Page 88 of Not Part of the Plan
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “Is Beckett home?”
“He and mom are here somewhere. I’ll go find them, and you can play with Diesel and my Barbie,” Aurora said, shoving her doll into Niko’s hand.
The little redhead charged up the stairs calling for “Bucket” and her mom. There was a moment of silence and then a loud thump and a muffled giggle that came from the coat closet.
Niko watched as the doorknob turned as if by invisible fingers. A disheveled Gia poked her head out of the closet into the hallway.
“Crap. Busted,” she whispered over her shoulder.
Beckett, still buttoning his shirt stepped out behind her. “It’s just Niko, not a kid,” he sighed with relief.
“I’m early,” he announced unnecessarily. He tried not to look at them directly in the eye.
Beckett’s hair stood up in tufts. Gia’s skirt was on sideways and her neck was red. She scratched at it absently as the sound of a baby crying wafted down from the second floor. “Damn it! Beard burn,” she muttered. “Hi, Niko. If you tell any of our children where we were, I will make you babysit.”
“I saw nothing,” he promised. Diesel whimpered longingly at the bag of subs. Gia yanked Beckett’s mouth down to hers for one hard kiss before dashing barefoot upstairs.
“Mama’s coming!” she called out.
“So…” Beckett said, buckling his belt.
“So…” Niko looked at his feet.
“Beer?”
“Definitely.”
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“Thanks for coming with me,” Emma said to Phoebe as she signaled a left turn.
“It’s my pleasure. With all the houses your father and I looked at before we decided to build, I kind of miss exploring the weird and wonderful real estate that Blue Moon has to offer.”
“I’ve seen more weird than wonderful,” Emma sighed. “But Bruce was awfully firm about this house being ‘the one.’”
“Did you at least make sure it has a separate bathroom and kitchen?” Phoebe asked.
“I did this time. He assures me it’s a dream home, but I’m afraid that translates into nightmare.” She spotted the house number and parked at the curb. “Oh, this can’t be it,” she breathed.
The red brick house rose three stories high and was tucked into a fenced in lot with an abundance of trees and ferns. The leaves of the dogwood tree in the front yard fluttered in the evening breeze.
“This is… lovely,” Phoebe decided, opening her car door.
“I must have gotten the address wrong,” Emma frowned, checking her phone for Bruce’s text.
“I don’t think so,” Phoebe said, pointing at the for sale sign with Bruce Oakleigh’s mug on it against the sidewalk.
“Maybe the inside is terrible?” Emma murmured, following the brick walkway to the front porch.
“Oh, it wraps around both sides,” Phoebe sighed. “Just think of a porch swing right there and morning coffee and evening wine.”
“Termites. There’s probably an entire termite colony living here,” Emma predicted. “Or black wallpaper. Or maybe a murder-suicide happened here.”
“Only one way to find out.” Phoebe nodded at the front door.
Just as Emma raised her hand to knock, the door flew open and Bruce grinned at them. “Right on time, ladies! Right on time. Now, come in and take a look around. I think you’re going to really like this place.”
An hour later, Emma was in love and trying to talk herself out of it. She could see it, could see herself living here. She’d walked into the stunningly appointed kitchen, with its sexy as hell quartz counter tops and six-burner stove, and envisioned lazy brunches at a table tucked into the bay window. The kitchen opened into the family room at the back of the house. A wall of glass showed off the backyard that begged for a fire pit and a dog.
