The cream-colored Craftsman before us is beautiful. But every house we’ve looked at today has seemed lovely at first glance.
We’ve been home from bye week for six weeks now, and I’ve been dreaming about this day the entire time. From the second we got home, it’s been a whirlwind. With Anna finally receiving the accolades she deserves—nominations for Best Actress,premieres, Golden Globes, SAGs, and the Oscars, where she took home the statue—I’ve been busier than ever, scheduling her days down to the minute.
When we weren’t wrapped up in Anna’s career, we were traveling around the country supporting her fiancé on the ice. The Cranes are doing incredibly well this season, and there’s even talk of a back-to-back Stanley Cup. The past six weeks have been incredible.
At the same time, I decided in Hawaii to start the next chapter of my life, yet… There hasn’t been time to do it. Every spare second I had, I was hearting properties on my real estate app, but houses were selling faster than I could book showings.
Today was finally the day. A free day with nothing on the calendar for either of us. I managed to line up six homes to walk through, yet I’ve quickly learned that nothing is as it seems in house hunting.
The listing that read “Charming fixer-upper with great bones and endless potential” apparently used “great bones” as code for a cracked foundation and a roof patched so many times it’s basically a quilt. “Bright, airy bungalow with sun-drenched windows and an open concept” meant single-pane windows and zero insulation—the house felt like the Arctic. There was ice on the sills and a musty smell that punched the back of your throat.
The third house touted its midcentury charm and original, showstopping details. I’m pretty sure Miles and I left that one with lead poisoning from a hundred-year-old peeling paint. In addition, the wood-burning stove reeked. Who wants to smell like a bonfire every day? The fourth house we saw, the “spacious home on a private lot,” failed to mention the sewage plant it backed up to, and the last place we went to was described as a “downtown loft with sleek finishes.” Apparently, sleek finishes meant clashing floral wallpaper in every single room.
Turning my face to the side, I lean my face against the headrest and stare at Miles. “I don’t know if I can bear another one.” I sigh.
He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Come on. This is going to be it. I mean, look at it,” he says, motioning toward the house. “Beautiful.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“This was the one you were most looking forward to, right? What’s the listing say again?”
I hold up my phone and read: “Stunning cream-colored Craftsman with rich dark trim and custom copper hardware—timeless curb appeal with a wraparound porch perfect for morning coffee and evening sunsets. Meticulously landscaped yard and thoughtfully appointed interior finishes make this home a true showstopper.”
He spreads his hands. “A showstopper. Can’t get better than that, right?”
I pull my winter jacket tight and slide on my gloves. “As long as ‘showstopper’ isn’t code for black mold.”
“I’m going to need you to bump your happiness knob up a notch. I feel like I’m the only one bringing positive energy,” he teases. “Where’s my sunshine?”
“Hidden behind a black cloud of house-hunting doom. But okay.” I plaster on a smile. “This is going to be the one. I can’t wait!”
“There you go!”
We exit the truck and trudge toward the house as snow pelts my face—something I never get used to. The real estate agent opens the front door wide and greets us with a practiced smile, shutting out the cold. I can’t help the grin that finds my face. “This is gorgeous,” I say in awe.
“Right?” The real estate agent smooths her baby-blue suit jacket. “I’m obsessed with this home. It’s only been on the market a few days. It’s going to go fast.”
“I can see why.” Miles looks around.
Winter light slants through the tall foyer windows. The snow dances outside, and the chandelier casts tiny specks of reflected light across the floor, giving the entry a snow globe quality.
“Ready to see the rest?” the real estate agent asks.
“Absolutely,” I say, following her into the great room.
The tour is actually fun. I love the details. As she takes us through each room, I can see myself living here.
We stop in the grand kitchen. “I’ll give you a moment to talk while I return a phone call. I’ll be back in a few to answer any questions.” She steps away, fingers tapping her screen.
I take hold of Miles’s arm and squeeze. “It doesn’t smell like a campfire.”
“No flowery wallpaper,” he adds.
“It’s warm.”
“And clean.” He leans in with a grin.
“I think I love it.”
