Chapter 50
CHAPTER 50
PORTIA
T he late summer sun hung heavy over the lake. It was one of those perfect evenings with the sky starting to transform into what I liked to think of as an orange sherbet look. Orange and pink with faint, wispy clouds. I stepped back from the freshly repaired porch railing, wiping my hands on my shorts, and admired our work.
The last two weeks had been a labor of love. We had been spending our evenings at the house, painting and doing little things to make it just a little better. I didn’t mind doing the work. It was fun and it was something Dean and I could do together.
Dean appeared beside me, his bare shoulders glistening with sweat, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He handed me a cold soda.
“Not bad,” I teased, bumping my shoulder against his.
He turned that smirk on me, his blue eyes darkening in a way that still sent heat curling low in my stomach. “I’d say the same about you, but you haven’t done a damn thing except stand there looking pretty.”
I gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to my chest. “Excuse me? I brought drinks.”
Dean gestured to the untouched glasses. “You opened the fridge and poured liquid into a cup. Should I be impressed?”
Laughter bubbled up as I shook my head. This was us now—easy banter, shared projects, quiet moments that meant more than any grand gesture. We were building something meaningful. We were building a life together.
I leaned back against the porch railing, the freshly painted wood still warm from the sun. Dean stood beside me, his arms crossed as he surveyed the house with that critical eye of his. The place looked good—better than good. We’d put in the hours, sanding, painting, fixing little things that had been neglected for years. It felt like we’d breathed new life into it.
“She’s going to love it,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence.
Dean grunted in agreement. “Does this mean you’re going to get a fat commission when this place sells?”
I grinned. “You know it.”
I smiled, taking a sip of my soda. “You’ve gone above and beyond on this. I definitely got my money’s worth out of you.”
He chuckled. “The sex was a bonus.”
“For me or you?” I teased.
“Definitely for you,” he joked. “I’m the one always doing the work.”
“Hey!” I protested.
We fell quiet, appreciating the sunset and the sound of the crickets.
“Have you thought about it?” he asked.
I turned to look at him. His eyes were on me, watching me, looking for a hint about my answer.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. “I’ve thought about it.”
He didn’t say anything, just waited, giving me the space to continue. That was Dean—always patient in his own gruff way. He had learned to let me express myself at my own speed.
“I put my place on the market this morning,” I admitted, watching his face for any reaction. “As a rental property. I figured if you’re serious about this, about us, then why wait?”
For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then a slow smile spread across his face—the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and softened the hard edges of his grumpy exterior. It was rare, that smile, and it always felt like a small victory when I managed to coax it out of him. It never failed to send goosebumps over my body and turn my legs into jelly.
“Good,” he said simply, reaching out to curl a hand around my waist and pull me closer. His touch grounded me. I leaned into him without hesitation, not caring that we were both sweaty and probably a little stinky. “But you know you didn’t have to make it a rental. You could’ve sold it.”
I shrugged, resting my head against his shoulder. “I know.”
“Portia, are you still keeping one foot out the door?”
“No, but I did just buy it and I’d like to build up some equity. And this thing with me and you…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
I closed my eyes, letting his words settle over me like a blanket. He wasn’t one for grand declarations or flowery speeches. He didn’t need to. He could say so much with so little. His words carried more weight because of how sparingly he doled them out.
“I know,” I murmured, tilting my head up to look at him. “And I trust you.”
He dipped his head down, brushing his lips against mine. When he pulled back, there was something in his eyes I couldn’t quite place—relief, maybe, or something deeper.
“Good,” he said again, his voice firm now as he rested his forehead against mine. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”
I laughed softly. “Guess I am. I’m going to tell my clients I come with my own handyman. He will work for sex.”
“You might want to clarify that.” He grinned. “Only sex with you.”
“Oh, good point.” I nodded. “I don’t want to pimp you out. You’re all mine.”
“Are you two gonna make out, or can I come up?” Seth’s voice carried from the driveway, laced with a playful tone. It was a nice change from the sour attitude he used to have.
He stood at the bottom of the steps, hands shoved in his pockets, looking more put together than I’d ever seen him. Clean shaven, hair trimmed, wearing an actual button-down instead of a ratty T-shirts.
I grinned, descending the steps first. “That depends. Are you going to pretend not to care when I hug you?”
Seth groaned but didn’t step back as I wrapped my arms around him. He even gave me a quick, awkward pat on the shoulder before pulling away.
It was a far cry from the angry young man who’d gone off to jail. We had talked last week. It was something Dean had insisted on once we knew we were going to be back together. Seth’s apology was simple but heartfelt. A man of few words, just like his brother. “I was an asshole. To you, to Dean, to everyone. I’m sorry and I’m trying to be better.”
Dean watched us with a smile as we walked back up onto the porch. This was different. This was healing. I liked this new thing we had together.
Seth cleared his throat. “You got a beer?”
