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I take a shaky breath, squinting my eyes shut, trying to drown out the image of Harry boinking his size-zero secretary on his oversized mahogany desk. I make a quick wish for impotence on the house of Harry, then say, “Okay, you’re right. I hate that the kids are going through this.”
“I know, it sucks. We’ll be sure to put therapy for the kids as a line item in the agreement.”
Sadly, this doesn’t make me feel any better.
“I thought you were calling about the new intel,” Nate says.
“Oh, right. What’s that about?” I ask, killing the ignition.
“Your Aunt Gin died.”
“Oh. Sad. I didn’t really know her. What’s that have to do with you, me, and Harry, though?”
“Well, she left you her house.”
“What? Why? I met her one time when I was like five years old.”
“You apparently made quite the impression. And you’re the only remaining relative. I have to disclose this to the courts, but Harry can’t touch it. There’s a specific clause that the house goes to you and no one else.”
“Let me get this straight. An aunt I met one time leftmeher house?” I gnaw on my bottom lip, digesting this new info. I only vaguely remember Aunt Gin, let alone her house. Why me?
“It’s a beach house. Worst case, you fix it and flip it. Nice little asset,” Nate says.
“For sure. It’s in Florida, right? Atlantic coast, a barrier island, if I remember correctly.”
“Exactly. I’ll shoot you the address and you can look it up, decide how you want to handle it.”
“Great. Thanks.”
We disconnect and five seconds later I have Aunt Gin’s house address, along with a funny home renovation meme from Nate.
I laugh at the meme, wishing I’d made better life choices. Nate would’ve made a way better husband than Harry the Horrible. Too bad he’s ten years younger than me, or I might be interested…
Clicking on the Zillow app, I type in the address of Aunt Gin’s house and up pops a picture of a small beach bungalow, best described as ‘quaint.’ Translation: a real fixer-upper and probably a money pit. Three bedrooms, one bath, with a wooden deck off the back directly facing the ocean. Honestly, it could be a helluva lot worse. Maybe this beach house is exactly the change of scenery I need. A reboot, the beginning of Elise 2.0.
I click out of the app and scroll through my calendar, already planning a road trip to Seaglass Beach.
CHAPTER2
Smith
“Smitty! What’s going on, man?”
Parker, my cousin, business partner, and off-and-on roommate, waves at me from his seat at the end of the bar. I pull out the stool next to him, motioning at the bartender for a beer on tap.
“Finished up the tile repairs over at the Landry house this afternoon. What about you?”
“Still managing the roofing job on 4th Street. Looks like it’ll be done in the next day or two, assuming the rain holds out. Did you see this?” He slams the local paper down in front of me, pointing. “Ginny Bennett passed. What do you think’s gonna happen to her house? I don’t know of any relatives. Think it’ll go to auction?”
I stroke the stubble on my jaw, thinking. “Don’t know. Why? You wanna buy it?”
Parker shrugs, one brow raised. “Maybe. Could be a good investment, and we’d do the work ourselves. Maybe go in fifty-fifty, then rent it out. Real estate is always a good play and we’d have year-round income—snowbirds in the winter, family beach trips in the summer.”
“Insurance on the coast, though. Major profit killer.”
“True. No way could I swing this on my own.” He locks eyes with me, takes a swig of his drink. “Just think about it.”
“Okay.” I nod, even as my mind swirls with possibilities. “How are we going to figure out if it’s even for sale?”
