“Don’t worry, Mom. I did my research. The house is in great condition, and if I can manage to win it at the auction, I’ll have an incredible amount of equity from the get go.”
“Are you sure you did research?”
Immediately, my eyes rolled of their own accord. I chalked it up to muscle memory but also silently offered up my thanks to the gods above that this was just a phone conversation. No doubt, my mother wouldn’t have appreciated a reminder of how much of a pain in the ass teenage Charlotte used to be.
Sue Hollis hated only three things: eye rolling, orange juice with the pulp—apparently, it isn’t “real” juice—and the fact that she’d visited Dollywood three times without ever actually seeing Dolly Parton in person.
“Yes, I’m one hundred percent certain it’s a good investment,” I answered calmly. I was more like ninety percent sure, but leaving doubt in a conversation with my mother was like leaving evidence at a crime scene. She’d have me in cuffs in no time.
I knew she meant well and only wanted the best for me. It didn’t mean her current line of questioning wasn’t annoying as hell, but her intentions were there.
“When is the auction?”
I glanced at the clock on Nick’s dashboard. “In about thirty minutes. I’m on my way there now.”
“Are you on the phone and driving? That’s so unsafe, Lottie. Just last week, Vilma, you know, from two condos over? Well, she was driving over by the beach, and one of those texters hit her. Made her insurance go up by twenty percent.”
“No,” I answered vaguely. “I’m not talking and driving. And I’m not texting and driving either. And Vilma is legally blind. Are you sure it wasn’t her fault?” Now was not the time to have an in-depth conversation with my mother about my relationship with Nick, and completely covering the topic with a pile of bullshit seemed like the best way to go. The last phone conversation I’d had with her, I’d told her all about him and our new relationship, and that call had lasted a full two hours. It had been when she’d started mentioning weddings and grandchildren that I’d nipped the sucker in the bud and ended the call.
“Who’s driving?” she continued to interrogate, not in the least dissuaded by my insults to a fellow geriatric.
“Nick is driving, Mom.”
“Aww,” she cooed into my ear, and I knew I needed to find an exit route from this phone call stat. “Sounds like things are getting really serious with you guys.”
Cripes. She’s redirecting and heading for the marriage territory again…
“Uh-huh,” I muttered and cringed at the same time, all the while my mind kept shouting, Abort! Abort! Get the hell out of there!
“Have you guys started talking about the future yet?” she asked and then whispered, “Like moving in together or marriage or babies?”
Why did my father have to be golfing right now? I really could have used him as backup.
“What did you say, Mom? Are you still there?” I pretended I hadn’t heard her. Yeah, it was a shit thing to do, but it was all I had.
Nick glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and offered a knowing smirk. “Liar,” he mouthed, and I flipped him the bird for lack of anything better to do. He chuckled while my mother continued to prattle into my ear.
“I said, have you guys started talking—?” she started to ask, but I spoke over her, as if she weren’t there at all.
“Mom? Are you still there?”
“I’m right here, Charlotte,” she answered. “Can you hear me now?”
“Mom? Hello?” I questioned again, but before she started walking all over her house, trying to find the perfect reception spot, I added, “I think our connection is bad. I’ll call you later, okay? Love you, bye!” I clicked end on the call.
Nick tsked under his breath. “You’re such a liar. Even I could hear her through the phone.”
I knew it wasn’t the most daughterly thing to do, but I had an auction to focus on. My mind wasn’t capable of handling a game of twenty questions with my mother.
“I’m nervous,” I excused myself. “My brain couldn’t handle any more chitchat about our relationship with my mom.”
Nick glanced at me out of his periphery as he switched lanes and headed toward the Brooklyn Bridge. “Why are you nervous?”
“Because I’ve never been to an auction before,” I explained. “And God, I really want this house.”
“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” he said and reached out with his hand to pat my thigh reassuringly. “We’re going to do everything we can to get it for you.”
A three-story town house located in Brooklyn, with the easiest commute to Manhattan on the A train, it was everything I needed in a home. Not to mention, the time had come for me to stop renting my shitty apartment and settle down into something that was my own.
I was tired of living in Chinatown, and more than that, I was ready to have my own place, my own home. It was a milestone I’d been saving up for over the past eight years, and finally, I’d reached my goal and found my perfect house.
But first, before I could break out the bottle of celebratory champagne, I needed to go to a sheriff’s auction and put in a bid. And my bid needed to be the winning bid. And somehow, someway, I needed to accomplish both things without bumbling up.
