The Sellers Turned Down My $2.4 Million Cash Offer for Their Lake House. They Wanted to Meet the Other Buyer First

“Both of you,” said Amos.

Ramona laughed. I didn’t.

Lillian set a pound cake on the table like she was laying down a winning hand.

“We’ve had seven offers,” she said. “Five were from people who want to tear it down and build something with a three-car garage. One was from Mr. Lamar, who wants it so badly he’d pay anything. And one was from Ramona, who wrote us four pages about swimming out to our dock as a girl and dreaming about living here.”

“I was eleven,” Ramona said, turning pink. “I thought nobody saw.”

“I saw,” said Amos. “You had a terrible backstroke.”

Lillian folded her hands.

“Mr. Lamar has the money. Ramona has the heart. Neither of you has both. So we’ll sell to the two of you together, as co-owners, or we won’t sell at all.”

“We’re strangers,” I said.

“So were we,” said Lillian. “Once.”

We argued about it in the driveway for an hour.

Ramona didn’t want my money. I didn’t want a partner. She said I was exactly the kind of man who’d put a hot tub on a 1938 porch. I said she was exactly the kind of woman who’d fight me over the color of a dock.

Then the home inspection came back.

The roof needed replacing. The foundation on the lake side was sinking. And the homeowners insurance quote was triple what either of us expected, because of the old wiring.

“Ninety-four thousand dollars, minimum,” the inspector said. “Before anybody sleeps here.”

Ramona’s lender called the next morning. With that report, they’d only approve her loan if the repairs were finished before closing.

She sat on the dock steps, holding her phone, very still.

“Well,” she said. “That’s it, then. It’s yours.”

I sat down next to her.

And I said the most foolish thing I’ve ever said to a woman.