Page 80 of The Single Dad's Guide to Recreation

Shocked at his answer, I just blink at him. “Really?”

“Lemme see the listing.”

I turn my laptop around and he stoops to look at it, his large hands looking too big for the mousepad as he scrolls. “Hmm. Old house. That’s good.”

“Why?”

“How much you want this place?”

“More than anything.”

He nods. “Gimme ten minutes.”

I’m not sure if he really takes ten minutes, but when I look up from the computer again, he hands me a sealed envelope, saying, “It’s in escrow, so the buyer can still back out. The inspector is at the house this afternoon, so hightail it over there and give this to him. He’ll know what to do.”

“What will he do?”

“Find a reason why the buyer should back out. Roots eating away the sewer main or mold in the walls.” Conrad points at me, his expression serious. “We don’t like to use this option unless it’s an emergency but… gotta keep the sharks away from our homes somehow.”

My curiosity is piqued, but I want my house more than I want intel, so I jump to my feet, grab my purse, and throw my arms around him. Or most of the way around, since I can’t quite reach. “Thank you, Connie!”

He pats me awkwardly on the back. “All right, then. Go get your house.”

ChapterTwenty-Seven

JOSH

Buying a little bungalow in Climax is somehow much more nerve-wracking than buying a condo in Manhattan. Probably because Kingston family accountants and lawyers took care of all the details when Lisa and I purchased our place in the city, just like they took care of selling it. Turns out, I’ve never done this before.

But here I am, offer accepted, waiting for the inspector to show up. Fiddling with the list of questions that I printed out from some online research, the package for Avery under my arm, I pace back and forth in an attempt to quell my nerves.

Hoping that I’m doing the right thing.

Just when I’m about to lose my nerve and call the realtor to say, I’m not sure what, something like,You know what? Forget it, this was a mistake, who cares about the deposit,a weathered work truck pulls up in front of the house. An equally weathered man climbs out of it to give me a nod and a terse, “You the buyer?”

I wave. “That’s me.”

“You got the code to get in?”

Remembering the email the realtor sent, I nod as I unlock my phone. “It’s right here.”

“Open ’er up and I’ll be with you in a minute.”

I punch in the code to get the door unlocked as he pulls some tools out of his truck, but as he walks up the front steps, a familiar-looking Subaru pulls up behind his truck. There are a lot of Subarus in this town, but I only know of one with a pink rubber duck on the tip of its radio antenna.

“Um,” I say quietly to the inspector. “I need to hide from the woman who just pulled up in front of the house.”

I slip inside and crouch behind the door just as her car door slams. Moments later, Avery greets the man and asks if the buyer is present.

“Yep. He’s hiding right behind this door.”

“Dammit, man!” I shout-whisper as I swing the door open.

“Josh?” Avery’s face goes from pale to ghostly. “What are you doing here?”

Before I can answer, her expression shifts from shock to flat-out anger. “Wait. You stole my house from me? First, you drop me like a hot potato, and then you buy my grandmother’s house?”

“I’ll just be in the attic,” the inspector says, walking right between us as if this kind of thing happens all the time in his world.

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