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My hands stroke up his chest, covering his heart.
“I’d love to come with you.”
2
NOVA
“I can’t believe you got us in on such short notice.”
“It’s my job.” The realtor flashes startlingly white teeth as she punches in the gate code from the driver’s side of her BMW.
“I know you said a condo is fine, but I wanted you to see what a house would look like, particularly given your generous budget. It’s furnished with four bedrooms, three baths, a pool, and a half basketball court.”
She parks and we get out of the car.
In the time she’s been taking me around LA, we’ve seen two places already, but neither felt like a place I could live. The first was stark and too perfect, like a museum without artifacts. The second was dark and stifling, the high ceilings unable to compensate for the slate finishes.
This one is beautiful, stucco with arched windows and a well-maintained garden.
I strip off my light sweater and tie it around my waist so I’m wearing only a tank top. If I needed a reminder we were in for a change, it hit me the moment I stepped off the plane.
The sunshine warms my face, the palm trees swaying in the breeze.
When we talked about me looking for a rental for us, Clay gave me a budget that made my eyes bug out.
If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making a home when I’m transplanted. We’re building something new here, and I want it to feel welcoming from the start.
I pull out my phone to snap a picture, glancing at my texts.
Grumpy Baller: I’m holding your hand right now.
The message from Clay came through before I left on the plane.
I told him I’d fly commercial if only because it’s more environmentally friendly. So, he got me a first-class ticket and bought me seats 1A and 1B.
“So you’re not arguing with any attractive strangers,” he told me.
I follow the realtor inside to a bright foyer with warm wood floors and light spilling in everywhere. Beyond, the living room is furnished with a contemporary sitting area anchored by a sectional couch that looks as if it could fit an entire basketball team. I’m instantly charmed.
“It’s a relatively close drive to the arena,” she goes on.
“It’s beautiful. I don’t know what we’d do here with all this space,” I admit as I follow her through the floorplan.
“Have guests? Or kids?” she asks.
“Guests definitely.” I smile.
We haven’t talked about kids.
We haven’t even talked about how long we’re staying. Clay’s contract has an option this summer that, as I understand it, means he could leave LA if he wants.
This feels like a big leap. The other night at Clay’s apartment, it seemed like the only path forward. Now I’m realizing how crazy it was.
The kitchen is updated with warm gray counters and soft white cabinets, and the living room is huge with a vaulted ceiling and a chandelier, wood beams crossing the space. One of the bedrooms would make an amazing studio. It has a huge arched window and the same warm wood floors as the rest of the place, plus soft cream walls.
“I’ll admit I’m a basketball fan. I was excited to see the deal go through. Though it’s always a gamble messing with a team’s chemistry so close to the end of the season,” the realtor says as I look around.
“Of course,” I say as if I’ve already considered it at length.
