All That Sparkles: The Texan Quartet (12 page)

Imogen waited while Elle paid for her shoes and Toby paid for the vase and his toys and then walked them out to Elle’s white, slightly rusty car. “Don’t forget to let me know when your café opens,” she said and watched as they drove out of the parking lot.

“That was a lovely thing to do, Imogen,” Christian said as he put his arm around her.

“It felt so good. Is this how your pro bono work makes you feel?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Come on, we need to lug the rest of these bags inside and then get to your house appointments.”

That’s right. She’d completely forgotten about looking for a place to live.

She smiled.

“Let’s go.”

“So you’re thinking of renting, rather than buying?” Christian asked.

They were on their way to the first property and his question brought Imogen up short. She’d not considered buying anything, though she wasn’t sure why. It made perfect sense. Most people rented because they couldn’t afford to buy, but that wasn’t a problem for her.

If she did buy, it would mean she was definitely not going back to Chateau Fontaine. The chateau was the only home she’d ever known. To leave it behind would be like leaving a part of her behind.

“I’m not sure,” she said slowly.

“I can recommend buying,” he said. “Owning your own place means no one can take it away from you and you’ve got security. Plus if you’re going to pay rent, you might as well use the money to pay off your own mortgage instead.”

She didn’t want to tell him that even if she bought she’d probably not have a mortgage. Her mother had bequeathed her life insurance to Imogen and it had been accruing interest ever since. “I’ll think about it.”

Christian pulled up in front of an apartment complex where there was a sign declaring two apartments available for rent.

They got up and walked into the first.

It was tiny.

The kitchen, living and dining area would fit into her kitchen in the guesthouse and when they’d seen the two bedrooms she realized she’d be lucky to fit a decent-sized bed in either. There definitely wasn’t enough room for her clothes, as her walk-in robe was about the size of the smaller bedroom.

Imogen held a polite conversation with the realtor and then got out of there as fast as possible. She headed for the car.

“Don’t you want to look at the other one?” Christian asked.

She shook her head. “That was the bigger of the two and it’s way too small.”

Christian looked at her as he started the engine. “What size do you want?”

“The living area was fine but I need two bedrooms double the size. I want to set up my sewing room in one of them.”

“Then yes, you definitely need a bigger apartment. What have you got on your list?”

She passed it over to him.

“That one’s the biggest,” he said pointing to one a bit further out of the city than she would have liked. “Maybe we should check if it’s big enough.”

She checked the time. It would be open by the time they arrived. “All right.”

“Have you considered a house?” he asked. “It’s possibly the best option if it’s space you need. You’ve got one hell of a sewing room.”

She did and she wasn’t willing to give it up. If she did start making samples and designs, she’d need all the space she could get. “It seemed a bit pointless if it’s just me, but you might be right.”

They arrived at the next apartment complex. It was quite pretty from the outside, with nicely tended gardens full of roses. They walked upstairs to the first-floor apartment.

This time the living area was much bigger, perhaps the size of her sewing room for the kitchen, dining and living room. The bedrooms were also marginally bigger. She’d be able to get a bed and a bedside table in one of the rooms. Wandering to the other bedroom she pursed her lips. There was no reason she had to use the front rooms as the living room. She could fit a couch and television in the second bedroom and she rarely had people over for dinner so she could get a stool for the kitchen bench and eat her meals there. That would leave the whole front room free to be her sewing room.

She headed out to have a closer look. As she studied the room Christian asked, “What are you thinking?”

She explained her vision to him while the realtor listened in.

“It’ll still be a tight squeeze. You’ll have to leave a lot of your furniture behind,” Christian said.

She waved a hand. “None of the furniture is mine. It came with the house. I’ll have to buy my own anyway.”

Christian’s mouth dropped open.

The realtor, who’d introduced herself as Nancy, spoke up. “You might be better searching for a house,” she said. “You won’t get a bigger apartment than this in this price range and it’s only cheap because of the location so far out of the city. I’ve got some houses for rent that will give you more space.”

