Chase sees me clocking everything that’s going on and looks on approvingly. “We’re in very good hands. Raymond’s the best in the business.”
I believe him. “Thank you, Raymond.” I can see a smile in the rear-view mirror, and he gives me a little wave.
The rest of the morning is a haze of pretentious architecture, manicured lawns, interior fountains, beautiful back yards, and photographers. Rinse and repeat.
The press continues to follow us from house to house somehow. I don’t know how they’re able to get into all the gated communities since even Raymond has to enter numeric codes, but whatever.
Finally, the limo pulls up to the last house. I can tell right away that this property looks different. It’s smaller, cozier somehow. Don’t get me wrong, it can probably sleep eight or nine people, but that’s instead of thirty like the previous houses. It also looks more like a cottage than a mansion. I love it.
We get out of the limo again under Raymond’s watchful eye, and wade past photographers onto a stone path that leads to the front door. There’s still a manicured lawn and palm trees in the yard, but it feels homier.
Fred opens the door for us into an open living room that has actual couches. Well, all of the houses had couches, but so far none of them looked like the kind anyone ever sat on. There was also a fireplace, always a plus in my house-hunting ledger. Everything here is decorated in organic, soothing earth tones.
The furniture is still super expensive looking, but it looks accessible and comfortable. Intrigued, I make my way to the kitchen. It also looks like it gets used regularly and has lots of natural light. Point to you, kitchen.
All of a sudden, I look around, but I don’t see Chase. No matter. I wander out to the back yard through the decorative double glass doors with etched wood accents.
Outside, there is a patio with a tile table and chairs. On the lawn under a tree is a yellow hammock. The breeze plays with my hair below the hideous hat that I forgot to take off once I got in the house. And now I decide to keep it on, since it’s such a pain carrying it around from house to house and taking it on and off.
I stand for a long moment feeling relaxed. Then I take a picture of it all in my mind. A picture. Oh yeah. I pull out my phone and start taking pictures of everything. This house I want to remember.
After a few minutes outside I head back in and wander around some more until I find the master bedroom. And the master bathroom. Ooh, sunken tub, tile shower, jack and jill sinks. I could probably live right here in this bathroom and be perfectly happy.
I turn to leave the bathroom so I can go and check out the master bedroom again. And run right into Chase.
We collide right around the doorway, both of us walking faster than we should have been. I half-scream as I put my hands out in order to hold onto his strong chest to keep from falling over. He isn’t expecting this, so he topples back and forth for a moment before stabilizing both of us.
“Hello,” he says, “I’ve been looking all over for you. How was I supposed to know you were lying in wait all this time trying to kill me?”
“Just having a look around,” I say, winking at him. “You know the saying, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
I walk toward the right of him, trying to get around. Then he moves at the same time and we bump into each other again. Then we topple over onto the master bed. It’s comfortable.
I turn over to face him. One look at those green eyes and I apparently forget that this is a temporary arrangement.
And there’s also Fred, who I know is lurking nearby even if I can’t see or hear him. That makes all of this even weirder.
“What do you think?” Chase asks as we climb up out of the bed.
“About what?” I ask, backing up. “About this place, or about our literal inability to stop bumping into each other.” I think about my words for a moment. “It’s not what you think, Fred,” I yell.
“This place,” Chase says, gesturing for me to go around him, to my left, which I do. Maybe it’s that the master bedroom is kind of romantic with a big window opening to the ocean. I can imagine sleeping so well listening to the roar of the waves every night.
“It’s nice,” I tell Chase, looking around at all the wood accents and sitting chair with small desk to one side. “This is definitely my favorite of the ones we looked at today.”
“I don’t know,” he says, seemingly surprised at my positive vibes about the house. “It’s kind of small, and not my favorite neighborhood.”
“Are you kidding? This place is perfect. Have you seen the outside patio?”
He laughs and reached a hand out to me. I take it and we go through the house again, this time acting the part of happy couple while I show him the charms of the adorable beachfront bungalow.
At the end of it, Fred is sitting at the table in the kitchen with a pile of paperwork. “What do you guys think?” He asks, pointing at us obnoxiously with his pen. “I have a feel for these things. You guys liked the third house, didn’t you? Eh? Especially the misses.” He raises and lowers a black, bushy eyebrow at me.
Ugh. Thank goodness we’re at our last house because I’m not sure how much more of Fred I can take.
“The third house?” I try to remember. Then I skim through the pictures on my phone. “Oh yeah. Lime green, exotic Egyptian decorating, four fountains in the living room third house?” Fred is unbelievably bad at reading people if he
