Chapter One
Nikki
There’s a gentle rocking motion with each step I take, floorboards rising and falling like tiny breaths under my feet. I steady my tablet under my arm and wait, camera in hand, as a boat passes nearby, forcing waves beneath the houseboat my dad’s best friend is listing for sale.
I can tell already that there won’t be much interest from buyers.
Aside from the obvious fact that houseboat living in Colorado isn’t very popular, the interior is extremely weathered and worn.
Plus, the lighting is awful! Sure, there’s some natural sunlight spilling through the slatted walls, but it only serves to highlight the worn beams and aging cabinetry.
“If you tilt with it, it’s not that big of a deal.
” Reed stands like a superhero, his massive arms crossed over his chest as he pushes his hand back through his graying hair.
I’ve known this guy for most of my life, but we got closer after my mom died.
I think Reed felt a responsibility to help my father after her passing.
So, whenever he was on leave from the military, he was at our house.
And when he finally came home from overseas, he made regular visits to check in and help where he could, though if he knew who my father was when he wasn’t around, I doubt they’d still be friends.
He straightens his shoulders and draws in a deep breath. “What do you think I could sell the place for, really? It’s got character, right?”
Oh, it’s got character alright.
I glance at the peeling paint, the uneven floorboards, and the water stain creeping up in the kitchen area.
“I’ll have to run some comps on it,” I lie, knowing full well this place isn’t going to be worth what he thinks it is.
Houses never are. Most people attach a sentimental value to their home that leads to a high overvaluation.
I met a woman last week who thought her one-bedroom cabin set in the beaver-flooded lowlands was worth half a million dollars because her neighbors had just sold their three-bedroom, two bath on the lake for the same amount.
It took all of my energy to convince her otherwise, all so she could tell me she’d changed her mind about selling.
“Sure, it’s got a lot of character.” I offer my best fake grin, but he sees straight through me.
“You’re bullshitting. Come on, tell the truth. Is it that bad? I’ve known you forever, kitten. You can tell me.”
My clit throbs and I hate myself.
Reed has always called me kitten, but lately, when he says it, my pussy sparks to life like a three-ring circus, side shows and all. It’s impossible to ignore.
“I’m not bullshitting you.” I bite back a grin. “I’m sugar-coating.”
“Okay.” He lowers his heavy frame into a recliner sat by the back window, then stares up at me with those dark green eyes that hit me right in my lady parts. “I’m a tough guy. I can handle the truth, so let’s hear it.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if you can.
I’ve had two ex-soldiers on my client list before.
One was a decorated, career sergeant. A brick house kind of guy.
He cried like a baby when I told him the buyers wanted concessions.
All that military grit undone by a two percent credit.
The other guy pulled his house off the market when a buyer asked him to replace his roof.
You know, the roof that was just replaced… twenty-five years ago.”
“Well, guess I’m more stable than I thought.” He shrugs and sits back like he’s super relaxed, though I’ve seen this man in action and know that’s the furthest thing from the truth. “I can take it. Tell me what the place is worth.”
I glare toward him for a long moment, trying not to ignite the ring of fire in my core as I notice how firm and muscular his shoulders are. “Oh please. I’m talking to the same guy who lost it at the diner last week because the cook put a sprinkle of paprika on his hash browns?”
He rolls his shoulders back and shifts his weight. “How do you know about that?”
“This town is microscopic. Everyone knows everything. You should know that by now.”
“The diner has been making hash browns the same way for forty years.” He shrugs. “I wanted them the way they’re supposed to be. Anyway, back to that valuation.”
“Fine.” I shake my head and lower myself into the chair next to him before handing over my tablet for a visual.
“You’ve got one usable bedroom, one bath, the entire place needs updating, you’re on a pontoon and not fixed to a dock, and houseboats are only livable in Colorado a few months out of the year.
All of that brings your value to about a hundred and fifty thousand… assuming you make repairs.”
His face turns a pinkish shade of red, which I’m very familiar with. “One fifty? That’s barely what I paid for it.”
I nod. “Yeah, houseboats don’t appreciate in value like a regular house. I’m sorry. I do have a buyer who might be interested, though. This guy from Florida is looking to summer here in the area and he’s flying in this weekend. I could bring him in to look at the place on Saturday.”
