrew Lawson.
Pleasant Surprise
ETTA
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
I saw the familiar blue house with its white picket fence. The old basketball hoop was even still hanging over the garage. It wasn't the same house that Andrew's dad had taken so much pride in, but its shell was still there. I could still see some sparkle left in the broken shutters and knew there had to be someone special that could breathe some life back into the boarded up windows.
I pulled into the driveway, thinking about the last time I was at the Lawson house for Christmas. Andrew had greeted me at the door wearing a white wool sweater and smelling of cinnamon and egg nog. I could still recall the way he smiled down at me with a hint of mischief in his eyes and the cockeyed grin on his face. I remembered pushing a blond curl out of his eyes and the way he snuck in a quick kiss before his mother emerged from behind him, her arms wide open and always welcoming.
But Mrs. Lawson wouldn’t be there today , just me and whoever had the gall to call and request a showing on Christmas Eve. The snow crunched under the tires of my car and I prayed I wouldn't get stuck in the sloped driveway. Luckily the little car plowed through the snow and I was able to park facing the old basketball hoop.
I looked over the garage at the now rusted backboard. It seemed like only yesterday that Andrew stood on the ladder, wearing his new Bulls jersey, forcing me to stand in the driveway to make sure he got it centered over the garage. The backboard was still crooked, just like it always was since I didn't have a keen eye for getting it level. But Andrew didn't move it. He said he loved it just the way it was because it was my version of straight and he loved me.
Love. That was a word I hadn't heard in a long time. I had a brief string of bad dates in college and my mom always tried to set me up on dates with her friends’ or co-workers’ sons, but none of them worked out. None of them had that spark. That thing that made my stomach do somersaults.
I stepped out of the car, shaking the thoughts of my past life out of my head while my heels dug into the freshly fallen snow. I cursed myself for not putting on some sort of winter footwear. It was a holiday after all, so the client couldn't have complained about my footwear when he was the one inconveniencing me.
I walked up the small path way, now lined with broken solar powered lights, to the big white door. Quickly, I swiped my broker card in the realtor lock box. The green light blinked and I pushed open the door.
There hadn't been more than a handful of showings in the year the house had been listed, but I never once showed it. I was always afraid to come back. Afraid it would have the same feeling as it had now. Like I was coming home.
I 'd spent more time in the now faded foyer, underneath the broken chandelier, than I did in my parents’ house. There were prom pictures taken on the grand staircase and nights I spent cuddled with Andrew on the living room couch across from the now dilapidated fireplace.
Mrs. Lawson used to keep the house so nice. She always had candles burning and every single light fixture would shine. The owners after the Lawsons obviously didn't have as much pride in their home. It didn't take long for the bank to foreclose on it and for my real estate company to get tapped to re-sell it. I almost wished I could buy it myself, fix it up and restore it back to its former glory. But I had neither the money nor the time for such things. My life had become my work and without a family of my own there was really no need for the grand four-bedroom house.
A soft knock came at the front door.
"That must be the client. He'd better put in an offer," I muttered, smoothing out my skirt and walking to the front door.
"Hello, I'm —"
I stopped, my mouth still wide open, because standing in the doorway was one of the former residents of the house, Andrew Lawson.
Pleasant Surprise
ETTA
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
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