I flushed at the compliment, but refused to let flattery sway me.
Ethan pulled the BMW in front of a weathered beach house. I immediately saw the potential in the sun-bleached cedar shingles and sagging porch. It was undeniably charming, with a classic, old-world feel. The salty sea air had etched character into the peeling blue trim. Bougainvillea climbed the walls, and a rusted wind chime sang out a greeting. From this angle, no other neighbors were visible—and that alone was a rare find on the Southern California coast.
I spotted a figure sitting on the porch, a pipe clenched between his teeth. He looked up as we approached, his eyes narrowing.
“Ethan,” he rumbled, his voice gruff. “And you must be...” He looked at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Is this your girlfriend?”
Ethan spluttered, taken aback. “Grandpa! This is Clare.” He grabbed my hand. “She works for... for Clare’s Renovations. Remember, I told you about her.”
I wasn’t expecting Ethan to grab my hand. My heart gave an entirely inappropriate flutter. The gesture was just for show, or maybe a reflex, something to anchor him...and possibly win over his grandfather. And yet...
The calluses on his palm brushed against mine, a small, unspoken reminder that he wasn’t just some guy in a button-down with good manners—and a nice car. I told myself not to read into it. Still, I didn’t pull away.
Maybe I should have.
Maybe I didn’t want to.
The smile vanished from Walter’s face, replaced by a frown. “Just a business proposition, huh?” He looked disappointed, but then his gaze rested on our entwined fingers and turned speculative. “Well, come on in, I suppose.”
We followed him inside. The house was rich with the scent of old wood and salty air. Walter gestured towards a worn armchair. “Sit down, sit down. Though I don’t know what you’re expecting to achieve. I told Ethan I’m not selling. I don’t care how lovely you are.”
I warmed beneath the half-hearted compliment and tried to ignore the subtle shift in his demeanor and the way his gaze lingered a little too long on my face. “Sir, I understand you’re attached to your home,” I began, trying to keep my voice calm and reassuring. “And we respect that. We’re not interested in tearing it down and building condos. We want to restore it, to bring it back to its former glory.”
Walter scoffed. “Restore it? It doesn’t need restoring! It’s perfect just the way it is.”
I smiled, trying to project confidence. “It has a lot of potential, sir. Imagine... new windows, an updated kitchen, a deck overlooking the ocean...”
He waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t wantnewanything. I’m old, and I live in an old house. We’ve aged together. That’s the way it should be.”
Walter narrowed his eyes at the brochure I’d set on the table, like it had personally offended him. "I told you, I don’t need some slick pamphlet to tell me what my land’s worth."
“I’m not trying to sell you anything,” I said, already regretting my tone.
Ethan shot me a warning look. “We just want you to consider that the house needs work. Serious work.”
He snorted. “It’s held up this long.”
“Barely.” Ethan gestured toward the ceiling, where a brown stain was spreading like a bad mood. “You’ve got water damage. Mold, probably. The back porch is sagging, and I think the furnace is older than I am.”
Walter puffed on his pipe like it might calm him, but the twitch in his jaw said otherwise. “I know how to fix what needs fixing. Always have.”
“Yeah, but you’re eighty-three,” Ethan pressed. “It’s not safe for you to be climbing up ladders anymore, let alone crawling under the house to rewire things.”
That did it. Walter slammed the pipe down on the table so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter. The sharp crack made Rufus jump and trot out of the room with his tail tucked.
“I built this place!” Walter’s face turned a scary shade of red. “Every nail, every board. With my own hands and your grandmother’s encouragement. Don’t come in here acting like you know better just because you’ve got a folder full of pretty pictures and big words.”
“I’m not—” Ethan tried to backtrack, but Walter was on a roll.
“You think some hotshot developer’s going to do right by this land? They’ll bulldoze the garden, pave over the memories, and slap up condos with names like“Sunburn Suites”or“Luxury at Low Tide,”as if a catchy name could make up for paper-thin walls and a view of the dumpster. And you’ll stand there smiling, thinking you did something noble.”
A vein throbbed in Ethan’s neck. “It’s not about condos, Grandpa. It’s about safety. About planning for the future. About not living in a house that might cave in the next time a big storm rolls through!”
He glared at me, eyes sharp and wounded. “My future’s here. Right here in these walls. I don’t need anyone telling me how to live out the end of it.”
We stood there, the silence thick with stubbornness and pride. Finally, he picked up his pipe again with shaking fingers and muttered, “Now, get out of here and let me watch my show.”
Ethan, still holding my hand, led me into the kitchen.
