Page 62 of The Sandover Beach Billionaire

Chapter Twenty

“I really thinkyou might like this one.” Mercer pulled her car into the driveway of a beach cottage set back in the trees, the house up on stilts with space for parking underneath. A hammock swung lazily beneath the house.

Jenna tried not to laugh when she caught sight of Mercer’s face, which was pinched. She was already prepared for Jenna to reject it on sight. Which she had done a few times that morning already. And over the past week, though sometimes she actually made it inside the house before saying no. She and Mercer had looked at twenty properties over the last few weeks. The search had been almost lazy at first, but now that Jenna had actually sold her mother’s house and had a closing date just a few weeks away, she was feeling the pressure.

She was also feeling indecisive.

Jenna was like Goldilocks—this one too small, this one too large, this one too expensive, this one too worn down. Whether it was renting versus buying, three bedrooms over four, nearer to the beach or on the Sound side of the island, Jenna hadn’t been able to pick.

Now that she had a job working for a real estate firm—intentionally not the one Anna worked at—Jenna set up the appointment, but let Mercer pick all the listings. Jenna went in blind, with the address and the lock-box codes and nothing else. It didn’t matter if she was going about this backwards, the opposite of how she would recommend clients do it. Jenna wanted to find a place that spoke to her.

Mercer had picked a variety. They had looked at fixer-uppers and fully-renovated homes. Even a few new ones, though most of those were out of Jenna’s budget. Larger homes, smaller ones. Condos. Houses. Ranches. Beach homes on stilts. Beach side. Sound side. Somehow Mercer kept her patience. Jenna would have tried to pawn off this kind of client on someone else. Maybe the adage about doctors making the worst patients was true also of real estate agents making the worst clients.

Jenna could have done this on her own, but it had been surprisingly fun to have Mercer with her. At least, it was fun for Jenna. If Mercer was still talking to her by the end of this, then their friendship would probably last forever. She had a feeling that it would. Mercer still kept a lot of things close, but Jenna hoped she would open up more over time. They talked almost daily now, but never her past. And never about Jackson.

“I like the look of it,” Jenna said. More than like. This house got her blood pumping. It looked like a classic beach cottage, but well-maintained. Possibly renovated.

“About time,” Mercer muttered, getting out of the car.

“I heard that!”

Jenna felt a quickening of her heartbeat as she stepped out of the car. The house had the gray-shingled outside she loved, but a bright and cheery coat of white on the trim that looked fresh. It faced north, not east toward the beach, but a swatch of water might be visible from up there. A screened-in porch and big wide deck surrounded the three sides you could see. Underneath the house there was plenty of room for parking, what looked like a little shed, and an outdoor shower with wooden walls and a door. Exactly what you’d want for a house at the beach.

At the top of the stairs to the deck, Jenna went straight into the screened porch instead of the main door of the house. Mercer trailed behind her silently, letting Jenna look. A couch with big blue cushions covered in a print with shore birds sat along the wall, just under a window looking into the house. In the corner there was a tall hanging chair that looked oddly like a birdcage. She sat down in it and found it surprisingly comforting. She wasn’t imagining it—she could definitely smell the ocean.

“Is the rest of the place furnished?” Jenna asked. “Everything looks new.” And much nicer than what she thought she could afford. Mercer hadn’t mentioned cost yet and Jenna was almost afraid to ask.

“It’s fully furnished, which should be perfect for you. Especially considering your time constraints.”

“Ugh. Let’s not mention the deadline, please.” Closing was a few weeks away still, but if Jenna didn’t find somewhere this week, it would be difficult to get paperwork done and her things moved in time.

The late afternoon sun slanted down and Jenna could imagine dinners around the picnic table, the night falling softly like a shawl. Beau, Mercer, Jimmy, and some of the other friends from church. She had been surprised at how easy it was to walk through the doors of Hope the day after everything went down with Jackson. Something had shifted when she stood with her feet in the cold water on the beach. She was still working through her feelings about everything, but she was no longer angry with God. Instead, he returned to being her refuge he used to be. The way he always had been, even when she couldn’t see it.

That first morning at Hope, the worship team sang “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” the old hymn she remembered from childhood. It had brought her to tears. She realized just how much she had stopped trusting in God’s faithfulness to her. He was right there all along. She felt his welcome in the songs and the messages. She felt it in the people she was getting to know more week by week. It restored her faith and helped her feel a connection to her mother.

It also meant that she saw Jackson every week. Despite her best efforts to keep an emotional distance, her heart didn’t agree. It was a traitor, longing to talk to him, be near him, touch him, spinning her thoughts into daydreams before she could stop it.

You can’t let yourself get hurt again, she told herself.

Life is full of hurts. You’re making a mistake giving up on him, that other voice argued. It had been getting louder lately, the pesky, argumentative voice. Despite her rational arguments, these thoughts kept coming. Especially whenever she saw Jackson and her body lit up the way it always did. She couldn’t help but remember his scent and the feel of his strong arms around her. When he wasn’t looking, her gaze still fell to his lips, remembering.

“Do you want to go inside or are we going to hang out on the porch?” Mercer stood by the door.

Jenna retrieved the code for the box that held the key. When she opened the door and they stepped inside, Jenna almost gasped. It was like the kind of beach house she would have designed for herself. It had a casual comfortable, beachy vibe all around. The space had been opened up for a perfect-sized living, dining, and kitchen. Granite counters, white subway tile backsplash, light-gray cabinets that were made to look a little weathered. The main colors for the décor were blue, gray, and sea-green.

Jenna grew worried as she walked back to the bedrooms. This place was fully renovated, had a great location walking distance to the beach, and more than enough space. She always told her clients not to set their hearts on something before signing the papers, but she already had. She wanted this place, no matter the cost. The master bedroom even had a reading nook, with a patterned wingback chair and small table with a book and an empty coffee cup.

“What do you think?” Mercer asked.

“We should go,” Jenna said.

“Wait! I thought you liked it.”

“I love it. But there’s no way I can afford this.”

Mercer cocked her head. “You’re the agent. I’m just the partner in crime. Didn’t you look at the prices or the specs?”

“I like seeing the place first before making a decision based on the listings. I pulled the specs but didn’t really look at the details.”

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