it has to be a contender. Tennessee is sitting next to me. I can only see the fall of her dark hair as it skims her waist, though I wish that I could see her face, at least her profile. She’s turned toward the passenger window, her face practically pressed against the glass.
“Do you like it?”
She whips her head around so quickly that I can’t help but jerk back slightly at the sudden movement. Her green eyes are wide, her lips parted, and her cheeks pink.
“Landry,” she cries. “It’s a Tudor-style house.”
Flicking my gaze behind her, I notice that it is a Tudor-style. It’s all limestone brick front with two deep steep pitches with gable style roofs. One on each side. I like the symmetry. The front door entry has a deep arch, with several layers of arching until you reach the front door.
I like it. I have never really cared much about the style of the outside of a house, but I knew that I didn’t want anything as grandeur as the home I had with Susan.
This is smaller, only around four thousand square feet, which is part of my list of desires, and it’s on half an acre of property, which is good-sized for this area.
There is also a small extra garage shop in the back for storage or projects. Plus, a pool, which is a must. I have missed having my own pool since I’ve been living at the office the past few years.
“It is, Tennessee.” I chuckle. “I assume this is good?”
She shakes her head. “It’s like a dream house. It’s gorgeous.”
Without a second longer of hesitation, I watch as she slips out of the front seat, wrenches the back door open and unbuckles Holden before she sets him down on the ground next to her. The little man wraps his fingers around his mom’s and together they make their way toward the front door.
“It has a little front porch, Landry,” she calls out from across the driveway.
Exiting the car myself, I can’t wipe the smile off of my face as I make my way toward my waiting realtor. “I think your wife likes this one,” he grunts.
I think about correcting him, but I can’t deny that I like the sound of it. Thinking of Susan as my wife left a black pit in my stomach for years. But a single mention that makes Tennessee my wife, it changes everything I’ve felt about that word for years. She changes everything I’ve felt.
Following behind her, I almost ask her to slow down, but decide not to. She’s far too excited and it’s in this very moment that I decide I have to own this house. Turning toward the realtor, I grin.
“Make an offer.”
“But you haven’t seen it all,” he murmurs.
“Do you hear that?” I ask.
Her gasps and shouts fill the entire house, they float down to the foyer where we’re standing. She is in love with this house. She needs this house. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what the future is going to look like, but I do know that if we ever find our way to one another, it will be in this house.
“Make an offer. I want it ready to sign by the time I’m finished touring the home,” I state. “Offer listing price, cash.”
Turning away from him, I make my way upstairs, where I can hear Tennessee oohing and aahing over something in the master bedroom. When I turn the corner, I can’t see her. Then I hear her say something, and I make my way toward what I assume is a closet.
It’s a closet.
A woman’s closet.
There’s a chandelier in the middle of the room, hanging above a dresser. There are rows of shelves, and bars to hang clothes. She spins around to face me, her eyes wide and her face flushed with excitement.
“This closet is as big as my bedroom in my apartment. And there’s another one, this is just the hers,” she cries.
Had I known house shopping was so exciting, I would have taken her days ago. “Is this a place that feels like a home?” I ask.
She licks her bottom lip. “I think… no, wait. I know that yes, yes it does. I’m trying really hard not to be biased because a Tudor home is my dream, but everything about this place is amazing.”
My eyes focus on hers, that is, until I hear Holden at our feet. “Mama. I hungry.”