Imogen considered it. A house would mean she would have a garden to maintain and as much as she loved the garden at the chateau, she wasn’t sure she had the time to maintain it. But it may also mean she could have the space she needed.

“Can you give me some details?”

“Sure.” She went to her briefcase and took out a few brochures. “This is my last open house today so if you’re interested, I can take you to them afterward.”

“Thank you.” Imogen sat on the couch while Christian asked, “Do you have any houses for sale in the area?” He didn’t look at her, just took the other brochures the woman handed him. He came and sat next to her. At her look, he said, “It’s worth checking it out. There might be a bargain.”

She flicked through the houses for rent and found a couple in a location she’d like to live. They were relatively close to work and also to Piper and Libby’s places. She put them to one side.

“Check out this one.” Christian handed her a brochure and she was amazed by the price. It was so incredibly cheap for a very sought-after neighborhood, again not far from her friends’ places. It was listed as a renovator’s delight, whatever that meant.

“Probably needs a lot of work done to it but if the structure is solid, it could be perfect,” Christian said.

Nancy wandered over. “That one’s just been signed up. I haven’t had a chance to put it on the internet yet.”

“What’s it like?” Imogen asked.

“It’s the quaintest place. A really old two-story house with high ceilings and big rooms, but it’s been left to run down. The old woman who lived there didn’t have any family to help her and didn’t have the finances to fix it herself. From what I was told, she ended up living in about three rooms by the time she died.”

Imogen’s heart went out to the woman. To not have anyone to care for you when you got old and to watch your house go to pieces would have been awful. Is that why her father was so reluctant to let her go?

“Can we view these two?” Imogen asked holding up one rental and one to purchase. She’d be foolish not to consider buying at the price.

“Absolutely. I’ll make some calls now.”

Within ten minutes Nancy had everything organized and was closing up the apartment.

Imogen fidgeted in her seat on the drive over to the first house, the one which was available to rent.

“Just because you’re looking at it, doesn’t mean you have to take it,” Christian said. He reached out to still her hands. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

Little did he know. The last time she’d talked about moving out was after high school and she and Piper were going to share an apartment together. Piper was heading off to study journalism and Imogen was starting full-time work at Tour de Force. They’d been incredibly excited about the adventure ahead of them.

When her father had found out about their plans he’d been devastated. He’d given her the mother of all guilt trips about her not loving him, and abandoning him at the first possible opportunity. It was hard to be excited about houses when her father was already upset with her. Would this be the last straw?

Christian parked outside the first house and Imogen examined it. There was nothing special about the outside. The garden bed was sparse and the brick-and-tile house looked like any 1980s project build. She got out and followed Nancy up the path to the front door. Imogen listened as the realtor gave her spiel about the house, describing the features and the nearby amenities. Then she left them to look around.

It was much bigger than the apartment. It had three bedrooms, though none of them overly large, a family bathroom and a separate dining room and living room. There was more than enough room here for her sewing things and for her wardrobe and bedroom.

So why wasn’t she enthusiastic?

She walked out the back to find an unmown lawn and a few plants in dire need of TLC.

“Thoughts?” Christian asked.

“It’s big enough,” she said.

“But?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really feel anything for it. Should I?”

Christian took her hand. “You’re going to be coming back to this place every night. You want it to be a place you feel comfortable and happy.”

It made sense. She loved coming home to her guesthouse and not because it was still part of Chateau Fontaine. It was beautiful and it felt like it was hers.

This was neither.

Imogen walked inside and smiled at Nancy. “May we view the other house now?”

“Sure, honey. Why don’t you wait outside while I lock up?”

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the ‘renovator’s delight’. As Christian pulled up, Imogen got her first look at the house and gasped. The paint was peeling on the porch and the wood siding and garden clearly hadn’t been touched in decades but the house itself had character. It was two-story and eerily like one of those houses Hollywood always depicted as the witch’s house in children’s movies: wooden structure, small porch, big windows, pointy roof, almost falling apart.

She loved it.

Christian chuckled. “That’s more like it.”

