Page 42 of Wrong Number, Right Unicorn

Errol’s scream had the hackles rising on my neck as I raced onto the porch.

“What? The baby? Do we need an ambulance? Head to the ER?”

“No.” He held up his phone, but my mind was on babies, contractions, and early delivery and I couldn’t focus. “What?” I blinked, not making sense of the information on the tiny screen.

“There’s a house for sale.’

We’d put the house hunting on the back burner, and while we checked the listings each week, we’d not inspected any lately. It was time-consuming, draining, and always disappointing.

“Okay.”

My mate was past the all-day sickness stage and into the second trimester. He had more energy, and we had sex at least once a day. Maybe he was up for looking at rotting floorboards and damp basements. If that was what he wanted, we’d do it, but if I had a choice, I’d pass.

“Look at it.” He shook the phone in my face.

I studied the image. Was this a joke? Did he want us to buy Grams’s house? And did that suggest she was moving into an assisted living facility? Nope. Errol was bubbling with excitement. That wasn’t it.

“This is Grams’s place but maybe a few years ago ‘cause it needs painting and the hedge is much smaller than it is now.”

“No, silly, it’s the house next door to Grams.”

I took the phone from my mate and swiped through the pics. It was identical to Grams’s home, minus the extended deck she had added before I met her and Errol.

“It’s just been listed, and look at the price. It won’t last long. There’ll be hordes of people wanting to inspect it.”

It was a private listing by the owner, not through a realtor. Errol had an advantage, though, as he knew the neighbors who were downsizing and going to live with their son and his family.

“I’m going to call them now.”

He paced over the porch of my place until someone answered. And I couldn’t fathom how the conversation was progressing as he said, “Yes,” too many times to count, “Maybe,” and “Of course.” I understood, “we’ll drive over right now,” and grabbed my keys.

“This was meant to be,” he said as he pulled the seat belt over his small bump.

There were a lot of “meant to be’s” in our relationship, so what was one more?

The neighbors, Pat and Sandy, were waiting outside the front door when we pulled up. It was a toss-up who was more excited, them or Errol. They pulled my mate into their embrace before hugging me.

“This house is filled with happy memories, and we want the new owners to continue that tradition,” Pat told us.

The layout of the house was familiar, and the backyard was the same size as Grams’s. Sandy was the gardener, so the space was an oasis away from the city lights and sounds.

“What do you think?” Errol pulled me aside. “I think it’s perfect.”

Before I could answer, he hustled me back to the living room and pointed at a small table in the corner. “I agree. Look!”

A landline. I’d be able to transfer the number from my current house.

It was perfect in every way.

A voice on the porch had us hurrying out the front door.

“Are you buying this house?” Grams asked.

Maybe she didn’t want us being helicopter grandkids. She might feel we were smothering her.

“We’re leaning toward it. Do you have an opinion?”

“You can borrow a cup of sugar from me any time, but I warn you, I will complain if you have loud parties.”

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