Page 91 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
Ethan nods, scrolling through photos on his phone. “And privacy. We want a place that’s ours, away from prying eyes. Somewhere we can build from scratch.”
Maya leans forward, eyes bright. “What about something with a big kitchen? I want us cooking together, not just grabbing takeout every night.”
I’m watching her, watching all of them, feeling this swell of something fierce and protective. We’rereallydoing this. I can hardly believe it.
I pull up a few listings on my own laptop. “Check this one out.” I gesture at the screen. “Four bedrooms, a big open living room, and a backyard that backs up to the woods. Quiet. Private.”
Jake leans in, squinting at the pictures. “Nice, and look at that fireplace. Winter nights would be perfect there.”
Ethan smiles. “Imagine the baby’s first Christmas. This place could hold all of that.”
We spend the next hour throwing ideas around—neighborhoods, school districts, commute times.
Later, as we drive out to see the first house in person, the sun hits the horizon and paints the sky in shades of pink and gold. The car hums quietly, but inside, there’s a steady rhythm in my chest—a beat of possibility.
We pull up to the house, a modest two-story with a wraparound porch and wildflowers blooming in the yard. The kind of place that’s lived in and loved.
Maya steps out first, taking it all in with wide eyes. Jake and Ethan follow close behind, already talking about paint colors and furniture.
“This could be it,” Maya says softly.
I nod, feeling it too—a sense that this is the place where everything starts to fall into place.
We step onto the creaky wooden porch, the sun slipping low behind the trees, creating long shadows over the wildflower beds that look like they haven’t been touched in a while. The paint is chipped here and there, but somehow that just adds character.
Jake nudges the door open, and it swings wide with a groan. I catch the faint scent of pine mixed with something older—maybe the remnants of a long-forgotten fire or just years of quiet living.
“Alright,” Jake says with a grin, nodding at Maya. “Show us your domain.”
She laughs softly, stepping inside first. The floorboards creak under her boots.
The living room is big, open, with a stone fireplace taking center stage. Ethan runs a hand over the mantle, his eyes lighting up.
I’m checking out the kitchen next—old but sturdy cabinets, a farmhouse sink, room enough to cook without bumping elbows.
“Imagine the dinners we could have here,” Maya murmurs, her eyes bright. “Cooking together, laughing, making a mess.”
Jake pokes his head around the corner. “And I call dibs on the grill outside.”
We wander upstairs, the stairs creaking under our weight. Each bedroom tells its own story—the way the sunlight hits the walls, the worn wood underfoot.
“Baby’s room should be that one,” Ethan says, nodding toward the smallest bedroom with the sweetest little window seat.
Maya’s face softens. “Yeah, I can see it.”
Jake grins and spins around dramatically. “I’ll take the room with the best view. That one right there.” He points to the one overlooking the backyard, wildflowers and woods beyond.
I’m quieter, just standing by the window, thinking about everything—the house, the baby, the three of them—and how messy and beautiful this is going to be.
Maya comes up beside me and slips her hand into mine. “What are you thinking?”
“About us,” I say honestly. “About how this place—this whole thing—feels like a fresh start. Like we’re actually building something real.”
She smiles, squeezing my hand. “We are.”
Jake bursts into a mock-serious tone. “Alright, team, decision time. Who’s bringing the couch? Who’s in charge of decorating? And who’s going to keep Maya from turning this place into a jungle with all those plants she loves?”
“Easy, tiger,” Ethan grunts. “We need to make an offer first.”