Dean huffed. “Water or soda. Take your pick.”
“Figures.” Seth rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. “I’ll take a Coke.”
It was a joke. Seth was on the wagon. Had been according to Dean. When he was around, we didn’t drink. Not a single beer. I loved seeing their relationship grow. It was healthy.
Dean grabbed a can from the cooler and tossed it underhand. Seth caught it easily.
“So,” Seth said after a long pull from his drink as he looked up at the house. “This is your listing?”
“It is.” I nodded. “The owner is in Florida.”
“Does it have good bones?”
“Do you want to see it?” I asked.
“Uh oh,” Dean joked. “You’ve awoken the realtor.”
I stuck my tongue out and led Seth inside, Dean following close behind. The air inside was cool, a welcome relief from the North Carolina humidity clinging to our skin. The house hadn’t been updated in years, but it had potential. Wide windows let in streams of sunlight during the day. The hardwood floors creaked under our footsteps but in a way an old house always did and not a sign the place was going to fall down around us.
“Kitchen’s through here,” I said, gesturing to the left. “It’s outdated, but the appliances work, and there’s plenty of counter space. I don’t know if you’re much of a cook, but this is a great place to learn.”
Seth stepped in, running a hand along the laminate countertop. “Needs new cabinets,” he muttered, more to himself than to us. I could see his mind working, assessing, calculating.
“Living room’s next,” I continued, leading the way. The room was spacious with built-ins on one wall. A brick fireplace dominated one wall. Seth walked straight to it, crouching to inspect the hearth.
“Functional?” he asked.
“As far as I know,” I said. “Owner said they used it every winter.”
He nodded, standing and turning his attention to the large bay window that overlooked the backyard. “Lot’s bigger than it looks from the front. She’s got a real ass on her.”
“Half an acre,” I confirmed, ignoring his colorful description of the backyard. “Plenty of room to cook out or whatever you’re into.”
He didn’t respond immediately, just stared out the window with that unreadable expression. It was so like Dean’s sometimes—the way they could both retreat into their heads without warning.
“Bedrooms?” he asked finally.
“Three,” I said, leading him down the hallway. “Master’s got an en suite bathroom upstairs. Small but serviceable.”
He poked his head into each room, silent except for the occasional hum of approval or disapproval. When we reached the master bedroom, he paused in the doorway, taking in the space.
“Closet’s over here,” I said, walking over to open the door. It was small by modern standards but decent enough for a single guy.
Seth didn’t follow me. Instead, he turned to Dean, who had been quietly observing from the doorway. “What do you think?”
Dean shrugged. “Your call.”
Seth nodded slowly before turning back to me. “I’ll take it.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“The house,” he said simply. “I want to make an offer.”
I glanced at Dean, expecting skepticism or at least surprise, but he just nodded as if this was exactly what he’d expected all along. I realized I’d been set up. Dean was making all the repairs with one buyer in mind.
“You sure? Just like that?” I asked Seth. “I mean, it needs work.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s what I want—something to fix up.” He paused and looked at his brother. “I need to stay busy. Idle hands and all that. I like working in the shop, but I think I might like doing this fix-up work more. I want to practice on my own place.”
I couldn’t help but smile. It was refreshing to see Seth so focused, so determined. He’d come a long way from the reckless, aimless guy I remembered from high school.
“Since I’m the listing agent, do you want to hire your own realtor?” I asked him.
“Can you do it?”
I nodded. “I can, if you trust me to look out for your best interests.”
“I do. How soon can we close?”
“Depends on the owner,” I said with a smile. “But I’ll push for fast approval since she’s anxious to offload it.”
“I can do a cash offer,” Dean said.
“No.” Seth shook his head. “No way. I appreciate the offer but this is going to be mine. I’m going to bust my ass to pay the mortgage. I need to.”
“I understand,” Dean said. I didn’t miss the pride in his eyes.
As we walked back downstairs, Seth lingered in the living room, his eyes scanning the space as if already envisioning the changes he’d make. Dean and I stepped out onto the porch, leaving him to his thoughts.
“You planned this,” I said quietly, glancing up at Dean.
He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the lake in the distance. “Maybe.”
I shook my head but couldn’t suppress a grin. “You’re sneaky.”
“I just had a feeling,” he replied, finally looking at me. There was that glint in his eye—the one that hinted at more than he was willing to say.
It wasn’t just about selling a house or helping Seth find a new purpose. It was about this—this fragile but growing bond between brothers, this quiet understanding that maybe things could be different this time.
“You did good,” I said to Dean.
He glanced at me but didn’t say anything for a long moment. “We’ll see.”
“You think he’s really okay?” I asked softly.
Dean exhaled, his arm slipping around my waist. “I do. First time in a long time I’m not worried about him.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “He’s lucky to have you.”
Dean pressed a kiss to my hair. “We’re lucky to have each other.”