Free A Pizza to Die For by Chris Cavender Page A

receptive.”
    “Okay,” I replied.
    Once Nathan joined us, I explained, “We stripped four coats of paint from the wainscoting in the living room before we got to the bare wood. It’s quarter sawn oak, you know.”
    He looked at me for a moment, and then said, “Thanks all the same, but I don’t need a tour guide. I know what I’m looking at.”
    “Fine. Be my guest, then. Feel free to look around all you like.”
    He nodded and then did as I’d suggested, wandering around the first floor without any acknowledgment that Maddy and I were still standing there. Other than a few grunts and nods of approval every now and then, the house was silent. Only when he got to the oak staircase did he hesitate long enough to look at me. “Mind?”
    “Go right ahead,” I said, and Maddy and I trudged up after him.
    After he’d poked his head into every nook and cranny upstairs, he said, “I’ve seen enough.”
    “Would you care for some coffee?” I asked.
    “Can’t stand the stuff,” he said.
    “How about tea?”
    He appeared to consider it, and then finally rendered his verdict. “Got any hot cocoa?”
    “Always,” I said with a laugh. We went into the kitchen, where Nathan took a seat at the table as though he’d been there a thousand times before.
    As I made the cocoa, he took a checkbook out from his jacket pocket and started scribbling.
    “I’m not going to charge you for it. The cocoa’s on the house,” I said, trying to be funny, but apparently failing miserably.
    “This isn’t for the drink,” he said as he finished signing his name with a flourish.
    After he tore it out of the book, Nathan handed me a check for more money than I’d ever seen in my life. “What is this for?”
    “I’ll take it, furnishings and all,” he explained as he sipped the cocoa I’d just handed him.
    I dropped the check as though it were coated in anthrax. “Sorry, but my house is not for sale.”
    “Everything in this world is for sale, if the price is right,” he said. He retrieved the check, tore it up, and then put the pieces into his pocket.
    As he began to write another check, he chuckled. “I shouldn’t have low-balled you the first time. My mistake.”
    I couldn’t believe this man. Did he honestly think he was going to waltz into my home and buy it from me without even asking first? “Mr. Sizemore, I don’t care how much that check is written for, I won’t take it. I told you before and I meant it, so it would be in your best interest to believe me that my home is not for sale at any price.”
    He looked surprised. “Would you mind telling me why not?”
    “My late husband, Joe, and I remodeled this place from top to bottom. Do you honestly think those kinds of memories are for sale? This is my home. More importantly, it was his as well.” I felt tears come to my eyes as I spoke, but I didn’t care if he saw them or not.
    Nathan shook his head. “Mrs. Swift, I don’t want to buy your memories. The house is all I want. With your little pizza place struggling, I figured you’d be happy for the chance to make some real money.”
    “I guess you were wrong, then,” I said, and then pressed my lips firmly together before I said anything I might regret.
    “You don’t want to see the amount? You might change your mind if you do.” He was watching me closely to see how I’d react. “I know there’s not a single soul in Timber Ridge who thinks I have money, but they’re all wrong.”
    “It’s not a factor, anyway. Would you like more cocoa?” I asked. “I think I’ll have some.” I looked at Maddy, but she just shook her head silently. My sister was clearly intrigued by what was going on, and she didn’t want to interrupt for fear of breaking the conversation up.
    “I don’t get it,” he said as he shook his head. “You and I both know that it’s not worth half what I’m offering. Sentimental attachment is understandable, but there comes a time when turning money down just doesn’t