Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(9)

“The master looks out over the creek, see.” I show them around the upstairs. “And this is where I’d put the nursery. Isn’t it the cutest little room?”

Angela grips Mike’s hand. “Honey, it’s perfect.” She’s got a smile a mile wide, and I can tell, she’s already imagining a crib and mobile hanging from the ceiling.

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” I ask.

“Boy,” Angela answers, cupping her bump.

“Congratulations! And see, it’s already painted blue,” I add. “It must be a sign.”

Mike laughs. “We’ll see about that. The asking price . . .”

“Is always negotiable,” I finish for him. Then I lean in, as if I’m letting them in on a secret. “Just between us, I think the sellers could be flexible on the price. They’ve already found a new place they want to make an offer on, over in Beachwood Bay, so if you can move fast, they might be willing to come down a little.”

Angela looks eagerly at Mike. “You hear that? Honey, we have to make an offer.”

“We’ll see,” he says, calming her, but I can tell from the adoring look in his eyes, it’s game over. What the mom-to-be wants, she’s going to get. “Let’s look around some more.”

“Go ahead,” I agree, “make yourself at home. And check out the yard. Perfect for teaching Mike Junior to catch a football!”

He laughs, and steers Angela back downstairs. I see them a moment later, stepping outside to take in the yard.

Yup, they’ll make an offer.

I feel a surge of pride. Not just for the sale—and my handy commission—but because the house is perfect for them. That’s the part of this job I love the most: finding the right fit for every home—and the right home for every buyer. It’s like a puzzle, matching up exactly what everyone needs, and it turns out I have a gift for making the pieces fit together. Another satisfied customer.

I linger at the window, still struck by the change in Mike. From all-night GTA video game sessions and barely sending a booty-call text past midnight, to future father and devoted husband, it’s a pretty big switch. I watch as he mimes throwing a ball around, and then brings Angela in for a kiss, holding her there, one hand resting on her stomach.

I feel a pang. Not for Mike—he’s a nice guy, but we weren’t exactly star-crossed lovers—but for the picture the two of them make down there, so happy together. They’re just starting out on their future as a family, a team of two (and soon to be three), taking on the world.

I wonder, will I ever find that kind of love?

Will’s face comes into my mind, and I remember his comments before. He seemed genuinely surprised that men weren’t uprooting their whole lives and falling at my feet, but that’s ridiculous. I’m not the girl who men drop everything for like that. I’m the girl you call on a whim on Friday night, or because you’re in town for the weekend, or you just broke up with your girlfriend and want a wild, crazy time to put her out of your mind for good. Spontaneous. Fun. No-strings—and definitely no commitment. That’s the way I’ve always liked it, so why is it so unsettling that he sees me totally differently?

There are footsteps on the stairs, another round of viewers. I quickly turn away and fix a bright smile on my face. I shouldn’t even be thinking about Will. I don’t even know the guy.

But you know how he smiles . . . how he laughs . . . how he kisses . . .

It’s crazy. After all, what kind of man just leaves his whole life behind and shows up in the middle of nowhere like this?

I push the thought back and greet the next round of buyers. “Now, how about these views!”





Four.


Will



Turning my life upside down for a girl I barely even know may seem like the craziest, most impulsive thing I’ve ever done, but after the life I left behind in New York City, it doesn’t seem like a bad idea at all.

In fact, it might be the best decision I’ve made in a long time.

I finish up my errands in town with a smile, struck again with how friendly and welcoming everyone is. Once they find out I just moved here, they couldn’t be happier to offer advice and guidance, from where to buy my groceries to where the town goes drinking on a Friday night. Delilah wasn’t lying about that, or how beautiful this part of the country really is. I can’t get over the ocean, so crisp and sapphire blue, beating steadily against the rocky shore, or how the old cypress trees line the streets and boulevards with leafy shade; the town receding into the green woods, with the creek winding lazily back as you drive further into the country.

It’s beautiful alright, and coming after the hectic, loud chaos of the city, I almost can’t believe it. No sirens, no screaming drunks on the corner. When I wake up in the morning to nothing but the sound of crickets and the wind rustling in the trees, I almost forget where I am. Then it hits me all over again, with that same thunder of awesome possibility.

Blank slate. Fresh start.

And her.

Delilah Morgan. A couple of questions at the hardware store gave me her surname, although I can’t believe I didn’t know it already. From the moment I saw her on the street that night with her whip-smart mouth, teasing blue eyes, and infectious laugh, it’s felt like we were always going to meet. It was inevitable.