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I shrugged. “Maybe. Good to know what the value of small landholdings are on our road. I’m next door.” I pointed towards my house.
“You thinking of selling?” The agent didn’t wait for me to answer, shoving his business card into my hands. “Give me a call anytime. I’d love to give you a market appraisal.”
“Thanks?”
“Well, I’d best be off. Open for inspection next weekend. Maybe I’ll see you.”
Open house?Great, then more people would know, and then more offers.
“Yeah, maybe I will,” I said to his back.
I stared at the figure on my banking app while stirring the bolognese sauce in the pot.
The number was a decent amount. Precisely the amount of money Ari insisted she pay as rent for the second bedroom since she moved in.
Not that she had ever slept in there since she’d moved in. Ari mostly used the room to study, and now prepare her lessons and do marking and store an incredible amount of craft things for small children to use in the classroom. There were more glue sticks in our second bedroom than in an office supplies shop.
We had separate banking accounts, and we split the cost of groceries and bills, but we had one bed. At first, my bed, and now ours.
Definitely ours.
We bought sheets together on sale. New pillows. So many throw pillows. Little useless pillows that Ari says ‘adds to the cottagecore aesthetic of the house’.
Whatever that meant. But she loved it, so I did too, even if taking them off every night to go to sleep was a bit of a pain.
Speaking of throw pillows and bed, where was Ari? After two nights away, I missed her. Sleeping alone really sucked.
Bolognese was simmering in a large pot, and I’d just put the water on the boil for pasta when Bessie puttered up the side of the house, and less than a minute later, Ari bounded through the back door, bags swinging from each of her shoulders and in her hands.
“I want details of your talk. And dinner smells great.”
She had her blonde hair pulled back into a bun and was wearing her glasses, something new after getting her eyes checked last year.
Ari, as Miss Wilde, year two teacher, with her hair in a neat bun, peering at me through those glasses, had me hot for the teacher every time.
My shoulders sagged. “I forgot to say two pages of my notes.”
Ari dumped her things on the kitchen table and came over, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You said Theo said it was okay, but did you think it went well?”
I shrugged.
Ari studied my face and then smiled. “You still don’t think you should have been a guest speaker.”
I shrugged again, wrapping an arm around her, not quite looking her in the eye. “Felt weird, you know? How many of those guys would ever be in my situation, inheriting a house and property? Couldn’t bring myself to say my late grandfather left me a house in his will.”
“No fourteen-year-old inherits a house. Your story can help them to make a choice now to learn shearing and hopefully that means their lives will be different.”
I managed a small smile. I don’t ever think I’ll stop feeling like an imposter. But I wouldn’t swap the way Ari was looking at me right now for anything, like I was the king of her world.
“I bought you a small cake to celebrate doing your talk,” Ari added and then left a light kiss on my cheek.
I abandoned the bolognese and boiling water and backed her up against the kitchen table, shoving one of my knees between her thighs and kissed her hard.
Finally, I pulled away, pleased I’d messed up her bun a little and skewed her glasses.
“You went all the way to town to buy me a cake?” I whispered against her earlobe, giving her a nip. “There’s a bakery in Ballydoon, you know.”
“I-I know,” she breathed as I traced my tongue along her neck. “Wait, stop. I can’t think while you’re doing that.”
