“Believe it or not, by the end of the month.”
“Who?”
He passed her one packet of salad dressing. “Mark and Cheryl Birmingham.”
She took a moment to mentally place their house. They lived in the same neighborhood as Travis, so that meant a big house. “Swimming pool?”
“Inground. Huge, covered patio. Outdoor kitchen.”
“Man, I want that house,” she whined. “It’s perfect for grown-up me.”
“Then what’re you waitin’ for?”
“To grow up. Both me and my bank balance,” she teased. “It’s gonna go fast. Who else?”
“George and Audra Chatum.”
Violet drizzled the dressing while she placed which house was theirs. “They’ve got a small ranch, right? Down the street from Brendon and Cheyenne?”
“That’s the one. But I’m not sure you can call it a ranch. Small or otherwise,” Spencer answered. “The tract’s big enough for a few goats, which they had. They sold ’em off a couple of months ago.”
“Not a big house, right?”
“Not small, either. Completely updated, though. With the small barn, I think it’ll entice more than a few people.”
Especially if they found out they would be living down the street from country music royalty.
Regardless, enticing a few was an understatement because real estate in Coyote Ridge didn’t become available often. Most of the people who lived there were long-time residents, their families having been rooted for generations. And because of the Walkers’ generosity back when Uncle Curtis forgave debts andallowed people to own their properties outright, they felt a sort of loyalty to the area.
“And the last one?”
Spencer didn’t answer right away, so Violet knew it was for dramatic effect.
“Just spit it out, man,” she said in a tough-guy voice, making him laugh.
“Brandie Sweeney.”
“Nuh-uh.” Violet squealed. “She’s movin’ in with Todd? Finally?”
“Looks like it.”
Violet was thrilled for the single mom. The house she lived in belonged to Brandie’s parents, and she remained there after they passed away. Five years ago, she got pregnant, and the father bailed like the asshole he was. Last year sometime, Violet had seen Brandie and her daughter, Julie, having ice cream with Todd at the diner.
“You’re not gonna know what to do with yourself,” she told Spencer, who handled the majority of real estate deals—residential and commercial—within the town limits. Having gotten his real estate license when he was fresh out of high school, he’d been wheeling and dealing in the area for more than a decade. As soon as he was able, he obtained his broker license so he could go out on his own, and now he employed two additional agents to keep up with demand in the surrounding cities.
To put it simply, Spencer Elliott was scary good at selling houses. It was a gift. The guy could charm the pants off a nun.
“Back to the original subject,” he said, feeding his face while he stood on the other side of the counter.
“What were we talkin’ about?”
He cocked an eyebrow.
She stalled by forking salad into her mouth but knew it would only last so long.
“Fine,” she told him when her jaw was tired from chewing. “Yes. I met Simon.”
“And?”
