I rehearsed that last bit before he got home, tested out a few different versions—“Ifuckinglove you” (too dramatic), “You scared theshitout of me” (starts to sound gross when you say it over and over). I felt pretty confident about where I landed, but I didn’t expect this—his eyes are damp. He’s fully crying by the time he pulls me in for a hug.
“I love you, too,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I feel terrible about those things I said. I shouldn’t have called you… that.”
I mean, it’s not like he used the C word, but fine. More than fine! I pull back from him. This is the hard part, but I remind myself it’s for a greater cause: “I’m really sorry, too, Ian.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and kisses me.
“We have to talk about the house, though,” I say, gently steering us toward the point.
He sighs and wipes his eyes.
“I didn’t lie, Ian. It’s true that we’ve had trouble conceiving, and who knows? We might want to adopt one day. Please, just come with me on Wednesday night—you’ll really like Jack, I promise, and Penny is so cute. It’s really not that big a deal.”
He shakes his head adamantly. “I’m just not comfortable with this.”
“But why? People write sappy letters with their offers all the time. We’ll just get to make our case in person. And if they say no, I will let it go.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up and heading into the kitchen, “this just feels way over the line.”
Maybe it would’ve been better if hehadused the C-word.
“Ian, the whole market is over the line,” I say. “People are doing all sorts of crazy shit. I saw a woman on TikTok who offered to let a seller name her baby!”
He smirks—progress. “That can’t be real,” he says.
“Well, either way, at least I’m not that nuts.”
He laughs!
“Seriously,” he says, smile fading, “I don’t think this is healthy. You know all this stress isn’t good for you.”
“Right, and this could finally be a way to put an end to it! You said yourself that you loved that house, Ian. It’s perfect for us. You can’t deny that.”
He leans against the fridge, arms crossed, staring at the floor.
“You heard what Heath said the other night,” I add, wondering how I didn’t think to leverage that asshole sooner. “He couldn’t believehow luckyhe and Erika got. Well, maybe it’s our turn to finally get lucky. I mean, if anyone deserves a break, it’s you, not him.”
Another long sigh snakes out of him. When he finally meets my gaze, I hold my breath.
“Fine,” he says, after an eternity. “But if this doesn’t work, we’re waiting for it to come on the market just like everybody else.”
I spring from the sofa and run to give him a hug. “Absolutely,” I say, “that’ll be the only thing left to do.”
8
It has been five days since I first saw the house. Every day since, I’ve talked myself out of coming back here. It would’ve obviously been too risky. How many more times could I possibly explain away bumping into Jack out of sheer coincidence? But I haven’t stopped thinking about it. It’s like a middle-school crush. All I’ve wanted to do is study every inch of this place and imagine what it’ll be like when it’s mine.
Now I finally get my chance.
Someone has planted the window boxes since last week—they explode orange and violet and fuchsia. I follow Ian’s stare up to a plump cardinal singing from the big maple in the front left corner of the yard. He was silent the whole car ride here. “You’re sure you still wanna go through with this?” he asked when we woke up this morning. But I can feel him mellowing as he absorbs this scene, dreamy and golden in the faded early-evening sun.
We make our way up to the stoop, where I give the brass door knocker a couple raps. Jack’s muffled voice floats through from somewhere on the other side—“Penny, they’re here!”—then small footsteps patter down that gorgeous wide-plank floor.
Here we go. The beginning of the rest of our lives.
The door is flung open. “Hi, Margo!”
“Hi, Penny! Oh my gosh, your dress is so cool.” It has navy blue and white stripes on top, with a navy tulle skirt.
