Treasured by Thursday

While the two of them walked around the guest house of the forth property, Hunter removed his cell phone and pulled up a list of homes Tiffany had sent him. He passed over several potential homes based on the things he’d heard Gabi say on their tours.

Hunter sent two listings to Ms. Fortier on a text message.

He noticed her remove her phone from her pocket and glance in his direction.

Hunter placed a finger in front of his lips and the real estate agent grinned.

Gabi joined him outside the front of the house and shrugged. “Looks like you wasted your time today after all.”

“The day’s not over.”

“Josie said she had four listings to show me. This is the forth.” Gabi’s smug smile made him want her to eat her words.

Ms. Fortier locked the door behind her. “Looks like another opportunity is just around the corner. Do you have time for one . . . maybe two more, Mr. Blackwell?”

Gabi frowned.

Hunter smiled. “Of course.”

Silence filled his car as they drove a short distance away. The ornate iron gates were set alongside ten-foot hedges and hundred-year-old trees. Interlocking pavers funneled them up a slight incline until the pavement spilled into a circular drive with a fountain in the center.

Gabi’s tiny gasp had him watching her from behind his sunglasses.

He took a hunch and ran with it. Gabi’s Italian heritage and years of living on her brother’s resort island told him a few things about his wife.

Like with the other homes, Hunter stood back and observed.

Gabi ran her hand along the dark wood of the double front doors. The arched entry sat along a deep porch that looked to wrap around the entire house. One singular curving stairway sat at the far end of the large foyer. Dark wood and warm gold and tan walls looked like the cracking plaster in Rome but was a complete finish Hunter knew took at least ten layers to complete.

“Whoa.” Gabi seemed to forget to hold her emotions aside as she gawked at the thirty-foot ceiling.

Unlike the other homes, this one had furnishings staged to sell the house. Perfectly matched sofas filled the huge living room, oversize candles sat on the hearth of a fireplace a small child could stand up in.

Ms. Fortier read from her phone and talked about the home’s qualities, but from where Hunter stood, Gabi wasn’t listening. She walked through the living room and into the kitchen. “Oh, my.” She walked over to the professional stove and ran her delicate fingers over a faucet. “Do you know what this is?” she asked him.

“I don’t cook.”

“It’s a pot filler. For pasta.”

She opened the side-by-side Sub-Zero refrigerator. The light went on, displaying a case of bottled water . . . further evidence that the home wasn’t occupied. Through the eat-in kitchen sat a dining room, a butler’s pantry, and an open formal dining room. Several sets of double doors opened into a loggia that expanded the living space to twice the size of the inside space.

Gabi walked through the doors and muttered something about the fireplace and furnishings.

By the time they were upstairs and into the master bedroom, Hunter knew she’d found the right house. Like a child in a candy store, she giggled when she saw the size of the tub and shower. Iron accents and rustic colors were obviously Gabi’s personal taste. The upstairs balcony looked down on the yard, the pool . . . the massive space below.

When they moved back downstairs, Ms. Fortier opened doors and poked around the spaces they’d yet to explore.

“You like it,” Hunter said close to her ear.

“It’s . . . it’s too much.”

He grinned and turned when Ms. Fortier called them over. “You have to see this.”

Gabi had a spring in her step as they followed the real estate agent down a narrow stairway. The brick walls were darker than any of the other spaces but suited the home perfectly.

“What Italian home is complete without a wine cellar?” Ms. Fortier said.

They stopped at the bottom of the stairway and Gabi lost her smile before stumbling back. Hunter reached out and held her elbow.

She was cold, stone cold.

“Gabi?”

She shivered and closed her eyes. “I’m OK.”

No, she wasn’t. Hunter looked around the beautiful space, saw bottles of wine, empty racks for more. “Let’s get you back upstairs.”

The fact that she didn’t pull away when he wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her back upstairs told him the wine cellar had sparked some kind of bad memory.

She was silent as he sat her on the nearest sofa and asked that Ms. Fortier find her a glass of water.

“Give us a minute,” Hunter told the real estate agent once she returned with the water.

Ms. Fortier stepped outside, leaving them alone.

He sat on the wooden coffee table and waited for Gabi to stop trembling before he spoke. “Are you OK now?”

She sipped the water, her hand still shaking. “Yeah.” Gabi laid the back of her hand to her forehead. “I didn’t expect that.”

“The wine cellar?”

“No. My reaction to it.”

He hadn’t expected it, either. “I guess we can mark this house off our list.”

She offered a quick shake of her head. “No. The house is lovely. Perfect, really.”

“You nearly passed out a minute ago by walking into a basement.”

She attempted a smile and Hunter felt her squeeze his hand. It was then he noticed that he held hers. Gabi must have realized it, too, and pulled away.

“It’s one room in a big house. I don’t have to go into it.”