Page 1 of Erik's Salvation
PROLOGUE
Some people find art in broken pieces. Beauty in fragile things.
Those people know that broken doesn’t mean the end. Rather, it could be the beginning. Of something new. Something that’s been fixed and made whole again.
The cracks will still be visible, the tears and frays like little fractures of a story. But they’re supposed to be visible. Evidence of strength and a will to survive. A history that wouldn’t have been known otherwise.
It’s only when something breaks that one can realize it wasn’t the art that was beautiful, it’s the pieces.
CHAPTER1
“Mr. Bonetti! Hi.”
Hannah Jacobs fumbled the cell phone against her ear as she tried to balance the box of lingerie in her left arm. It was awkward, especially when she also had a grocery bag filled with cereal in that hand.
The cereal? Totally worth keeping. The box of lingerie her best friend Brigid had asked her to pick up from the post office? Debatable.
“Miss Jacobs. Have I caught you at a bad time?”
Uh, yeah. It was five o’clock on a Friday afternoon, and after she delivered this box, she had a night of the new season ofSurvivorand a tub of bubbles waiting. But man, was she desperate to sell one of this guy’s mega-mansions. She’d probably talk to him in a pool of snakes if she had to.
“No, not a bad time at all. Have you put any more thought into who you’d like to sell your home?”
Please say me. Please say me.
She wasn’t above begging. Not when she was about a day and a bill away from selling her right kidney.
Yeah, times were tough when the new real estate agency in town was getting all the business.
Mr. Bonetti cleared his throat. “I have some questions, if that’s okay?”
The box slipped down her hip. She stopped and leaned against a wall in an attempt to shuffle it up. “Of course. Ask me anything. I’m an open book, Mr. Bonetti.”
She was also a step away from teetering off balance and landing on her butt.Jesus, Brigid, you owe me for this one.
“Please, call me Angelo. How long have you been selling in the area?”
“Four years. I’m very familiar with homes in the Redwood and Leavenworth area. And before moving here, I was selling in Seattle.”
She’d been selling in Redwood, Washington, and the neighboring Leavenworth as long as she’d been living here. And to say she loved this small town was an understatement. The place had felt like home within the first day. Good coffee. Good people. What else could a girl need?
She started moving again, her gaze shifting to the end of the street. A man stood on the sidewalk. One look at him made her steps falter. He was tall, maybe six and a half feet? Certainly a lot taller than her five foot seven. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and the black material of his shirt pulled across his muscles. And his shoulders… God, how were they so broad?
The box started to slip again, and she quickly jostled it to gain a better hold.
“Miss Jacobs?”
Crap. She’d been so busy ogling Broad Shoulders that she’d missed what Angelo had said. “Hannah, please, and sorry, could you repeat the question?”
“Do you have references?”
She passed the giant hulk of a man, stepping into the road, attempting to play it cool with a small straightening of her spine and the click of her heels against the asphalt.
“I do have references. I can email them over to you if you’d like?”
Thud.
Crap! The box landed right in the middle of the damn road. Great.
