Page 115 of A Not So Merry Rescue
I turn down the street—Reindeer Road—and drive to the house at the end of the block, the one that years ago belonged to my grandparents on my mother’s side. I only ended up with it because none of my other siblings wanted it after Nana died. As much as I didn’t have use for it then, I’m hella glad I didn’t sell it.
The former house has been torn down and the one currently standing in its place is brand-new. Bigger than its replacement, but with elements the original contained. Like the front porch, black shutters, and two fireplaces.
“Wait. I know this location,” Willa admits as I park the car in front of the two-car garage. Like at the cabin, the plan is to build a three-car garage behind it, which will become my new workshop. There are some nights I wake up with too much on my mind and need the outlet, but I’m not prepared to drive to the cabin when the urge hits. Besides, I have ideas for the garage at the cabin. “This is your investment property?”
“Yes.”
It’s not so much an “investment” now as “home.” Instead, the cabin will become the investment property, one I have no intention of renting out. It’s already paid off, so I don’t need the income from it. I can’t say what will happen in the future to thecabin, if we’ll use it as much as I hope we will, but the option will always be there.
“Wow. I didn’t realize you’d been working on it. It looks almost completed.”
“A few finishing touches and it’ll be ready for occupancy. Want to see it?”
“Yep.”
I unbuckle and climb out of the car, rounding the hood to stand next to her as she takes it all in.
Instead of the white of the original house, I chose gray clapboard siding, hoping it will stand out more when it’s decorated for the holidays. The front boasts five windows lining the top floor. Below, the porch wraps around to the left, and the black front door welcomes visitors.
Or in our case, welcoming us home.
I’m still waiting for the driveway to be paved, but part of me is digging the dirt pathway. Though it might be a pain to plow with bigger storms.
“It’s gorgeous, Beckett. Almost too good for an Airbnb rental.”
I’m glad she thinks so.
Latching on to her wrist, I tug her behind me. “Come on. Let me show you the inside.”
We start downstairs, with the living room and half bathroom, making our way to the kitchen.
“It’s like the one at the B and B,” she notes, her eyes lighting up. The woman can’t cook to save her life, but she’s in love with kitchens. Go figure. She trails her hand along the marble island. “One of these days, when I’m on a hiatus from writing books, you’re going to teach me to cook.”
“Yeah, sure.” I’ll believe it when it happens. She says it once a month at minimum, yet when I offer to teach her, she claims she’s too busy. Good thing I love making meals for her.
After the kitchen, we climb the stairs to the second floor. Idebated about three or four extra bedrooms beyond the primary, finally settling on three larger ones rather four smaller. Even if we have more kids than bedrooms, they’re big enough to share.
Willa explores the primary bedroom, oohing and aahing as she absorbs it all. “His and her closets. And this bathroom. This bathtub. Oh my gosh.” She peeks her head out the door. “Are you sure you want to rent this place out?”
“What else would I do with it?” I keep my tone neutral, not letting the giddiness out. Mentally, I pat myself on the back for knowing my girl so well.
She joins me in the room. “I could think of one thing.”
I laugh. “Only one?” It’s never “one” thing with her.
“Yes,” she claims, punctuating it with a nod of her head. “One thing.”
“Lay it on me.”
She rubs her ear. It’s only gotten even more adorable the longer I’m with her. “Promise you won’t be mad?”
“Depends.”
“Beckett,” she whines, stomping her foot. “It’s Christmas. We don’t argue on your favorite holiday.”
“I never agreed to that.” The words fall out of my mouth without thinking. After hearing them, she’s right. We haven’t talked about it, but I have no intention of arguing with her on my favorite holiday. “I promise not to be mad.”
Slowly, she spins around the room, her eyes darting around. “What if we lived here?” she murmurs, almost inaudibly, I can barely make it out.
