Page 22 of Somewhere You Belong

For me, buying the Bayshore house could be the key. Twelve years in the service has shaped me into a man that doesn’t give up, but life outside of that structure is far too unsettling sometimes. There’s a reason why so many vets have a difficult time adjusting to civilian life.

But I was hellbent on not letting that be me.

And even though I heard Penn’s warning, it only makes me more curious about the new owner of the house that I want more than anything—the house that will help solidify for me that all of my sacrifice and hard work were worth it.

Plus, I think Penn is full of shit. I’m a charming, friendly guy with a commanding presence I know how to use when I need to. I bet I could talk to the owner and convince them to sell the house to me, save their money and let me do the renovations myself, or have Penn help me if he needs the work. So basically, everybody wins.

Pleased with my newfound determination, I go back inside the house and the spend the rest of the night with my family, absorbing the moments when we all get to be together because they are becoming fewer and farther between, even though the wheels are spinning in myhead, formulating my plan to get the house I’ve always wanted, once and for all.

***

The next day, I go through the Monday morning delivery at the restaurant, checking in every item and helping Trent, one of my employees, put things away. By mid-afternoon, the cooks arrive to begin prepping food for the dinner service. We open at four Monday through Thursday, and at eleven on the weekends since tourists start rolling in as soon as Friday hits.

By the time the cooks arrive, I leave Brian, my other manager, in charge and fire up my Mustang, heading to speak with the owner of the Bayshore house since time is of the essence.

Penn mentioned the owner would be there today, though he didn’t specify when. If they’re there still, maybe he can help persuade the new owner to give me a chance to take the house and all its problems off their hands.

As I cruise down the road with the top down, I contemplate all the reasons I could give to help convince the owner.

First off, I have the money for a hefty down payment. Second, as a successful business owner, qualifying for the loan won’t be an issue. Third, it’s so much more than just a house to me. It’s a piece of home; a familiar and comforting presence throughout my life. I figure a little bit of my backstory can’t hurt.

But if none of that works, then I’ll resort to extreme measures.

I’ll fucking beg.

As I pull up to the house, I spot a Tesla parked in the driveway—definitely not a local. If someone in town had bought one, it would’ve been the talk of the town.

The obvious wealth doesn’t bode well for me and my cause, but I owe it to myself to at least try.

The slam of my car door reverberates, along with the crunch of the gravel underfoot as I make my way to the front of the house. As I come around the bend, the sight of the ocean stops me dead in my tracks. Damn, I forgot how beautiful this is. It’s been months since I’ve been by, but just seeing this view—the potential view from my own my front yard—makes me more determined to turn my dream into a reality.

With renewed purpose, I trek through the sand along the bushes that line the sides of the property and separate it from the neighbors. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight I encounter as I come around the front of the house.

A woman is walking backward up the front porch steps, waving an umbrella in front of her as she yells at a gaggle of geese. Nearly ten of them are gathered just a few feet from her, honking obnoxiously in protest as she wields the umbrella like a weapon to fend them off.

“Go! Get!” she yells, but there’s something familiar about that voice that makes me pause. And the longer I watch her, the stronger the sense of déjà vu becomes.

“Back up!” She lunges forward as the geese squawk and jump backward, only to move forward again once she runs to the door, keeping the umbrella behind her as a shield.

Once I snap of my daze, I figure I might as well lend a hand. As amusing as the sight is, she seems genuinely scared. “Need some help?”

Her head snaps up, and when our eyes lock, my stomachplummets.

It’s her—the blonde from the bar.

She still looks uptight, although the gaggle of geese might be partly to blame.

“You!” she spits out, disdain lacing her words.

“Me?” I retort with just as much conviction. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She twists and lunges toward the geese with the umbrella again, huffing in frustration. “Well, currently I’m trying to get inside my house, but as you can see, these geese seem to have an agenda of making my life a living hell.”

My house.

Did I just hear her correctly?

“This isyourhouse?”

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