“That’s what you’ll need to do to get what you want at what you want to pay. But don’t worry—I have a building company that handles all that, and I’ll get you the best prices in the area.”
“So you’re not just a Realtor—you’re a contractor, too? You’re like both Property Brothers rolled into one?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
We look at three more houses, each uglier than the last. I’m enjoying Brett’s company, but I can’t visualize any of the houses he’s showing me looking like places I’d want to live.
We stop for lunch at a little grill in Everett. The weather is perfect—spring-like but still cool, unlike the steamy May heat of New Orleans. I gaze out the window at fir trees blowing in the wind. I’ve really missed this view, I realize. In Louisiana, you only see firs on Christmas tree lots.
“You don’t seem wowed by anything I’ve shown you,” he says.
“I can’t get over how much more homes cost here versus Louisiana.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the West Coast for you.” He takes a sip of coffee. “Are you sure you want to move back?”
I nod. “Absolutely. I’m ready to get out of New Orleans.”
“Why? It’s a great city.”
I sigh. “I miss my family. Plus I don’t want to keep wonderingif every child I see might be my husband’s.” The words pop out before I realize what I’m saying.
He grins at me. “I’ve heard a lot of reasons that people want to move, but I’ve got to say, that’s a new one.”
I give a nervous laugh, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “I can’t believe I just said that. That’s the second time I’ve just blurted out stuff to you.”
“That’s not surprising. I’m known as the Blurtmaster.” He leans forward, his expression comically intense, and looks from side to side, as if making sure no one can overhear him. “I really work for the CIA, interrogation department,” he says in a loud whisper. “Real estate is just a cover.”
I laugh. “I can almost believe it.”
“Don’t.”
I laugh again.
He leans back and gives me a warm smile. “Seriously, if you want to talk, I’m a good listener. And anything you tell me is covered by Realtor-client privilege so I can’t divulge it.”
I laugh again. “Good to know.” I take a sip of iced tea. “I think I’ve already told you way too much for someone I haven’t seen in nineteen years, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
We talk about styles of houses and football teams and other people from high school as we finish lunch. We climb back into his SUV and tour three more houses, then he glances at his watch. “I have to pick up my son from school, but there are a couple of other places I want to show you. One of them is a condo; you’re likely to need a place to lease for a month or two while you wait to close on a house and renovate. It’s not far from Petey’s school. Are you okay with picking him up and dropping him at my mom’s before we go see it?”
I look at my phone. I’ve been checking it all day, but I still haven’t heard from Zack. The knot in my stomach is growing bigger and tighter.
And the truth is, I’d far rather hang with Brett than go back to my parents’ house. “Sure,” I say. “I’d love to meet him.”
—
BRETT’S SON ISadorable. He has dark hair, bright hazel eyes, and freckles sprinkled across his nose. He’s wearing a blue-and-red-striped polo shirt and jeans, and he comes running up to the SUV as we move forward in the car line. “Hi, Dad!” he calls.
“Hey there, bud.” Brett hits a switch and the back door opens. Pete starts to climb in, then freezes when he sees me.
“This is Mrs. Bradley,” Brett says.
I turn around more fully and smile. “Hi, Pete.”
His face falls. “Why’d you bringher?”
“Hey, that’s no way to greet somebody,” Brett chides.
“Nice to meet you,” he mutters as he climbs into his booster seat.
