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The nineteen-hundred Queen Anne-style Victorian, which had been renovated from its hardwood floors to its vaulted ceilings, seduced me with historical charm.
The double-door entryway flowed into a spacious living room with a wood-burning fireplace, original crown moldings, bay windows, and built-in cabinets.
A roomy den opened up to a covered wraparound patio where the view of the private beach could melt cold hearts.
The guest bedroom, with an en-suite bathroom, allowed access to a backyard equipped with an outdoor kitchen, a heated salt-water pool, a pool house, and an outdoor shower. Bordered by a wall of colorful hydrangeas, the extended lot had a private, secluded feel, which I soon learned appealed to my hunky yet picky client.
Upstairs, we meandered through a massive primary suite, four smaller bedrooms, and three additional full bathrooms.
Everything about the house took my breath away. I daydreamed of a day when homes like this would be exclusive to my own real estate firm.
Dream big, Giana.
Back downstairs, the airy, all-white gourmet kitchen, complete with walk-in pantry, huge center island, built-in refrigerator, eight-burner stove, and a breakfast nook with an oversized bay window, stole the show—at least according to Reed’s wide-eyed expression.
“This couldn’t be any more perfect.” Hands in his pockets, he surveyed the space, eyes gleaming. “It’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
“Wait”—my voice squeaked with excitement—“does this mean you’d like to make an offer?”
Not only did commission from a six-zero-priced home seem like the ultimate, timely cure for my dwindling bank account, but seeing Reed this elated after all these years apart made my heart spin.
“Hell yeah,” he said, the corner of his mouth turned up. “And you and I can celebrate at dinner.”
CHAPTER 5
Reed
* * *
Backstory.
We’ve all got one.
It’s what shapes our life stories.
Provides a detailed understanding of the who, what, when, why, and how.
Three years ago, my life took an unexpected turn, making me reconsider the career I’d chosen.
Don’t get me wrong; six years playing professional football in California for the Niners fulfilled a lifelong dream—even though it tore me away from Giana.
Injuries and the lingering threat of CTE made me want out of the game barely three years into my six-year contract. So, like on the field, I put a next-move strategy into play.
While most college football teammates majored in Physical Therapy or Sports Medicine, I paired my love for food with my college’s affiliate ties to a high-ranking culinary arts school to earn a degree in Culinary Management.
As my passion for football took a nosedive, I leveraged my second passion, food, to prepare for life off the field.
My well-connected agent pulled strings with a big-five publisher and television producers setting a plan in motion.
I made appearances on shows like Today, Good Morning America, and The View, promoting my newly published book Gridiron Foodie with live cooking segments that featured recipes from my book. The publishing deal and television appearances kicked off my so-called pro-footballer-turned-celebrity-chef status.
By the time my contract with the Niners ended, I’d signed a deal with Food Network that guaranteed me a cooking show named after my book, Gridiron Foodie, slated to be filmed each week at my house…in the Hamptons. I may have seemed picky, as Giana lightly joked about during the home tour. But the home I sought needed charm, space, seclusion, and, most of all, a gourmet kitchen. After touring duds, the tension eased when the last house on the list for the day checked all the boxes.
Hours with beautiful Giana plus one spacious Victorian house were cause for celebration, especially after we received notification that the seller accepted my all-cash offer.
When I suggested we have a celebratory dinner at Hampton’s top lobster restaurant, Giana scrunched up her nose and said, “No thanks, I’d rather eat a bowl of charbroiled cat litter than anything from that place. It’s where Chad, the scumbag ex who’s marrying my sister, often took me.”
“Charbroiled cat litter?” I couldn’t help but laugh, and her attempt at suppressing a giggle faltered.
