Page 116 of Spicy Ever After
I do a sweep of the little brick and stucco cookie cutter townhomes, each with a distinct color palette on the front wall and window shutters. The stucco on the one directly in front of us is a shade of pumpkin I quite like with sage green shutters and trim. The front door is a green about three shades darker than the trim. Pretty.
Dad grins at me over his shoulder. “Wanna take a look, Hats?”
“Wh-what?”
Dad tilts his head toward the unit. “My buddy Hunter is selling it.” He raises a hand and shakes out a set of keys. “I’m thinking of buying.”
“Randall.” Mom growls his name through gritted teeth.
He faces Mom and puts his empty hand on her knee. She scowls.
“Hillary, baby, it’s literally two blocks from our front door. We can install a security system and put the apps on our phones so we get notified when she so much as opens the door for a pizza delivery?—”
Mom pounces. Of course, pizza is the devil. “That’s?—”
“Or grocery delivery,” Dad quickly amends. “She’ll be close. She’ll have her space and we’ll have our space.” Dad gives her a suggestive look I swear I’ve never seen, and I quickly avert my eyes.
Eeew.
Instead, I look at the townhouse. The front door is recessed, so there’s a little slab that’s covered that could maybe fit a café table, two chairs, and a few plants, but that’s it in terms of space. Ivy climbs the brick bulkhead to the right of the front door.
I realize I’m smiling. It looks cozy.
I might live here. Just me.
My heart does a quick jumping jack. “C-can we go inside?”
And it’s like I’ve sprung Dad from jail. “Sure!”
He practically leaps from the driver’s seat. I’m out of the car and stepping up to the front door behind him as Mom drags her feet.
“No covered parking,” she mutters.
Dad unlocks the bolt and then the knob before swinging the door open for me. “Go check it out, Hats.”
I step into an open concept living space with blond pine floors, buttermilk walls, and a flight of stairs. There’s a fireplace and a little seating area by the front windows, and then the space transitions to a kitchen with a granite bar counter that looks like it could fit three bar stools.
My heart pounds as I round the bar counter and do a slow three-sixty. The kitchen is about a third of the size of Mom’s, which means it’s more than enough kitchen for me. On the other side of the kitchen, there’s room for a modest dining table that would overlook the sliding glass door and cute as hell back patio.
Oh my fucking God, there’s a cypress swing.
I race toward the glass door and slide it open. “A swing!”
I’ll admit I practically dive for it, grinning from ear to ear as I let it fly. Mom and Dad hover in the doorway.
“You didn’t even see the laundry room and the downstairs bath,” Dad says, chuckling.
I snort. “But there’s a swing! And a covered patio. And a little fire pit. And it’s fenced.” The back patio takes up most of the outdoor space, but there’s still a little L-shaped patch of grass and a crepe myrtle in the corner. “I could finally get another dog.”
Mom’s hand goes to her temple.
“Just a tiny one,” I add, because, of course, this yard could only serve a little dog. Like a Yorkie or a little Bijon.
My eyes roam over every inch of the outdoor space. The patio ceiling is vaulted, meeting the roofline of the second floor, and suspended from it is a cabana style ceiling fan with huge, leaf-like blades. Which means, even in the summer, sitting out here wouldn’t be terrible.
I picture the space dripping in fairy lights and a little outdoor furniture arrangement. Man, I’d practically live out here. I’m already picturing myself moved in.
Hopping off the swing, I grab my phone and start snapping pictures. I can’t wait to send them to Beck.
