Page 10 of Chasing Sunsets

Margie watches me take it in, her painted-red lips curling into a smirk. “Go ahead. Say it.”

I glance at her. “Say what?”

“You love it. Don’t you? I can see it written all over that handsome face of yours.”

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. “Loveis a strong word, but it’s got … potential.”

She lets out a sharp cackle. “Lord, you men. Always pretending you’re not emotional about houses. It’s fine to be smitten, Anson. I won’t tell a soul.”

I roll my eyes and walk past her, stepping into the kitchen. It’s small but functional with an old farmhouse sink beneath a window that looks straight out to the water. Open shelving lines the walls, and there’s even an old-school bread box on the counter, like something out of my grandmother’s house. I could see opening up the wall between it and the living room and adding a butcher block island, giving it more of an open concept and making the entire space feel bigger.

Margie leans against the doorway, watching me. “Needs a little work, sure, but nothing you can’t handle. I bet you know your way around a toolbox.”

“Yeah,” I say, running a hand along the wooden countertop, where a concrete slab would look great. “My dad would like this place.”

She nods. “It’s got that old-school craftsmanship he’d appreciate.”

Margie’s husband, Earl, and my dad are golf buddies.

My dad, Porter Leggett, is a retired public servant. He served on the Sandcastle Cove town board for over thirty years. We don’t always see eye to eye, but we both know the value of something well built. Something meant to last.

Margie claps her hands, snapping me out of my thoughts. “All right, let’s check out the rest before I get all misty-eyed about the good ol’ days.”

I follow her through the hallway, peeking into the two small bedrooms, both with slanted ceilings and old iron bed frames. One has a built-in window seat, and I can already picture someone curling up there with a book, the light streaming in from the water.

The bathroom has a claw-foot tub, which Margie gestures to dramatically. “Imagine it now—long baths, candles, a glass of wine. You, of course, will be taking showers like a normal man, but someone will appreciate this.”

I eye the shower, a fiberglass shell likely added in the ’90s. It needs to be removed and replaced with a more spacious tiled option.

“The shower needs to be ripped out and updated,” I say.

She reaches over and squeezes my biceps. “You could do that, but you haven’t seen the master bedroom yet.”

She leads me down a hallway that ends at a set of barn doors. They slide open to reveal a spacious room with a four-poster bed sitting in front of a white brick fireplace. Four large windows look out over the backyard. An open archway to the right of the fireplace leads to a double vanity with a huge walk-in shower to the right and a water closet to the left.

Margie stands aside while I take in the bathroom. I open a door that hides an ample custom closet.

“This definitely isn’t original,” I say.

“The room is, but the old fireplace was given a facelift, and the bath was added a few years ago. I bet you can imagine yourself in that shower now, can’t you?”

I shoot her a look. “You always this pushy?”

“Only when I know I’m right.”

I shake my head, but don’t argue.

Returning to the kitchen, we finally step out the back door onto the wraparound porch, and the view nearly seals the deal right then and there. The waterway stretches out before me, calm and glassy, the late afternoon sun making it shimmer. A wooden dock extends from the backyard, and there’s a tiny boathouse at the edge of the marsh, half hidden by reeds. A couple of pelicans glide low over the water, and somewhere in the distance, a fish jumps, sending ripples across the surface.

I let out a slow breath. “Damn.”

Margie leans on the railing beside me. “Yeah. That’s the kind ofdamnthat means you’re already picturing yourself here, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer right away, just run my fingers along the wood rail, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. The thing is, I never really thought about buying a house before. My whole life has been lived in the moment, bouncing between whatever feels right at the time. But standing here, looking at this place, I feel something different.

Like waking up to a view that’s mine every day wouldn’t be so bad.

Like maybe I could build something here.

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