"On your right is the full laundry with a mudroom attached," he says, and I get excited instantly, knowing I won’t have to use the communal washer and dryer with everyone else from the building.
As we walk, I’m creating a pros and cons list in my head, with laundry slotting directly onto the pro list, the sheer size of the apartment, cons.
Continuing to walk down the hall, we’re met with the most beautiful kitchen I’ve ever seen.
"This room is pretty self-explanatory," he says casually as he drags his fingertips along the stone countertops and I mimic his actions, settling when my fingertips connect with the cool, yet warm, stone.
The nearest beach to Grangewood Creek is half a day’s drive away, yet this kitchen screams costal. The countertops are white, and the cabinets are light oak with gold furnishings.
I’m a sucker for anything gold.
"This kitchen alone is bigger than my old apartment in Cali," I admit. "I could never afford it," I accidentally blurt the words out loud, but his response comforts me in a way I never would have expected.
"This is Grangewood, Herring. Not California. Things are cheaper here." He reaches his hand out for me to take for the second time since we arrived here, and I haven’t hesitated to take it either time.
I like the feeling it gives me.
He leads the way to show me the master bedroom and ensuite, the three spare bedrooms, and the spare bathroom, which has more white and gold to match the kitchen.
"So, what do you think?” he asks once we’re standing back in the kitchen, and I realize my hand is still very much in his.
I don’t let go, but he does, and I try really hard to not take it personally.
Trybeing the key word.
"I love it. But like I said, I couldn’t afford it."
"I thought you’d say that," he says, pulling a folded yellow envelope from his back pocket.
"What’s this?" I stare at it, fighting every urge to not rip it open and find out for myself.
"It’s the contract and the asking price from the owner. Open it when you get home. Think about it and let me know."
***
Throwing myself on my bed, I hold the envelope in my hand that I opened the moment I walked into my bedroom.
My decision is obvious.
Of course, I need to snatch up this apartment for the price written on the contract.
I’d be stupid not to.
I could buy it outright, be mortgage free.
I would need to buy new furniture too, considering everything I currently own has memories attached to them. If I’m getting a fresh start, it needs to be done properly.
Sure, my savings would be well and truly drained, but it’s about damn time I do something just for myself.
There has to be a catch.
Maybe it’s a typo?
Or maybe the apartment is insect infested, or termites were the last residents.
If something seems too good to be true, usually it is, right?
Either way, I pull out my phone to text Harley just to make sure.