She grinned at him and hurried up the driveway to the house. Nancy stopped them before they went inside. “The inside hasn’t been cleaned yet. The estate has only cleared out the furniture so it’s a bit of a mess. Look beyond the dust and the mold.”

Imogen nodded, eager to get inside.

There was a long hallway running down the center of the house and a staircase leading up to the next level. The white paint was yellowed with age and flaking in some places, but everything looked to be solid underneath the grime.

Trying to calm her excitement, she grabbed hold of Christian’s hand and made her way through the house.

There was both a formal dining room and a formal living room. The kitchen was large and light, though it had appliances from the 1950s.

On the second level there were watermarks on the ceiling where there must have been a leak at some stage. In all, it had five bedrooms and two decent-sized bathrooms, even if one was covered in mold.

Outside there was a huge magnolia tree and Imogen inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers. She could picture a swing underneath the tree, could see herself pottering in the garden, bringing it back to its original glory.

She walked out on to what had been the lawn and turned to Christian. “What do you think?” She needed a second opinion from someone who wasn’t as caught up in love with it as she was.

“It needs a lot of work,” he said. “Some of it might be cosmetic but you’d want to get it checked by a builder to make sure there’s nothing structurally wrong.”

He was right. No matter how much she loved it, there was no point buying a house that might need more work than it was worth.

Even if she could afford it.

She had enough money to purchase it and do the renovations without having to delay her own label – if she ever decided to go ahead with that plan.

Damn, she wanted it. For the first time in her life she
really
wanted something. Something she could call her own. Something her father had no control over. Something just for her.

“I love it,” she confessed.

“I know.” He chuckled. “You really need to work on your poker face, Imi. Nancy’s probably ringing up the sale as we speak.”

“I need to be sensible about it,” she said, more talking to herself than Christian. “I need to get a builder to check like you said.”

“I’ll give George’s dad, Hank, a call. He’s a builder.”

Imogen spun around to him. Was it too much to ask for him to come out on a weekend? “Do you think he’d come now?”

Christian smiled. “I’ll ask.” He got out his cell phone and made the call. Too nervous and excited to stand still she walked deeper into the garden and discovered a lemon tree and an orange tree laden with fruit. She could make iced lemon tea and sit out on her porch and survey her garden. She could
see
herself here.

“He’s on his way,” Christian called. “I caught him on his way home from the shops. Should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

Imogen flung her arms around him and squeezed tightly. “Thank you.” She kissed him quickly, but he held on, taking it deeper.

Breathless, she stepped back when he let her go.

“You’re beautiful, Imi. I love the way your face lights up when you’re excited about something.”

Imogen’s heart thudded louder in her chest. She gazed up at him, saw the honesty in his blue eyes. She could stay in this moment, looking at him, and she could be happy.

The depth of her emotion worried her.

The back screen door banged shut and Imogen blinked, breaking the moment. It was Nancy. “What do you think?” she asked.

Before Imogen could respond, Christian said, “It needs quite a lot of work. I’ve rung a builder friend who’s going to come around and check if it’s still structurally sound.”

The realtor frowned and asked Imogen, “What about you?”

Christian squeezed her hand and she remembered she was supposed to put on a poker face. “It’s very quaint. I’m a little worried about the mold. That can be difficult to get rid of, can’t it?” She had no idea but it sounded like a good thing to say.

They walked inside to wait for Hank and it didn’t take him long to arrive. Imogen followed him from room to room as he checked the house, prodding here and there, getting down on his hands and knees to check something and then getting up. At one stage Imogen almost tripped over him in her eagerness to watch what he was doing.

Hank laughed. “Imogen, a little space, please.”

“Sorry.” She backed off, glad Christian was keeping Nancy busy while they went through the house again.

“Where’s the laundry?” Hank asked.

Imogen glanced around. She hadn’t noticed a laundry in the house.

“The laundry is in the outside building,” Nancy said and pointed to a shed to the right of the back door.

Imogen hadn’t realized the building was part of the property. She wandered over to go through it.

It was bigger than it appeared on the outside and had obviously been used as a shed at some stage recently because it smelled of oil and manure. In one corner was a trough and power points for a washing machine and dryer.