Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,75
always gotten past it. He’ll get past this too.”
Stella sends me a look, one that says save me from this conversation.
So like the sucker that I am for this woman, I do.
“Are we ready to go?” I ask, looking from one woman to the other. “We have a lot to see this afternoon.”
“Yes, let’s go. I’m excited,” Grace says.
I load them into my car, Grace in my passenger seat, Stella sitting behind her in the back. It feels weird, the seating arrangement, but I go along with it so I don’t arouse suspicion. I have a feeling, though, that Grace is suspicious enough without us giving her any clues.
We start out looking at condominiums that are a little older, though with coveted addresses and expansive views. One in Pacific Grove, three in Monterey—two of those within the same complex—and another one in Marina.
“Marina is too far,” Grace sniffs as we look about the two-bedroom condo that’s recently been renovated. “None of my friends will come visit me out here.”
“I thought you wanted new friends,” Stella says.
“I do, but I’d like to keep a few of my old friends too. And none of them like Marina,” Grace continues.
Stella sighs. “You’re being a snob.” Marina is not a coveted address.
“Marina is just…Marina.”
“I grew up here,” I say, because it’s true. And yes, Marina is one of the less desired areas to live in on the Monterey Peninsula, but it was the only one my mom could afford. I don’t know how she affords to live here now.
Oh, that’s right, I help her with her bills on occasion. That one time I had dinner with her after I came back, she even suggested I move in with her and pay rent.
No thanks.
Grace stands a little straighter at my casual remark, her expression contrite. “I didn’t mean to insult your hometown, Carter.”
“I’m not insulted. You’re just stating facts. Marina’s not that great.” I guide them both to toward the front door. “Let’s look somewhere else.”
But see, I did this on purpose. Showed them some older builds in less popular areas. The condos in Monterey were nice, but they were close to Cannery Row and I don’t think Grace wants to be smack in the middle of tourist central.
I show a few others, all of them in Pebble Beach, a couple of them directly off 17-Mile Drive. “This is too close to Lorenzo’s,” Grace said about one complex, making Stella laugh.
“What, you don’t want to live too close to your son’s house?” she asks.
“Absolutely not,” Grace retorts.
On to the next one. One of the last ones. Still in Pebble Beach, in an exclusive, gated community. The neighborhood is quiet, and the condos are almost all single-level, including the one I’m going to show Grace. I figured she’d appreciate that.
“Oh, this is so lovely,” Grace says as she enters the living room, Stella and me right behind her. “So open and airy.”
“It’s a corner unit, so you only have one neighbor,” I say as I stop in the middle of the living room. Stella is checking out the view from the front window while Grace is already in the kitchen. “The kitchen’s been recently remodeled. There’s new flooring, paint and carpet.”
“What year was this built?” Stella asks me.
“1973.” Stella frowns, but I continue, “This is a prime location, though. Whenever one of the units comes up for sale, they disappear fast.” That’s what Jolene told me.
“Oh, look at the view,” Grace says, drawing both Stella and me into the kitchen. She’s standing in front of the sink, looking out the window that overlooks the ocean. “It reminds me of my view in Carmel.”
“Is it too close to Daddy’s house?” Stella teases.
“There’s just enough distance to make me comfortable,” Grace says as she starts to walk out of the kitchen. “How many bedrooms?”
“Two,” I call after her. “And one and half bathrooms.”
“Perfect!” Grace yells as she wanders down the hallway.
Stella leans against the kitchen counter, facing me, and I approach her, stopping just short of touching her. It’s been torture, spending all this time with her this afternoon and having to pretend she’s just a friend. When did it become so difficult to resist her?
“She’s kind of hard to please,” Stella says with a wince.
“Your grandmother knows what she wants, and I can’t blame her for being picky. This is the place she’s going to live in. You want it to be just right,” I say.
“Yeah, but she’s being kind of snobbish about it. She likes this