Page 120 of The Hallows Queen

“Great to meet you, call me if you have any questions about the property.” A tall, brown-haired man shakes hands with an older, greying one, then he hands a business card to the woman standing to his left.

“Thank you.” The woman tips her head, then turns to walk down the steps to the shelly driveway.

I close my car door, making them each look my way, then the man walks toward me. When he reaches me, he holds his hand out. “Gavin Stine.”

I shake his hand. “Hayden Monroe.”

“Any relation to James Monroe?” he asks, and I tip my head to the side.

“My father.”

“I showed him a home a few blocks down the beach a couple months back. It’s great to meet you. I was just wrapping up with the last group if you’d like a tour before I close up.”

I almost roll my eyes – because of course in a small town like this, he would know who my father is. I should have used a fake name. Oh well, at least he knows I have money and he’ll kiss my ass for the potential of a sale.

He’s attractive – not my type, but I can see the appeal. He has that general level of attractiveness that you’d likely see in a frat house or on a sports team. His shoulders are broad, his biceps bulging underneath the tight button-down shirt he’s wearing. It’s his eyes that draw me in, though – bright blue with eyelashes that shadow over his face.

He’s what people’s grandmothers would call aheartbreakergrowing up. He’s a pretty boy.

“Sure,” I say, waving a hand to signal him to lead me in.

I follow behind him, studying how he walks. It isn’t the ass that you could bounce a quarter off of, or the tight pants that hold his muscular legs that make my palms grow sweaty with anger, it’s the swagger in his step. He walks exactly the way he looks, like a frat boy with a hero complex and too much ego.

If I didn’t hate him based on the simple fact that he’s fucking my girl, I would certainly hate him based on how he holds himself.

“These are actually the original doors from when the property was built in 1940.” He slaps the dark wooden doors as we pass through them. “Solid stained wood, traced back to Spain.”

I raise my brows in response when he looks at me, feigning I’m impressed.

We walk through the foyer, which is an open concept that looks into a huge living room to one side and a chef’s kitchen on the other – obviously newer construction than the house itself.

“The previous owner had a liking for cooking, so the kitchen is all state of the art.” He leads me into the kitchen. “Stainless steel appliances that are included, and pure marble countertops.”

He’s a good salesman. If I didn’t already have knowledge of what multi-million-dollar properties had, I’d probably be impressed.

“You cook?” he asks, turning to look at me.

“Not really,” I muse, walking past him around the bar to keep looking through the house.

He follows me. “Well, still a great kitchen to get a personal chef into. They’d have everything they need already.”

I hum between my lips to show him I’m listening, and he steps past me to keep leading the tour. “This is the first family room,” he says, holding his arms out. “You have kids?”

“No.” Looking around at the fancy furniture that’s staged in the room, I couldn’t see a child living in this property. It’s too elegant and fancy – definitely not somewhere you’d want sticky fingers and Crayolas.

“A great home for a young couple, anyways,” he goes on, opening the sliding glass doors that sit on the far edge of the room. I turn my head, my gaze landing on a strip of private beach that takes the breath from my lungs. It’s beautiful. Even though I was at the beach last night, it was too dark to appreciate. It’s the only part of Luxington I miss being away from.

I grew up on this sand, in this ocean, with this sun beating down on my back while I surfed. Gavin, the fuckhead, doesn’t know it, but he’s showing me a piece of myself out back of the property he’s trying to sell. If anything would get me interested in owning a home in Luxington, the beach being two feet from my back door would be it.

“Imagine waking up to this every day,” Gavin says, stepping out onto the wooden deck.

“It’s spectacular,” I muse, staring out at the ocean.

He taps his fingers on the wooden railing he’s standing by. “Shall we finish the tour?”

“I think I’ve seen everything I need to.” I suck my teeth. “Thanks, Gavin.”

“You sure? We still haven’t seen upstairs; the bedrooms are great.” He slides his hands into his pockets and steps toward me.

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