“Florida?” Reed leans forward, scrubbing his hand down over his beard like he’s already skeptical. “Aren’t there houseboats in Florida? Why’s he coming up here?”
“It sounds like he grew up in the area and he’s coming back to his roots. He seems really great. I like him.”
His jaw tightens, which doesn’t surprise me.
Reed has always been overprotective of me, and any mention of a man always seems to trigger the same response.
He once followed me on a date during my freshman year of college because he didn’t like that the guy had tattoos, which is pretty ironic, considering Reed is covered in them.
“You’re really getting to know this guy, huh? ”
I take my tablet back from his hands and power it down, before sliding it and my camera back into my bag. “He’s a lot nicer than the guys I’m usually helping.”
“What do you mean?” he says, his voice rising and rougher now, like something I’ve said scrapes at his nerves.
“What do you mean, ‘what do I mean?’ I mean what I said. This guy from Florida is nicer than some of the other jerks I get tangled into going to dinner with. Last week, I had to tell this guy no to a dinner because he was getting handsy.”
Reed inhales through his nose, slow and tight, as though he’s trying to stay calm. “Why the hell do you have to have dinner with these assholes? You’re selling them houses.”
“It’s a relationship building thing, I guess.” I shrug. “I don’t know, Dad likes things done old-school. People are more likely to buy from friends, so we buy folks dinner, take them for drinks, and show them a good time.”
“But this guy from Florida, you want to have dinner with him?”
I want to believe what I’m sensing is jealousy, but I’m pretty sure it’s the insane protectiveness Reed has always felt for me.
When I don’t answer right away, he continues. “What do you have in common with this guy? Maybe I’ll like him too. If I like him, maybe I’ll want to sell him the house. You know it’s the first thing I bought when I got back from overseas, right? She’s special. Got me through a ton of shit.”
“I know,” I whisper unintentionally before clearing my throat, “and I’ll make sure whoever buys it takes care of her.”
“You think the Florida guy is the one?”
“To buy the house? Maybe. He wants to see it first.”
“After you two go to dinner?” His voice tightens as he says, “Why do you like him?”
“Like is strong. I don’t really know him.
We’ve only talked a couple of times,” I glance toward the view out of the back window that features the turquoise lake and rising white-capped mountains, “but Troy loves the scenery, Josie’s bear claws, and he loves a quiet day on the lake. He seems pretty normal.”
“Troy. So, he has a name. Also, he sounds pretty basic,” Reed says gruffly. “You sure he’s not hitting on you?”
“What?” I narrow my brows inward and shake my head. “No. Why does that sound like he’s hitting on me? He’s a man who likes to fish. A lot of men like to fish, and everyone loves Josie’s bear claws.”
Reed groans under his breath as he stands from the chair and walks toward the coffee maker in the kitchen three feet away. “I don’t want to sell him the house. Tell him not to come.”
“What? If you don’t want to sell, that’s fine by me, I’ve got plenty of other clients, but if you’re selling, you can’t be picky about buyers. This guy is nice, he’s a cash buyer, and he’s motivated. The first offer is always the best. You should at least let him look.”
Reed drags in a deep breath and lets it out slowly before taking a long sip of coffee. “Whatever happened to you wanting to be a photographer?”
I laugh. “Umm… dreams don’t pay the bills.”
“You’re twenty-two years old. If you can’t dream now, when will you?”
“Can you imagine my father if I told him I was leaving the brokerage to pursue photography?” My brows are narrowed so hard my head starts to hurt.
“Besides, no one wants some random girl’s pictures of horses.
” I glance toward the photo of the wild mustang standing alone in the sun-bleached grassland that I took last year.
The horse is mid-turn, his muscles coiled beneath a dark brown coat as his mane whips sideways in the wind.
It was my favorite shot of the whole trip.
“Except you. You’re my one and only buyer. ”
“Not a single regret,” Reed says, grabbing a box of cookies down from the top shelf. “I don’t get it. If you don’t like this realtor thing, why do it? Live your life, kitten. You only get one.”
“Yeah.” I grin, clit twitching at the mere sound of his deep voice calling me kitten again. “Then who would be here to sell your houseboat to a forty-five-year-old Floridian having a mid-life crisis?”
“He’s forty-five? Jesus, what’s he creeping on you for?”