She climbed back into the passenger seat, head turned to assess me. “You actually know this real estate stuff.”
“I’ve been at it a long time.”
“Sometimes you make it sound like you’resoold.”
“I’m older than I look.”
She laughed. “Should I guess the year you were born?”
“I promise, you won’t get it right.”
I twisted the key in the ignition, keeping my voice casual as I said, “These are the things you start noticing when you do this for a living.”
Tara went quiet, considering my words on the way to the next location. This property was purchased with less strategy and more sentimentality. It bordered the bayou, further away from the beach and closer to the old cemetery.
A new wood frame was erected over concrete pillars. The bones of a house waiting for the builders to return and make it whole. I climbed out of the truck, retrieving a hard hat from the bed and handing it to Tara.
“Seriously? There’s no one here.”
“Put it on, Tara.”
“I don’t like bossy outside the bedroom, y’know,” she grumbled, pulling the helmet over her hair.
“Get used to it.”
My hand found hers and she jumped, staring openly where our fingers interlaced. I pretended not to notice her surprise, taking her under the house and pointing out various details.
“These bayou adjacent properties don’t have nearly as much value as the ones sitting on the beach, so a lot of outside developers ignore them. What they don’t realize is that with a little extra planning, these properties become a vacation paradise for a fraction of the cost.”
I turned us, drawing her attention to the bayou. I could feel the magic crackling off of it, hear the wind whisper through the Spanish moss. Urging me to come home.
“The sun sets right there, over the trees, and sometimes in the winter when enough of the leaves have fallen, you get the faintest peek of the river. It’s not a sunrise bay view, but it has a certain rustic charm that’s perfect for snowbirds on a budget. Instead of facing southeast, the porch will be northwest, looking out over a pristine bayou paradise.”
Tara stared at an especially tall bald cypress, watching the empty branches sway in the wind. I held my breath, waiting for her to mention the way the understory looked like a tangle of weeds. To complain about the mosquitos, which even now on a temperate October day, were whizzing past our ears.
Instead, she smiled, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Youaregood at this.”
The compliment landed softly. I carried it with me to the next property, letting it inspire my words as I told her each and every detail of the project.
We paused for a late lunch, sitting quietly on the curb by the beach. OurStop N’ Shopsandwiches were as awful as always, but Tara savored every bite, like it was the first sandwich she’d ever eaten.
I watched her lick mayonnaise off her index finger, following the trail of her tongue with a raging pulse. Work was a decent distraction this morning, but the closer the sun moved to the horizon, the stronger I felt the pull of the moon.
The beast was no longer content to observe. He paced inside me, watching her in agitated impatience. Every one of my senses was heightened, my skin sensitive.
Salt and seaweed and rot filled the air. Tara was a delicate contrast, sweet and bright like fresh ripe fruit. I wanted to taste her.
My time was up. It wasn’t safe to be here anymore, pretending to be like any other man. Basking in her admiration as if there wasn’t a life of violence hiding under this facade.
Storm clouds were gathering on the horizon, blurring the distant view of the island and hiding the rigs out on the water. Electricity crackled in the air, raising the hairs on my arms in warning.
“One more stop before the rain hits,” I found myself saying, hands flexing discreetly as a familiar ache grew in my fingertips.
Tara rose from her perch on the curb, throwing her arms over her head in a tantalizing stretch. I couldn’t resist cupping her hips, squeezing briefly.
“And then what?”
“Then I’ll take you home.”