Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
He frowned. “Really?”
“I’m afraid so. Inventory is low for rentals. It’s not great for sales either, but there are more options for buyers.” I typed in listing information, angling my monitor so he could see the screen. “This is the Birch address. It’s a five bedroom, three bath home on a cul-de-sac.”
“That’s like the one I saw yesterday. Too big for one person.”
I brought up the address on Maple. “This one has three bedrooms, one bath, and a decent yard.”
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “The kitchen is funky-looking. Are those tiles cracked?”
I flipped through the photos and winced. “Yeah, I’ll talk to the owners. They should fix that.”
Tracy waltzed in with a couple of water bottles. “Here you go. They’re nice and cold for the road.”
Smitty thanked her before turning his attention to the monitor. “I don’t know how you keep up with all the tree names, but I could have sworn Duncan mentioned a house on Walnut. Maybe I misheard.”
He uncapped his bottle as he stood and took a healthy swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. The flex of his tattooed biceps and the hint of skin where his shirt hiked up was impossible to look away from. Christ, his muscles had muscles. Every inch of his body was fit and toned like sculpted marble. I couldn’t believe I’d seen him naked. He’d been hot and sweaty and plastered against me…and inside me.
Oh, shit. Concentrate, Bryson.
I fixated on his Adam’s apple, but that didn’t help. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten turned-on watching someone drink water. And I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one.
“Walnut.” Tracy cleared her throat and tugged at the cross on a chain around her neck. “That’s your street, Bry. Did Archie Calmezzo finally put his house on the market?”
Um…did he?
Sure enough, a brand-new listing had been added less than fifteen hours ago. On my street.
Smitty skirted my desk to peek over my shoulder. “Is that it? It looks nice. How many bedrooms?”
“Three.”
He hummed his approval. “Bathrooms?”
“Two.”
“Close to the high school?”
“Walkable,” I replied.
He narrowed his eyes. “And we’d be neighbors?”
“You might not like the house,” I hedged.
“Oh, he’ll love it. Walnut is a beautiful street,” Tracy enthused. “One of the best in town, in my humble opinion. Go show him and take your laptop. I’ll send the contract info you’ll need.”
Smitty flashed a shit-eating grin my way. “Let’s do it.”
And that was how I wound up at 235 Walnut Street, giving a halfhearted tour of the Calmezzos’ two-story brick house that included more information than he’d ever need.
“Archie and Barb talked about moving to Florida for the weather for years and finally pulled the trigger last spring. They said they’d be in Elmwood this summer but must have opted to rent after all.”
“Hmm.” Smitty examined kitchen cabinets, opened drawers, and walked into the pantry, then skirted the peninsula to join me in the living room. He peered out the sliding glass door to the deck and the expanse of greenery beyond.
“It’s a nice property, but…”
“It needs to be painted,” he commented, arms folded as he studied the outlines of picture frames that had once lined every square inch of real estate in the room.
“Oh, yeah. Let’s look at the one on Maple.” I hiked my computer bag on my shoulder and motioned for him to follow. “Painting is a lot of work and expense.”
He didn’t budge. “I don’t mind and I can do it myself…if the owners are cool with it.”
“They might be,” I admitted.
“Mmhmm. I have a question for you, and I need an honest answer.”
“What is it?”
“If I were to rent this place, you’re not gonna egg the windows on my truck, put TP in the trees, or plant plastic forks on the lawn, are you?” he deadpanned.
My lips curled in a wry half smile. “I wouldn’t waste the eggs or the toilet paper.”
“But you’re thinking about the forks, eh?”
“It’s an original idea,” I conceded. “Is that something kids do these days?”
Smitty shrugged. “I read it online when I was trying to come up with a new and inventive prank to play on one of my teammates. In the end, it was way too much effort. Not to mention, environmentally unfriendly. I settled for flamingos.”
I set my briefcase on the peninsula and pulled out my computer. “Flamingos?”
“Yep, I bought a hundred plastic flamingos and popped them all over his lawn. It was a sea of pink. My buddy was pissed…but also, in awe,” he snorted. “And his twin five-year-olds thought Santa made an impromptu visit in March. Flamingos in Toronto…gotta love it.”
I laughed out loud. “Please don’t put flamingos on my lawn. Or forks.”
“Fine. I don’t know which house is yours anyway, so it’s all good. And if I were you, I wouldn’t tell me. I’m prone to borrow sugar at weird hours.”