Page 76 of Chasing Sunsets

I glance at her. “Yeah?”

She nods, her eyes sweeping over the wide porch that wraps around the side of the house, the big windows that I already know will let in the morning light just right. “It’s got character. Charm. A lot of houses don’t have that anymore.”

That’s exactly what I thought when I first saw it.

I unlock the back door and walk inside, holding it open for her as she steps into the tiny kitchen. The air is cooler in here, carrying the faint scent of old wood and sea air. The pine floor is worn in places but still beautiful, and the walls are painted in soft white tones.

Tabby turns in a slow circle, taking it all in. “This is perfect.”

I watch her, the way she moves through the space, comfortable, like she belongs here. The thought settles in my chest in a way I didn’t expect.

“This is the kitchen,” I say. “It’s small, but it has potential.”

“It’s just enough,” she says.

I chuckle. I guess any size looks good compared to an RV. “I want to expand it a bit. Open it up to the living room.”

“Well”—she grins, running her fingers along the edge of the wooden countertop—“I think it’s great. Look at this space. The cabinets. The light.”

She moves to the farmhouse sink beneath a window, pushing up onto her toes to look outside.

I lean against the counter, watching her. “You cook?”

She shrugs, turning back to me. “I like to, but I’ve been sticking to easy stuff at the moment. I had to get creative with an RV kitchen.”

I nod. That makes sense.

“Come on,” I say, pushing off the counter. “I’ll show you the rest.”

I lead her out through the living room, and she has a fit over the beadboard walls, but her favorite by far is the claw-foot tub.

“Okay,” she breathes. “Now, this is amazing. God, I can’t remember the last time I soaked in a bath.”

My mind immediately pictures her naked body, surrounded by bubbles.Damn, it’s a gorgeous sight.

Next, I show her the master suite, and she is instantly drawn to the windows that face the backyard. She takes in the wide, grassy scene that slopes down toward the water. There’s space out there. Room to breathe. To build something.

“You’ve got a hell of a view,” she says, her voice quieter now.

I step up beside her, looking out over the water. It’s calm, reflecting the sky. A few birds skim along the surface, diving and lifting off again.

“I thought so.”

We head back outside, and she walks ahead as I lock the place back up. I follow her past the trees lining the fence, to thefar end where the dock juts out. She stops at the edge, hands on her hips, her back to me.

She glances at me over her shoulder. “What made you pick this place?”

I exhale, glancing back at the house. “Didn’t want something brand-new. Wanted a place with some history. Something that felt … real.” I pause. “Like it had a story.”

She watches me for a second, something unreadable in her expression. Then, she looks back at the yard, sweeping a hand toward the open space. “You could put a garden back here.”

I raise an eyebrow. “A garden? Don’t think I have much of a green thumb.”

She smirks. “I could help you.”

The idea sits in my chest, heavier than it should.

Tabby. Here. Planting something. Staying long enough to see it grow.

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