They had been looking for three months. Every weekend since Christmas, they had driven around Captiva and Sanibel and Fort Myers, following agents through houses that ranged from almost right to absolutely wrong. Too small. Too expensive. Too far from the water. Too close to the road. Not enough yard. Too much yard. No garage. A garage that smelled like something had died in it and possibly still lived there.
Christopher had started keeping a mental list of all the ways a house could disappoint you. The list was getting long.
“What do you think?” the agent asked, appearing at his elbow. Her name was Marcia, and she had the unflappable optimism of someone who had shown houses to difficult clients before and remained convinced that the right one was always just around the corner.
“It's nice,” Christopher said, because it was. The house was objectively nice. Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, a renovated kitchen, and that view. On paper, it checked most of their boxes.
But when he tried to imagine living here, raising Eloise here, building the life he and Becca had talked about, he felt nothing. No spark of recognition, no sense of home settling into his bones.
“The HOA fees are reasonable,” Marcia continued. “And the community has a pool, tennis courts, a small fitness center. Very family-friendly.”
Christopher nodded, but his attention had drifted back to the water. Somewhere out there, beyond the mangroves and the sandbars and the endless stretch of blue, was the life he was trying to build. Summit Compass Florida. Adaptive sports programs for kids with disabilities. Sailing and surfing and paddleboarding, all the things he had learned to love again after losing his leg.
He needed a house that felt like a beginning, not a compromise.
“Can we have a minute?” Becca asked, and Marcia nodded, retreating into the house with the practiced discretion of someone who knew when to give clients space.
Becca crossed the deck and stood beside him, shifting Eloise to her other hip. Their daughter made a happy sound and reached for Christopher's face, her fingers finding his nose and squeezing with surprising strength.
“Hey there, little one,” he said, gently extracting himself from her grip. “Easy on the merchandise.”
Eloise gurgled and tried to grab his nose again.
“You hate it,” Becca said quietly.
“I don't hate it.”
“Chris.”
He sighed. She knew him too well, had known him since before he deployed, before the IED, before everything changed. She had seen him at his worst and loved him anyway, and she could read his moods like weather patterns.
“I don't hate it,” he repeated. “I just don't feel anything. And I think I should feel something, right? When you find the place you're supposed to live, you should feel it.”
Becca leaned into him, her shoulder pressing against his arm. “That's not always how it works. Sometimes a house is just a house. You make it home by living in it.”
“Is that how you feel about this one?”
She was quiet for a moment, watching the pelican make another pass over the water. “No,” she admitted. “This one doesn't feel right to me either. But I'm starting to wonder if any of them will.”
Christopher understood her frustration. They had been staying with her father Crawford and stepmother Ciara since Christmas, which had been generous and helpful and was also slowly driving both of them crazy. Crawford's house wasattached to Powell Water Sports, which meant there was always noise, always activity, always someone stopping by to ask about kayak rentals or paddleboard repairs. Becca's brothers Luke and Joshua worked at the store, so family was constantly underfoot. And while Christopher loved his in-laws, loved the warmth and chaos of the Powell family, he and Becca needed their own space.
Especially with Eloise. Especially with Becca's residency starting in July. Especially with Summit Compass Florida launching in the fall.
They needed a home.
“Maybe we're being too picky,” Becca said.
“Maybe we haven't found the right one yet.”
“Those might be the same thing.”
Christopher smiled despite himself. “Since when are you the pessimist?”
“Since I spent last weekend looking at a house where the bathroom was carpeted. Carpeted, Christopher. Wall-to-wall carpet in the bathroom. Who does that?”
“Someone with very cold feet and very poor judgment.”
Becca laughed, and Eloise joined in, her baby giggle high and delighted even though she had no idea what was funny. Christopher reached over and took his daughter from Becca's arms, settling her against his chest. She immediately grabbed for his ear.
