“For now, yes.”
“Are we really thinking of buying an old house that has to be renovated?”
“I’m thinking about it,” I say. “The yard is perfect for Arko, and the house would be such a great place for Harper to grow up. It feels safer than our old neighborhood that had cars whizzing by constantly.”
“It’s going to be a lot of work.”
I shrug. “Since when are we afraid of hard work?”
She grins. “Should we call them?”
I steal another fry. “Absolutely.”
Chapter 15
Keanna
Is this totally crazy?
Have I just been so stressed about wanting my own place that I’m diving headfirst into buying a run-down fixer-upper instead of waiting for a shiny brand new home to be built? It’s Monday morning and the check from Jett’s race last week has been deposited and the money finally hit our account. I stand behind the front counter at The Track, leaning on my elbows at the computer. I have a tall chair to sit in but I’m too antsy to sit right now. I stare at the money in our account. One of these days, we’ll also get some insurance money from losing everything we owned. That should deposit soon.
I wonder how much they even want for the blue house? Surely it would cost less than a brand new brick home, but maybe not because it has land with it and land values can be pretty steep. Jett and I agreed to call the blue house, but we didn’t have any time to drive back by there and get the number off the for sale sign. We decided we’ll go today on our lunch break. I glance at the time. It’s only 9:12. Still three hours until lunch.
I heave a sigh.
Arko’s paws click down the hallway and he walks from Harper’s playroom to the front desk. He’s made himself right at home here at The Track. I ruffle the top of his head and he laps up the attention before laying down at my feet.
Jett bursts in a few moments later. He grins. “Got it.”
“Got what?”
“The phone number.” He lifts himself onto the counter and smacks a kiss on my lips before dropping back down. “I had to run into town to get a new gasket for the bike and decided to swing by the blue house on my way.” He holds up his phone, showing a picture he’d taken of the sign. “Should we call now?”
“Yes!” I bounce on my toes. Luckily it’s quiet right now. Most of our customers come first thing in the morning or just after lunch.
Jett puts his phone on speaker and calls the number. It rings, and rings, and rings, and just when I’m about to give up hope, a man answers.
“Hello?” He sounds old. Like elderly levels of old.
“Hi there,” Jett says. “My name is Jett Adams, and I’m calling about the blue house on Cherry Street that’s for sale.”
“I’ll stop you right there,” the man says. “It’s not for sale anymore.”
The call ends.
Jett frowns. “That was weird.”
“Give me that.” I grab his phone and call the number back. The same grumpy older man answers.
“Hello?”
“Hi, what’s your name?”
“Ben. Who is this?”
“This is Keanna. I’m calling because you just hung up on my husband and I wanted to ask why your house isn’t for sale if there’s a big for sale sign on the property?”
The line is silent for a moment. I look back at the phone, but the call is still going. “Sir? You there?”
