Page 38 of Playing for Keeps
I nod.
She shakes her head slightly. “I figured as much. Look, if you want to go with someone more experienced, I understand. She’s not wrong. I haven’t handled anything like your place before.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” I say, flashing her a small grin.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but I shouldn’t be using your place to practice. You probably only asked me because I’m your sister’s best friend–”
“Hey,” I cut in, my voice firm. “That’s not why I asked you. And you’re not just Ash’s friend. I’d like to think you and I are friends too.”
I pull the car onto her driveway and turn off the engine. Shifting to face her, I wait until her eyes meet mine. The flicker of doubt in her expression twists something in my chest. She looks deflated, and for a second, I wish I hadn’t brought her along. At least then she wouldn’t have had to hear any of it.
“We are friends, right?” I ask, even though deep down I know I want more. She doesn’t see me like that, but friendship is better than nothing.
“Of course we are. But that’s not a good enough reason to ask me to be your realtor.”
“That’s not why I asked,” I say again, more firmly this time.
“Then why?”
“Because I’d rather work with someone I know and trust. Not someone like Isobel Harper, who’s so far up her own ass she can barely walk straight. I don’t want a realtor who’s going to be all over me just to land a listing.”
She laughs, and her whole expression softens. The tension in my chest eases just a little.
“You’re not worried I’ll be all over you then?” she teases.
I pretend to give it serious thought, rubbing my jaw like I’m weighing up my options. “I mean, if it’s part of your service package…” I say, flashing her a grin. “I guess I’ll suffer through it.”
She laughs and reaches over to swat my arm, but I catch the faint blush creeping up her cheeks. Damn, she’s cute when she does that.
“That is definitely not included in the service,” she says, raising her eyebrow lightheartedly.
I chuckle. “Shame.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible, Wyatt Brookes.”
I grin and shrug. “Maybe. But I’m still your favorite client, right?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny,” she says, grinning. “I’m a professional, remember?”
Our eyes lock, a teasing smile dancing on her lips.
“You are,” I say, quieter now.
She changes the mood with a question. “Aside from Isobel’s attitude, did you actually like the house?”
I shake my head. “Not really. It reminded me too much of my apartment. Slick, polished, but cold. I’m looking for somewhere that feels like home the second I walk in.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah, I thought the same.”
“Great minds,” I say, with a wink.
She smiles, then glances out the windshield. “I should probably head inside.”
But she doesn’t move. Not right away. And neither do I.
“I meant what I said, Ivy,” I tell her. “I trust you with the listing. Completely.”
Her eyes flick to mine, soft and unreadable. “Thanks, Wyatt. I’ll see you Friday.”
