The couple walks out smiling wide, their clothes a little askew and I don’t have to wonder what it was they got up to back there, it shows all over their faces. A pang of jealousy hits me, when will it be my turn to have something like that? I’ve dated here and there, coffee and dinners and polite smiles, but nothing serious and nothing I was willing to risk my balance for. I didn’t have time for complications or heartbreak or wondering if someone would stay. I was busy being the best damn real estate agent in Jackson and the stand-in parent I never planned on becoming.
“And the back deck is through here,” I say. “Outdoor kitchen, built-in firepit, and direct access to the dock.” We step outside, the breeze off the water cool against my skin, carrying that quiet, open feeling that always sneaks up on you when you least expect it.
The guy rests his hands on the railing, staring out. “This is hard to beat.”
I nod. “It really is.”
This house is perfect for starting a life together, for plans and holidays and lazy Sundays that stretch into forever, and for the first time, instead of just thinking about selling that dream to someone else, I catch myself wondering what I want next. Which is terrifying, and exciting, and probably long overdue.
The couple thanks me about six more times before finally heading out, promising they’ll talk it over and give me a call. They always say that, and I always smile like this is definitely the one that means it.
“Take your time,” I tell them, walking them to the door. “It’s a big decision. I’ll be here if you have questions.”
They leave, and the house falls quiet again, just the low hum of the air conditioning and the water tapping gently against the dock out back. I check my phone, but there’s nothing. No new messages, no new showing requests. Still, I hang around. Waterfront listings attract impulse buyers, and I’d rather wait than miss someone.
I wander into the kitchen and straighten a chair that is already perfectly straight, then smooth my blazer like I haven’t checked my reflection in every shiny surface in this place. Get it together, Brooke. You’re a professional, not a woman loitering in a luxury home hoping fate sends her a client.
I’m pouring myself a sip of water when the front door opens.
“Hello?” a man’s voice calls.
Okay, universe. I see you. I head toward the entryway, a professional smile fully locked in. “Hi, welcome in. Are you here to see the…”
And then I kind of stall out mid-sentence. Because wow. He’s tall, easily six-two, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of a dark tailored suit, clean-shaven jaw, neat haircut, and eyes that linger on me a second longer than necessary.
“I’m here for the showing,” he says, smiling like he knows exactly what effect that smile has. “But I’m starting to think I might be more interested in the agent.”
I recover, because I am a grown ass woman with a license and a mortgage. “Well, the house is the main attraction, but I’ll do my best to keep up.”
He laughs as he steps inside. “Fair warning, I’m easily distracted.”
“I can tell,” I say, shutting the door behind him. “I’m Brooke.”
“Grant. Grant Whitaker.” He offers his hand, and when I take it, his grip is warm and confident, not crushing, not weak. Just… intentional. Interesting.
“So, Grant Whitaker,” I say, already guiding him into the living room, “are you looking for a place to live, or are you just collecting waterfront properties for fun?”
He glances around, taking in the space. “Little of both. I travel a lot for work, but I’m ready to slow down and plant some roots.”
“Bold move,” I tease. “This house definitely screams ‘settling down.’”
“Is that what you think it screams?” He asks, eyeing me with a heated stare.
I shrug. “Either that or ‘I host very competitive dinner parties.’”
He laughs. “I do make a mean steak.”
“Dangerous thing to admit during a showing,” I tell him. “Now I’m picturing barbecue nights and not focusing on my job.”
“Sounds like a win-win.”
We move toward the windows, and I gesture outside. “The doors fully pocket, so this entire wall opens to the deck. It’s great for entertaining.”
Grant lifts a brow. “You say that like you’ve tested it.”
“I absolutely have not,” I laugh. “But if the new owners invite me to the first party, I will pretend I’m shocked and happily accept.”
He snorts. “So you come with the house is what I’m hearing. That’s good to know.”
