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But it’s adorable. I’m instantly in love.
“What is this place?” I buzz, beaming at the flamingo mailbox hanging beside the front door.
Smith gives nothing away, coming around the car to open my door and help me step onto the white-sand-covered concrete.
While I drift toward the little place, he clears his throat and begins to ramble. “I thought we might… stay here tonight. If you’d be open to it, I can order dinner, and there’s a hot tub in the back. No pool. But there is beach access.”
He must be a damn good developer because he’s a terrible salesman. I bite down on a teasing grin and nod along, letting him give me all sorts of useless information.
Now that I don’t think of him as the terrifying alpha who intimidates me anymore, it’s easier to find him cute when he babbles about square footage.
Even when he’s muttering on, he’s still in command, leading me right up to the house using a keypad on the front door. My eyes trace over the sign hung above the doorframe, thinking that it’s super ironic—for both Mr. Perfectionist and myself.
Don’t make perfect the enemy of the good.
Damon would love that. And Cassian would say something akin to, “Duh.”
Smiling to myself, I follow Smith inside, seeing that this isn’t a typical vacation rental. Unlike a furnished pad, it’s empty, aside from a table and two chairs.
The tiny home is one long living area, narrow but with a high A-frame and natural wood beams that stand out against the bright white beadboard covering the ceiling. There isn’t much to it—a small living room area to the left of the entrance, a cased opening leading to a dining nook, and a tiny kitchen tucked off to the side.
But the whole back wall of the house is a hodgepodge of windows. Warped antique glass, seafoam-stained panes, and some that are crystal clear. It doesn’t really matter because the view is incredible.
There’s nothing fancy about it. Just a clear, straight shot at the ocean. Pale sand, gray-blue water, and a hazy pink sky. I stand and stare at it from just inside the front door.
Smith takes my hand, threading our fingers back together as he pulls me through the cased opening and into the small kitchen area. I see it has appliances— newer ones that don’t match the worn, round table and chairs at all.
Ignoring the room, Smith guides us out one of the stained-glass French doors and onto a back porch that’s as wide as the kitchen itself.
The house is totally out of balance. Clearly designed by someone who just loved this view and the ocean so much that they didn’t mind sacrificing half of their home’s footprint to make room for an outdoor living space. The more I look out at the water, the less I can blame them for it.
“Who owns this?” I ask, lifting my free hand to touch a set of shell wind chimes. “I like their style.”
Smith waits for me to look back at him and his rueful half-smile. “It’s mine.”
My fingers twitch against his. “Yours?!”
The humor falls off his face. He turns to the ocean, sighing. “I bought it as an investment property two years ago. It’s a prime piece of land. Great street. Every other house here goes for anything north of ten million dollars, but this one…”
His pensive expression draws me closer to him. “This one?” I prompt.
His blond brows furrow. “This one belonged to a very old man. An alpha who bought it back in the eighties. For his omega.”
He swallows. “When she died, he lived here without her. Refused to sell it to anyone, even though he got offers for more than five million. He said no. Got a reputation for turning down any developer who darkened his doorway. And not being very polite about it, either.”
A slight smile touches his mouth, but not his eyes. “I thought I was hot shit, back then. We’d just made our first—well, a lot of money. And I wanted a beach house. For the pack. Our future family. Whatever.
“So I came here, determined to tell the old bastard anything he wanted to hear. I told him we had an omega who loved the beach. I told him we wanted to have kids and bring them here to play. And I swore—up and down—that I wouldn’t tear the place to the ground the first chance I got...”
He glances at me, a familiar darkness in his gaze. “Knowing that’s exactly what I would actually do.”
My heart squeezes, aching for the alpha who missed his lost love and couldn’t stand the thought of letting her home be dismantled. I’m almost afraid to ask, “Did he sell to you?”
Smith nods slowly. “I was very convincing.”
My stomach sinks, along with the bubble of hope that had risen in my chest. “So this house… you want to tear it down?”
He gives a hard, breathless laugh, the sound rueful. “I can’t tear it down,” he huffs. “I’ve hired the crew and called it off a dozen times. Every time I try I just—” He shakes his head, looking back out at the view and murmuring, “I can’t do it.”
