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shout. “Look out, that cigar-chomping idiot in the big boat is drifting over into our lane.”
    Hollie maneuvered to avoid the bald-headed driver she’d seen without Noel’s back-seat driving. “My parents were killed in an accident when I was little.”
    â€œAnd you weren’t adopted? I find that hard to believe, with your cute curls and all. You must have been more trouble than you were cute.”
    â€œI could never seem to remember when visiting day was,” she hedged. “When prospective parents came to look us over, I was always missing somehow.”
    â€œMore likely you’d shinnied up a neighborhood fruit tree to steal peaches while everyone was occupied, then sold the peaches to the other kids later.”
    Hollie laughed. “How’d you know?”
    â€œI’m in sales.”
    â€œSo how did you happen to grow up in boarding school?” she asked, as they drove down the street the house was located on.
    â€œMy father was ambassador to Holland. He fell in love with a Dutch girl. They traveled around quite a bit so I was sent to boarding school in The Hague.”
    â€œThat explains the slight accent.”
    â€œYeah,” he agreed. “Come on, Ms. Winslow, let’s find out if you can sell me this house from the inside,” Noel said, seeing he wasn’t going to get a rise out of her.
    A breeze lifted the bow on the holiday wreath on the door as Hollie inserted her key to get them inside the house.
    â€œSign in.” Hollie slid the guest register on the table to him and handed him a pen.
    Since she hadn’t toured the house previously, they toured the place together. It had been professionally decorated, so it showed well. But the personal touches that give a house warmth were lacking. Anyone at all might have lived there. Hollie felt sad for the house. No pictures of loved ones anywhere. No children’s drawings or funny cartoons or silly magnets on the refrigerator door in the kitchen.
    With the exception of the clothes in the closets, the house looked as if it were a display home in one of the new developments nearby.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Hollie asked when they descended the stairs from the second floor.
    â€œYou’re the saleslady—you tell me. Why should I buy this house?”
    â€œIt’s in a good neighborhood, the price is reasonable, it’s low maintenance and you can move in before Christmas,” she said, checking the sheet in her hand about the availability to make sure.
    â€œBut—”
    â€œBut?”
    â€œI hear a but in your voice. Tell me why I shouldn’t buy this house.”
    Hollie strolled to the expanse of windows in the kitchen and looked out over the large yard. The refrigerator kicked on and hummed in the silence between them. Finally she answered. “I don’t think this is the right house for you.” There, it was out—and she was certifiable. She was supposed to be selling him the house, not trying to discourage him from buying it. “This house is sad and deserves a happy family.”
    â€œWhat?” He looked at her, incredulous.
    â€œHey, I don’t like it any more than you do, but you asked me, so I have to tell you. I don’t think you and this house are a good match, no matter how much I’d like to sell it to you and get on with my vacation.”
    â€œThat’s your only reason—this feeling you have about me and the house?”
    She nodded.
    â€œThen let’s write up an offer,” he insisted, going to sit down at the kitchen counter, where she’d left her briefcase. “You did remember to bring an offer form?”
    â€œOf course.”
    She joined him at the counter and withdrew the necessary form from her briefcase.
    â€œWhat do you want to offer on it?” she asked after filling out the standard information on the form.
    â€œLet’s make it twenty thousand under the asking