Chapter Six
“What were you doing up in a tree?” Jonathan asks, sounding more than a little concerned for my sanity.
“I was rescuing my neighbor’s butthead cat,” I answer while indicating that he should follow me into the house. Once I turn around to shut the door behind him, I nearly gasp out loud when I get my first in-person close-up candlelit look of him. Holy heck, Jonathan’s photos don’t do him justice. This man looks like a god in a Marvel movie.
He’s way taller than me, I’m guessing well over six feet, and his shoulders are nearly as wide as the door—I may be exaggerating slightly, but even still, wow!
“Did you get him?” he asks.
I temporarily lose all cognitive ability. “Get who?” How is it possible for someone to be as good looking as this guy? He smells good, too. I have to force myself not to lean in and sniff him.
“The cat.” The look on his face suggests he might be about to cut and run.
“I threw my shoes at him and he jumped down. Mrs. Feldman took him inside before I could ask her to retrieve my sneakers.”
Nodding his head like he’s deciding I might be a candidate for Bedlam, he says, “So, you’re Emily Hargrove.”
“Yup. And you’re Jonathan Silver. Should we get started?” I’m not a super big fan of inane small talk, but in this instance, it’s giving me some time to try to settle down from the shock of my new client.
As I lead the way into my living room, Jonathan asks, “What would you like to know about me?”
“First of all, would you like a glass of wine?” I ask him.
“I’m good. It’s practically morning in London, where I’ve been all week. Wine doesn’t sound very good, but I’ll take a water if you have it.”
I hurry into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle from the refrigerator. When I turn around and see that he’s behind me, I’m struck dumb by the halo of gold light that radiates outward from him to encompass the whole room around him. That usually doesn’t happen until I start showing my clients houses. What in the heck is going on?
“Are you okay?” Jonathan asks.
Handing him the water, I instruct, “Follow me.” Then I lead the way back into the living room where I sit down on the couch before tucking my feet under a cashmere throw. “Why did you contact me again?”
“I already told you, I’m ready to settle down and your services came highly recommended. You’re a little odder than I expected.” He’s staring at me like I’m another species.
Distracted by how his aura has now taken over my living room, I ask, “You expected me to be odd?” I can’t help being slightly offended. Though in reality, he hasn’t seen anything yet.
He tips his head back and forth. “Maybe not odd so much as different. You have to admit, you don’t provide a normal kind of service.”
“I’ll give you that. But seriously, Jonathan, if you really want to do this, you have to keep an open mind.”
“I will.” He’s back to sounding cautious.
“I’m going to level with you, so if you want to walk away, you can. It’s not like I’ve put any real energy into your case yet.”
“Level with me how?” His eyes dart to the front door.
“Things are happening differently with you.” I hurry to add, “This process always involves me seeing auras, first around my client and then around the house they are meant to buy. I already see your aura and inexplicably it’s blending into the aura of my house.” I drop the bomb. “I think you’re supposed to live here.”
Jonathan releases a great, big, boisterous guffaw that has him doubling over. When he catches his breath, he says, “You’re funny, you know that?”
“I’m not joking,” I tell him. “This is a highly peculiar situation.”
“Uh, yeah. Listen, Emily, my current house has eight bedrooms and twelve bathrooms. I have a pool, a movie theater that seats twenty, and two tennis courts. You can’t really expect me to move in here?” He curls his lip like he’s just smelled bad cheese.
“Why, you arrogant …” a slew of unprofessional words pops into my mind. Luckily, I stop before I say any of them. Instead, I go with, “I have a perfectly lovely home!”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says dismissively. “But I stay in suites bigger than this when I’m traveling.”
“Look Jonathan, I’m just telling it like I see it. Personally, I can’t see you in this house either, but my gift will put you in the right neighborhood to find love, and once you do, I will be happy to show you the biggest fancy-pants houses your heart desires. Believe me, the commission will be a lot bigger than it would be for my place.”
“You’re telling me you would sell me your townhouse just like that?”
I shrug. “I never thought I was meant to live here forever, and while I don’t particularly like the idea of moving right now, if I’m to respect my gift, then I guess I’ll have to.” In truth, I can’t believe I’m actually considering it.
Jonathan starts pacing in front of the fire like a caged jungle cat. I actually see him pinch his arm like he’s trying to ascertain the reality of this situation. Oh, it’s real, buddy.
“I need to go home and get some sleep,” he finally says. “I’ll think about what you said and then I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.”
“Don’t take too long. If you’re on board, then I need to start looking for a place.”
He shakes his head, flings his hands up in front of him like he’s going to start singing, “Stop in the Name of Love,” and sighs. Then he walks toward my front door. Geez, dramatic much?
I follow behind, because well, it’s my house and it seems like the polite and professional thing to do. Even though I want to give him a good kick on his way out.
Truth be told, this is throwing me as much as it is him. Yeah, he loses ten or twenty thousand square feet for a short time, but I have to find a new house entirely. You’d think he’d be more sympathetic.
Opening the door, Jonathan announces, “I should probably say it was nice to meet you.”
“Are you saying that?” This man is a real piece of work.
“No.” Don’t let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya, buddy. He seems to rethink his rudeness and hurries to add, “I mean yes. Thank you for your time.”
I’m not feeling the warm fuzzies. It’s not like I want him to throw his arms around me in gratitude or anything, but he sounds a little too formal for a person considering moving into my house.
As I push him across the threshold, a flash of surprise registers on his features. I shut the door in his face. If he does believe me and buys my townhouse, good luck to him finding love with an attitude like that.
Back in my living room I practically eat the whole charcuterie platter by myself. I drink two glasses of wine to wash it down, then lay in bed wide awake most of the night thinking about where in the heck I’m going to move if Jonathan takes me up on my offer.
After what feels like hours, I finally get drowsy. My last conscious thought is that maybe I should tell him to get a new realtor. That way my life doesn’t have to be disrupted at all and I can just move on to the next client like I never knew who Jonathan Silver was.
While I should feel empowered by this thought, I’m not. I know somewhere deep in my bones that if I don’t honor my gift, I’ll lose it.