I hadn’t planned on going the auction route to purchase my home, but once I’d found out about this house—a Brooklyn townhouse, on an affluent street, being auctioned off at nearly half the value—the opportunity was unbelievable. Too fucking good to pass up.
And considering how much I truly loved the place, it was crazy stressful.
I’d never been to an auction, especially a sheriff’s auction, and I really didn’t know all of the ins and outs. It was definitely new—and a bit scary—territory for me.
I’d done my research on the house itself, but the auction part? Yeah, I probably should have utilized Google a lot more for that.
Between the nerves and anxiety, I’d decided to drag Nick along. He also didn’t know the first thing about sheriff’s auctions, but being the good boyfriend that he was, he came along for the much-needed moral support.
Once we crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, the drive was surprisingly short and quick by New York standards. Nick parked his SUV—something he used so rarely it only had three thousand miles on it despite being three years old—in the back lot of the government building where the auction was being held and turned off the engine.
“Ready?”
I shook my head, and he chuckled softly.
“It’ll be fine,” he reassured. “Even if you don’t win the auction, at least you’ll have a better idea of what to expect the next time you find a house you love. Although,” he said and glanced at my white knuckles gripping the door handle, “I recommend maybe just sticking with the normal house-buying process in the future.”
I sighed and released my death grip. “It’s just nerve-racking,” I muttered petulantly. “I really love this home, and I really, really, really want it.” Sure, I hadn’t seen more than a few old MLS pictures of the inside, but even if the thing was nearly wrecked, the bones were there. And every woman knew great bone structure was one of the few pieces of beauty it was hella hard to change.
“I know, sweetheart.” He grinned. “And that’s why we need to find the strength to get out of the car and walk inside.”
A laugh escaped my lips at the absurdity of it all. I mean, generally speaking, I wasn’t a nervous kind of person, but I was obviously losing myself to anxiety over this. The tingling sensation in my fingers as blood started to find its path back to my hand was proof of that.
“Let’s go,” Nick urged and hopped out of the driver’s side before I could find a good reason to keep us both in the car.
And I had no other option but to follow his lead when he rounded the front of the SUV and opened the passenger door.
He smiled when, with a scowl on my face, I begrudgingly pushed my legs to the ground and removed myself from my seat.
With a strong arm wrapped around my shoulder, he led us into the main entrance, through the doors, and down the main hallway, until we reached an open door that had a white sheet of paper taped to it. It read, Sheriff’s Auction, in black Sharpie.
We walked inside to find a table filled with opened pizza boxes, trays of cookies, and a selection of soda and bottled water.
Between the food and the haphazard way chairs and tables were arranged in the room, if it weren’t for the sign on the door, I would’ve been convinced we were in the wrong place.
“This is not what I expected,” I whispered to Nick as we walked toward the right side of the room where the sign-in table sat. A voluptuous woman with poofed-out blond hair and a pink lipstick smile sat behind it.
“This is what things look like when the government is in charge,” he teased. “Frankly, I’m surprised there are refreshments at all.”
“Are you here for the auction?” the woman asked, and I nodded. “I need your driver’s license, proof of bank funds, and your information and signature on this sheet of paper,” she added and handed me a clipboard with a ballpoint pen connected to it with a string.
I pulled the needed items out of my purse and set them on the table and then quickly filled out the requested information—name, phone number, current address, that sort of thing.
She reviewed my form and initialed it, before making a copy of my driver’s license information on the small wireless printer sitting beside her laptop. After a few clicks and taps of her fingers across the keypad, she handed me back my license and a packet of papers. “The auction will be starting any minute. Make sure you educate yourself on the information in the packet. It will tell you everything you need to know and do if you win a real estate lot. And feel free to help yourself to the pizza and drinks.”
“Wait…” I glanced around the room and then back at her. “Don’t I get a little fan thingy?”
“Fan thingy?” she questioned with a raised brow.
“You know, the fan thingy that people use to signal their bid,” I explained and even attempted to mime it out for her with my free hand.
“No,” she responded. “Just raise your hand toward the auctioneer if you want to bid on a lot.”
Raise my hand? Seriously?
Well, that was a disappointment. Every movie I’d ever seen with an auction scene, the main characters had the fan thingys. Either Hollywood was lying, or Nick was right about that whole teasing government comment.
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” I muttered, even though I wasn’t the least bit thankful that this auction had no fan thingys.
We made our way to the front of the room and sat down in two empty chairs that faced what I assumed was the auctioneer’s podium. A few people chatted around us while they munched on pepperoni pizza and cookies.
