Page 80 of Playing for Keeps
She gives a small laugh and waves a hand. “It’s a British period drama. There’s a house in it that looks just like this. The wisteria reminded me.”
I follow her gaze and notice the cascading purple flowers covering the front of the house, draping across and framing the front door like something out of a storybook.
Her voice brightens. “Come on. Let’s go see the inside.”
“Is the agent meeting us here?” I ask.
She holds up a key with a grin. “Nope. His wife just had a baby, so he gave us the go-ahead to look around. It’s empty anyway.”
I watch her climb out of the car, the excitement practically radiating from her, and a slow smile pulls at my lips. She sounds more excited than I do, and even though I haven’t been able to tell her how I feel, I’m here. With her.
That has to be enough for now.
I won’t be a client forever. And maybe the more time we spend together, the clearer it’ll become, to her and to me, that whatever this is between us… it could be something amazing.
When Ivy unlocks the oversized front door and pushes it open, we both freeze in the doorway, quietly stunned. We’d seen the listing photos, but they didn’t come close to capturing this. The entryway is massive, with sunlight spilling across a real wood floor that gleams beneath years of dust and wear. My head tilts back automatically, my eyes tracing the elegant, curvedstaircase that winds to the second floor. The place is dated, no question, but there’s something timeless about it. With a little work, it could be incredible.
To the left, an arched opening leads into what I’m guessing is the living room. To the right, if I’m remembering the listing right, there’s a study and a snug. The kitchen is at the back, along with a dining room and laundry space.
“Where do we start?” Ivy asks, her whole face lit up with enthusiasm.
I smile, loving how animated she is. “Kitchen?”
“Perfect. This way.”
I trail behind her past the staircase and through a doorway that opens into a sprawling kitchen. The cabinets are outdated and the countertops have seen better days, but the windows overlook a wild, overgrown backyard, and even in its current state, the view is pretty stunning.
“The dining room’s through there,” she says, motioning toward a pair of double doors. “You could take out that wall and open it all up so you’ve got kitchen, dining, and living space. You’d have a full-length open-plan space with bifold doors all the way across the back. It’d be amazing.”
I glance at her. “Are you offering to knock the wall down for me?” I say, grinning as I remember her joke about taking a sledgehammer to the walls in her own place with her dad. “I know demolition’s kind of your thing.”
Her cheeks color slightly, but she smiles. “I’d help.”
I laugh under my breath. “Relax, I’m teasing. But seriously, your idea’s perfect. That’s exactly the kind of space I want.”
She beams. “Come on. Let’s head upstairs.”
I follow her back through the entryway and up the sweeping staircase, her hand grazing the banister as she climbs slowly, like she’s taking it all in.
“I’m obsessed with this staircase,” she says, glancing down over the railing. “Can’t you just see that huge Christmas tree I mentioned the other day down there in the entry?”
She looks over her shoulder at me, grinning, and my heart races. Because yeah, I can see the tree. But more than that, I see her decorating it. I see her in this house, laughing in the kitchen, curled up on the couch in the living room, glass of wine in her hand. Every version of this place that’s forming in my head has her in it. She’s everywhere.
I just smile at her, afraid that if I open my mouth, everything I’ve been holding in will come spilling out, right here, halfway up the damn staircase.
At the top, she turns to me.
“There are seven bedrooms. We’ll start with the master.”
My brows lift. “Seven?” I repeat, and she nods.
“Too many? Is it too much space for just you?”
Her question hits me in a way I don’t expect. “Well,” I say, a little quieter, “I’m hoping it won’t always be just me.”
She meets my eyes, and for a split second, something flickers across her expression, but it’s gone before I can place it. She offers a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Of course it won’t be,” she says.
