“Why didn’t you get along?”

“Because she was an evil little redheaded snot who thought she was too good to talk to me. My parents made me take her to a dance at St. Mary’s once, and she didn’t speak to me the entire night. She brought a book with her, for God’s sake! And she read it the whole time!”

I laughed for the first time all day. “I think I remember that.”

“She also insulted my”—again, he glanced toward the back seat, then cleared his throat—“my manhood.”

“She’s familiar with it?”

“No! That’s the thing. Maybe we used to run around without clothes on or something when we were babies”—Mariah giggled at that—“but definitely not since. Yet she took it upon herself to disparage me in front of a whole group of friends at St. Mary’s—one of whom I later, uh, familiarized—and she told me what Bianca said.” He straightened up in the driver’s seat and held up one finger. “I’d also like to mention that the friend said Bianca was wrong.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the door handle. “Good. So it’s all ancient history. Can we go in now?”

“No! It’s not ancient history. Because the evil, lying redheaded viper moved home from Chicago last year and has proceeded to outbid me on every house I’ve wanted to buy and flip since. She’s ruthless.”

“She’s a realtor?”

“She’s an interior designer, I think.” He smirked. “The only justice is that she’s still about the size of a ten-year-old girl. Her nickname was Tiny, although if I remember correctly, she hated it.”

“I think it’s cute,” said Mariah.

Moretti glared at her. “Well, she isn’t cute. She’s like a killer bee—small and mean. I bet her culo has a stinger in it.”

I shook my head and opened the door. “Come on.”

As we headed up the front walk, I took note of the house’s exterior. It was an old brick farmhouse with a wraparound porch on one side, empty of furniture for the winter and in desperate need of a paint job. But I immediately pictured it with a fresh coat of white and two rocking chairs, or maybe a glider swing, and an emerald lawn stretching out in front of it. It lifted my mood.

We climbed the porch steps, but before we could knock, the door was pulled open by a woman who was definitely not tall, fifty-something Joy Frankel. This woman was our age and short—five feet nothing—with wavy auburn hair that barely skimmed her shoulders and bright blue eyes behind glasses with thick black frames.

“Oh, hello,” she said, smiling at me and then Mariah. Then her eyes fell on Moretti, and recognition flickered. “Enzo. What a surprise.”

“Bianca,” he said stiffly. “In the market for a new house?”

“Oh, you know,” she said airily, tugging on black leather gloves. “I’m always on the lookout for an investment opportunity. What about you?”

“We’re looking for a house.”

“How nice.” She smiled wider, her eyes moving back and forth between Moretti and me. She held out her gloved hand. “I’m an old family friend, Bianca DeRossi.”

“Cole Mitchell,” I said, shaking her hand. “And this is my daughter, Mariah.”

Bianca smiled at her. “What a beautiful name.”

“I like yours too,” Mariah said shyly.

“My mother never mentioned that you got married,” Bianca said to Moretti. “Congratulations.”

Moretti scowled. “We’re not married.”

She patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Enzo. Love is love. You don’t have to be ashamed.”

“I’m not ashamed!” he yelled at her back as she headed down off the porch. “And I’m not in love with Cole!”

Bianca turned around and walked backward for a few steps, a huge smile on her face. “Really, you’re a gorgeous couple. You should come by the house sometime. My parents would love to meet your new family. Best wishes to you both!”

“Go to hell!”

She winked at me. “Nice to meet you, Cole. Congrats on tying the knot—Enzo here is quite a catch. Just ask him.”

I couldn’t help laughing as she walked to her car, but Moretti was seething. “See what I mean?”

“Oh, relax. She was kidding,” I said, wondering if I’d just met the one woman on earth who was immune to Enzo Moretti’s smoldering good looks and charismatic charm.

Joy Frankel appeared in the doorway. “Hello,” she said. “Have you been waiting long? I’m so sorry—I was on the phone. Chuckie just called asking about lunch. I swear, the man is fifty-seven years old and still doesn’t know how to make himself a sandwich. Please come in.”

We entered the front hall, and she held out her hand to me. “Cole, right? Or should I call you Officer Mitchell?”

“Cole is fine,” I said, shaking her hand.

“Enzo Moretti. We spoke on the phone.” Moretti held out his hand. “Cole and I are just friends,” he added quickly.

“How nice.” Joy shook Moretti’s hand and turned to Mariah. “And who’s this young lady?”

“This is my daughter, Mariah,” I said. “We’re the ones looking at the house.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “Let’s have a look around.”

Straight ahead was a staircase; to the left, the living room. It was empty of furniture, and the floor was carpeted in a matted, ugly brown. But there was something about the room I liked—maybe it was the high ceilings or the original wood paneling. Maybe it was the fireplace or the arched entryway into the dining room. This house had character. I could feel it.

“Sorry about the carpet,” Joy said. “But I promise, beneath it is a gorgeous original wood floor just dying to be polished. You can see it if you pull back the carpet a little. Go on, take a look.”

Moretti wandered over to the corner of the room as Joy handed me a spec sheet. “It’s four bedrooms, two full baths upstairs,” she said. “But there’s plenty of room to expand on the first level. You could build a fabulous master suite.”

“Cole. Take a look at this.”

I walked over to where Moretti had peeled back the musty old carpet to reveal the original wood floor. “Oh. Wow.”

“This floor will refinish like a dream,” Moretti said with confidence.

“I agree,” said Joy. “The same floor is in the dining room, but at some point it was covered with linoleum.”

Moretti groaned. “What is wrong with people?”

Joy laughed. “Wait ’til you see the wallpaper in the bedrooms.”

Joy was right—the wallpaper in the bedrooms was ridiculous, and the upstairs carpeting was in the same sad shape as the downstairs. But the rooms were spacious, with high ceilings, big windows, and fairly big closets for an old house.

The master bedroom had a fireplace and its own bathroom, and there was a second full bath off the second-floor hallway. Both baths had black-and-white tiled floors, white tiles halfway up the walls, pedestal sinks, and clawfoot tubs. It was a bit like stepping into a time machine.