“Not gonna lie,” I whispered, and Nick’s gaze met mine. “When I pictured this auction, pizza boxes and cans of Coca-Cola weren’t in my visuals.”
“So, it’s even better than you expected?” he asked with a sarcastic grin, and I laughed.
“Obviously. I mean, nothing gets you in the mood for an auction like a pizza party. Hell, maybe you should start having pizza parties before brain surgeries.”
He grinned. “Good idea. I’ll bring that idea to the Board on Monday.”
“Good afternoon,” the auctioneer announced into the mic, and both Nick and I redirected our focus to the podium. But, unfortunately, after those first two words, I couldn’t understand a fucking thing the man was saying. The words fell from his lips at such a lightning-quick pace, I couldn’t comprehend a single thing.
My heart started to pound inside my chest as anxiety clamored into my veins.
And the man, well, he kept talking words my brain couldn’t translate quick enough.
Did the auction already start? I wondered silently as I glanced around the room, trying to find some kind of insight into what was happening.
While he continued to speed-talk, someone clicked on the projector, and the giant white screen behind him showed Lot Number One. My house.
Holy hell, was I supposed to bid now?
And seriously, why did auctioneers talk so fucking fast?
Words continued to fly from his lips, and all I could focus on was the picture of my house on the projection screen. I wanted that house so bad. I needed that house. I didn’t want anyone else but me to get that house, goddammit.
What if he was auctioning off my fucking house right now, and I didn’t even realize it?
Panic tripped inside my chest, and my hands to started shake.
I can’t lose this house! my mind shouted, and eventually, anxiety took over.
“Two hundred thousand!” I shouted and raised both of my hands at the same time. “I’m bidding! Two hundred thousand!”
A shocked, howling laugh left Nick’s lips, and the auctioneer paused midsentence to look at me in absolute confusion.
With one strong arm, Nick covered my raised hands and gently pushed them back down to my sides. “The auction hasn’t started yet,” he whispered. “He was just letting everyone know that there was still pizza and cookies in the back.”
“What?” I blurted out. “Did I just bid two hundred thousand on pizza?” I looked at the auctioneer in horror. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, sir. I guess I’m a little nervous.”
The auctioneer chuckled into the mic. “It’s okay, hun,” he said, slow enough for me to understand. “Not the first time that’s happened.”
I wanted to say, “It’s because you talk too goddamn fast!” but bit my tongue. There was no advantage in pissing off the guy who ran the whole show.
Nick wrapped his arm around my shoulder and tucked me into his side as his soft chuckles settled down. “How about if I let you know when it’s time to bid?” he asked, and immediately, I nodded.
“Yes, please,” I whispered. “I can’t understand any-fucking-thing he’s saying. Either he’s talking faster than the speed of light, or I’m just too nervous to focus.”
He smirked and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “I’ll give you the play-by-play, okay?”
God, he really was the best. Supportive. Kind. Caring. And always looking out for me.
How did I get so lucky?
“Thank you.”
“Let’s begin!” The auctioneer tapped his gavel on the podium before starting into his long-winded, nearly musical diatribe of words I still couldn’t comprehend. He could have been selling flying toasters, and I wouldn’t have had a clue.
“Okay, he’s talking about your house,” Nick whispered. “He’s opening up the bidding at two hundred thousand. Go ahead and bid.”
I raised my hand and announced, “Two hundred thousand!”
“Someone behind us just bid two hundred ten thousand. Go ahead and bid again.”
“Two hundred twenty!” I shouted, and the auctioneer nodded his acceptance.
On and on it went like that until the price had climbed to nearly five hundred thousand dollars. Not only was that the cap on the amount of money I’d been able to save for a house over almost my entire working life—and yes, I ate a lot of Ramen—it was also just a fucking scary shit-ton of cash.
“Five hundred thousand,” I yelled, the intensity of my fear of being a broke, well-housed, hooker cutting an edge in my normally smooth voice.
“No one else is bidding. The auctioneer is giving the room a few more seconds to bid…” Nick coached.
“Going once!” The auctioneer shouted, and thankfully, I understood. “Going twice! Sold!” He banged his gavel on the podium.
My eyes went wide with surprise, and I turned in my seat to look at Nick. “Did I get it? Did I get it?”
He nodded. “You got it.”
“Oh my God!” I squealed and all but threw myself into his lap. “I got the house!”
“Good job, Char,” he whispered into my ear before pressing a soft kiss to my lips.
“Thank you,” I whispered back and rubbed my nose against his. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Hot damn, this man made me so happy.
I wanted to keep him around forever.