Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,41
kitchen, which had been updated at some point, but would still need a fairly big remodel. I was ready to tell Moretti and Joy that this was just too much of a project, when we went into the backyard.
That’s when I got it—the feeling I would live there.
The property, blanketed with snow, seemed magical and endless, stretching all the way back to the woods. It was quiet and peaceful. “The creek runs right through the trees back there,” said Joy. “It’s frozen now, but I bet in the spring, you could hear it.”
There was plenty of room for a beautiful deck or stone patio, maybe even a pool if I could ever afford it. I imagined ball games on the lawn in summer and building a whole family of snowmen in the winter. Maybe we could even put in an ice rink.
It would take a ton of work, lots of money, and all my spare time. But what else did I have to spend it on?
“Daddy, look!” Mariah pointed to the dilapidated doghouse over to one side. She turned to Joy. “Does a dog live in there?”
“Not anymore,” Joy said with a smile.
“But it comes with the house, right?”
Joy laughed. “Definitely.”
Mariah came over and slipped her hand into mine. “I like this one, Daddy. Can we live here please? Just you and me?”
“Maybe we can, peanut. We’ll see.”
After saying goodbye to Joy and telling her we’d be in touch, we took Mariah home. My mother said she had no plans to go anywhere, and she didn’t mind at all if I went out for a beer with Moretti. I promised to be back in time for dinner and headed back out.
“So what’s with you?” he asked, once we were seated at the bar of the Bulldog Pub, our favorite watering hole and the sponsor of our baseball team in the Allegan County Senior Men’s league.
“Nothing, really,” I lied, lifting my beer bottle and taking a long drink. “I’m just thinking about buying a house. It’s a big, expensive decision.”
“It is,” Moretti agreed. “And don’t worry if nothing you saw today was right. We’ve got more to see.”
“I actually really like that old one on the big lot by the creek. It would take some serious renovation though.”
“Nothing structural,” reasoned Moretti. “Unless you wanted to take out that dining room wall and have one big open kitchen-dining area. And even that wouldn’t be a monster project. The rest of the work would all be cosmetic, and if you need a designer, I know some people.”
I couldn’t resist. “Like Bianca DeRossi?”
He scowled. “I said people, not she-devils.”
“She didn’t seem that bad to me. And she’s cute.” I laughed. “Is she Italian? Maybe you should audition her for the role of Mrs. Enzo Moretti. I bet your parents would be happy.”
“Bite your fucking tongue, Mitchell. I wouldn’t ask her out if you paid me. Anyway, I’m off the market for now.”
“Oh yeah? Things are going well with Reina?”
He tipped up his beer, glancing over to where Reina was standing at the servers’ station. She gave him a little wave. “I guess. She’s got tomorrow night off, and I’m taking her to dinner. Want to join us?”
“No.”
“Why not? You could bring Cheyenne or something.”
I looked at him sharply. “Why Cheyenne?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. My cousin Lara told me yesterday that she waited on you guys at DiFiore’s a couple nights ago. I said you were just friends, but she thought there was definitely something going on with you two.”
My neck felt sweaty. I took another drink.
“Is there something going on with you two?”
I meant to say no. Instead I blurted, “I kissed her last night.”
Moretti nearly choked on his beer. “What?”
“I kissed her last night. After everyone else left and Mrs. Dempsey went up to bed.” Grimacing, I shook my head. “But I shouldn’t have.”
“Why the fuck not? Cheyenne’s hot.” He pointed a finger at me. “You can never tell Griff I said that, by the way.”
“Because I don’t want to lead her on. She wants a serious relationship, not a one-night stand.”
“Okay, but there’s a lot of middle ground between those two things,” Enzo argued. “Can’t you just date? Hang out and have some fun?”
“No, because dating someone comes with responsibilities. If you’re dating someone, you owe them things—time, attention, feelings. Cheyenne wants those things. She deserves those things.”
“What do you want?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You told me what Cheyenne wants, but what about you?”
“I want something I can’t have,” I said. “I want to