NYCM Prompts:
Genre: Romantic Comedy | Location: A rumpus room | Object: A wafer
[Round 3: 2nd place; progressed to Final]
Synopsis: A realtor discovers more than she anticipated while hosting viewings of an open house.
“I can’t believe you didn’t think this was a problem.”
“Are you kidding me?” Mason, my younger brother, demands. “Look at this room!”
I snort. This ‘room’ is nothing more than dead, dusty space. It should be a rumpus room – and was designed as such – but in a house that hasn’t had proper maintenance, it’s a disaster.
“It needs to be bricked up.” I sniff the air, picking out the unmistakable scent of musty mouse urine. I now understand why 870 North Hillside Street has been listed with our family-run realtor business for over a year. “How on earth did you expect to sell this?”
“Come on, Roxie.” There’s a note of desperation in his voice and my heart squeezes. “I know I messed up. That’s why I asked for your help.”
He needs a miracle but I don’t say that. “Alright, alright,” I sigh. “Open house starts in an hour. You need to fancy this room up somehow.”
“That’s the beauty of a rumpus room!” He brightens at once. “Variety of purposes. All I have to do is reveal the possibilities.”
I can feel my temple begin to throb. “Fine, you reveal the possibilities; I’ll sell them.”
Mason grins. “You won’t regret it!”
***
Funny what a renewed sense of purpose can do. Within the hour, I stand in the newly cleaned and inventively furnished rumpus room. I hate to admit it but Mason did a good job. Just enough décor to suggest many uses: playroom, media room, games room. He even had time to put a plate of vanilla wafers on a side table by the door, warmed in a neighbour’s microwave. The sweet scent wafts through the room, masking the lingering whiff of mice.
A creak on the stairs makes me turn. I plaster on a fake smile in anticipation of a prospective buyer. But the sight of scuffed work boots descending into view dashes my hopes. A lookie-loo, or LL for short. All nosiness with no intention of buying.
“Hi.” The owner of the boots comes into full view. Well, at least he’s handsome. He flashes a crooked smile, shoving his hands into his pockets as he steps into the room, eyeing the surroundings. “Um, good space.”
“It really is,” I try to enthuse. Maybe I can use LL to practice my sales pitch so this exchange isn’t a complete waste of time. “If you look just to your right—” My gaze sweeps over his shoulder and the words die in my throat.
The wafers. My eyes widen in horror. On the edge of the plate, sitting as bold as you like, is a mouse. Bright eyes, twitchy nose, long tail. Definitely a mouse.
What would any self-respecting realtor who badly needs a sale do? “Left!” I shrill. “Look to your left!” I lunge towards the plate in the hopes of scaring off the rodent. Except my high heels catch in the cheap carpet and I crash into LL.
With an oomf, he staggers back, his arms instinctively curving around me. I squeak, much like said mouse, paralysed by sheer mortification. At least LL has nice eyes. Even if they are currently hooded under a guarded frown.
“I am so sorry,” I babble, still entangled in his arms. “I, um…” My mind races. How to explain this? Only the truth will do. “I saw a mouse.”
“A mouse?” He repeats, holding my gaze. The frown eases a little. “That’s a bit of a problem when selling a house.”
“It really is.” I can’t help but laugh. At his response, at my reaction, at the sheer absurdity of this entire situation. Clearing my throat, I straighten, smoothing down my trouser suit. “I was trying to scare it off. Not throw myself into your arms.”
He arches a brow. “I see.” Then the corners of his eyes crinkle, just a little. “Pity.” He makes to half-turn, speaking as he does so. “It’s probably because of these—” He cuts off.
Peering around him, I glimpse the mouse still perched on the plate. LL and I stare at it; it blinks at us.
Mason’s voice filters down the stairs, clearly in the middle of a tour. Panic sets in.
“Shoo!” I hiss at the mouse, flapping my hands at it. “Go away!”
With a lazy flick of its tail, the mouse turns and scampers out of sight just as Mason arrives with a couple in tow. Deftly, LL snatches up the plate and hides it behind his back, smiling benignly at the couple.
Mason flicks his gaze between both of us but doesn’t falter in his pitch. “This space is just full of possibilities,” he declares, moving further into the room. The couple dutifully follow.
LL sneaks the plate into my hands. “You should probably get rid of these,” he murmurs.
“Definitely.” I let out a deep exhale.
We make a swift exit. Only once the wafers are dumped in the trash do I face him again. A smile dances across his face, his eyes bright with amusement.
“So, how might I go about making an offer?”
I stare at him, incredulous. “You want to buy the house?” He’s a LL!
“Oh.” Colour rises in his cheeks. “I wasn’t, um…”
Realisation hits me. I snatch a soft laugh before pulling out a business card from my pocket. “Here. My details.” I gesture vaguely at the card. “So we can arrange to meet.”
LL shifts his weight between his feet but his lips curve into a small hopeful smile. “Over dinner?”
“Yes,” I agree. “To… find out more.” I exchange a knowing glance with him. “About the house.”
“About the house.” He repeats, laughter warming his voice. He reaches into his back pocket and hands me a business card of his own. “In the meantime, you might find this useful.”
I stare down at the information for a long moment. A snort escapes me. Luke Looes: Pest Control.
I don’t believe this is going to be a problem.
C.A. Raine 