“We'll find something,” he said. “We just have to keep looking.”
“My dad mentioned a property last night. Something that just came on the market.”
“On Sanibel?”
“Captiva, actually. Waterfront.”
Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Waterfront on Captiva? That's got to be out of our budget.”
“That's the thing. He said it's priced low because it needs work. A lot of work, apparently. The previous owner was an older man who lived there alone after his wife died. He didn'tmaintain it, and when he passed, his children just wanted to sell and be done with it.”
“How much work are we talking about?”
Becca shrugged. “Dad didn't have details. But he said Devon Hutchins knows the property. Devon's been handling some of the real estate stuff for the family, trying to help them get it sold.”
Devon Hutchins. Trevor's father. Christopher had met him several times at family gatherings, a calm and steady presence who seemed to know everyone on the islands and had a knack for making deals happen. If Devon was involved, the property was at least worth looking at.
“Did your dad say anything else about it?”
“Just that the location is incredible. Right on the water, private dock, amazing views. But the house itself is rough. He used the word 'project.'”
“Project can mean a lot of things.”
“I know. That's why I didn't bring it up until now. I wasn't sure if we wanted to take on a project on top of everything else.”
Christopher looked out at the water again, thinking. A fixer-upper hadn't been part of their plan. They had enough on their plates with the residency and Summit Compass and a baby who was hitting new developmental milestones every week. Adding a renovation to the mix seemed like a recipe for exhaustion.
But then again, nothing about the past four years had gone according to plan. He had lost his leg in a war zone. He had relearned how to walk, how to run, how to live in a body that worked differently than before. He had finished a marathon on a prosthetic and started a nonprofit and married the woman he loved. If there was one thing Christopher Wheeler had learned, it was that plans were just suggestions, and the best things in life often came from the unexpected.
“We should at least look at it,” he said.
Becca studied his face. “You think so?”
“I think we've looked at twenty houses that were move-inready, and none of them felt right. Maybe the problem isn't the houses. Maybe we need something we can make our own.”
“That's either very wise or very naive.”
“Probably both.”
She smiled that particular smile she reserved for moments when he surprised her, when he said something that reminded her why she had fallen in love with him in the first place.
“I'll call Devon,” she said. “See if we can set up a time to look at it.”
“Today?”
“Why not? We're already out. Eloise is in a good mood. And if we go back to my dad's house, Luke is going to try to convince you to go fishing again, and last time you came back smelling like bait for two days.”
“It wasn't two days.”
“It was absolutely two days. I had to wash the sheets twice.”
Christopher laughed and kissed her forehead. “Fine. Call Devon. Let's go look at a disaster.”
They found Marcia inside and explained that they wanted to keep looking, that this house was lovely but not quite right. Marcia took it with grace, promising to send them new listings as they came up, and walked them out to their car with the practiced cheerfulness of someone who had heard every variation of “we'll keep looking” in her career.
Becca made the call to Devon while Christopher buckled Eloise into her car seat. Their daughter had begun to fuss, the telltale signs of an approaching nap making her squirmy and irritable. He handed her a teething ring, which she immediately shoved into her mouth with the dedication of someone who had important work to do.
“He can meet us in an hour,” Becca said, sliding into the passenger seat. “The property is on the north end of Captiva, near the pass. He said to prepare ourselves.”
