Chapter 7
We pull up to the first property a few minutes later. I talked him into letting me drive for the duration of the tour, so his bike sits unoccupied back at the coffee shop. His helmet is in my backseat.
The log-cabin style home is massive. And old.
But the inside has been well-kept and partially redone, from what I gathered with my prior research.
From the road, you can barely see it but once you make your way down the curved, sloped driveway, the place is impressive.
It’s also very secluded, surrounded by thick patches of trees on all sides, with just a small clearing for the driveway.
Looking up at it though, I get an eerie feeling. No one has lived in this house for a few years, and it feels very…lonely. A sudden breeze picks up, rustling the aspens nearby, the leaves creating that magical sound only nature can.
“What kind of trees are those?” Jameson asks, stopping next to me. He’s looking toward the aspens as well. Their leaves are just beginning to turn that signature shade of golden yellow that I love so much.
“Quaking aspens,” I say simply, barely offering him a glance.
“Ah. The name makes sense. The way the leaves shake…they look so alive.”
I nod. “They’re my favorite. Much more exciting than all the pines that never change.”
I feel his gaze on me. “What’s wrong with staying the same?”
I slowly turn to face him. “I don’t know.” I shrug. “I suppose I have been doing it for the past ten years.” I meant it as a light joke, but it comes out a little pathetic.
He studies me, looking like he’s contemplating something. Before it gets too awkward, I clear my throat and put one foot in front of the other.
“What do you think of the outside so far? Any first impressions? Anything you don’t like?”
“Hmm.” The sound he makes shouldn’t affect me the way it does, but here we are. I stifle it. “It feels…lonely.”
I look at him, surprised, because that’s exactly what I was just thinking. I hope the inside is better though, since I’m the one who suggested this property. He glances at me for a moment, then returns his gaze to the house, studying it. “And sad,” he adds.
“Well,” I say, trying to sound more chipper, “let’s at least have a look at the inside. It might just change your mind.”
He slips one hand into his pocket and holds out his other arm, gesturing for me to take the lead. I look forward, trying to ignore the veins running along his forearms and up his biceps.
Be professional, Carly.
I find the lock, punch in the code, and stand in the doorway, waiting for him to enter first.