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I closed my eyes on Jenna’s shocked expression. “Can we not get into that? Please?”
“Fine. Sorry. Still.” Whitney patted my arm. “Come sit down. Did I really hear him threaten to start a smear campaign?”
“Basically, yeah.” I bit my lip as I followed the group back to the sitting area. “I’m not sure he can do much damage. But just in case, I need to figure out how to make my bookstore stand out.”
“We’re going to help.” Jenna gave a decisive nod.
Whitney and Kayla murmured agreements.
With a tight smile, I made my way back over to the sitting area with them. My thoughts were muddled and swirling around. But the one that popped to the forefront more than any of the others?
I wished Cody were here.
11
CODY
Istood outside the expansive front of the red brick townhouse at the address Noah had texted me. It was big. Bigger than anything I—or any of the other guys—had. Which wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like we were in some house size competition. But what was he going to do with that much space? I was rattling around in my place and it wasn’t even half this size.
I glanced down the street and caught a glimpse of Noah jogging my way.
“Sorry!” He called out as he checked both ways before darting across the quiet road. He came to a stop near me and raised his arms up over his head, linking his fingers. “Sorry. I couldn’t decide if I should drive or walk. Nothing in Old Town is far, you know? But then when I started walking, I realized the apartment was actually a bit of a stretch from here.”
I laughed. “All good. You made it. The real estate guy?”
“He’s on his way. He called a minute ago and said he was running late. But he also said it was okay if we wanted to walk around back and look at the gardens. It’s got almost half of an acre.” Noah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke again, all evidence of his jogging was gone. He pointed to the right side of the building. “Let’s go that way.”
“What are you going to do with that much land?” I couldn’t quite picture Noah spending his free time mowing grass or digging in garden beds.
He shrugged.
I understood the desire to have a place of his own. I’d bought something in the spring. He was the only holdout still in a rental. But for all of that, none of us had gone this crazy. “I guess you could put up a swing set so Beckett could come over and play.”
Noah chuckled. “I’d be okay with that. Although they enjoy the park near their place from what I gather.”
He pulled open the gate in the low, wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property and gestured for me to go through.
I stepped onto the brick walkway and looked around. “It’s pretty. You’re going to need a gardener. And someone to fix up the paths.”
Noah looked where I’d pointed to the three bricks that had been tossed to the side of the path, nearly under the bushes that lined it. He squatted, grabbed one, and fitted it into the pattern. “That’s not too hard. But a landscaping company isn’t a bad idea. I might like pushing a mower now and then, though.”
I snorted. “Sure. In the middle of July, when it’s ninety-five degrees and ninety-eight percent humidity, that’s going to be super fun.”
“You don’t do it in the heat of the day. You get up early. Or wait until after dinner.”
“Right. Got it. Then it’s cooled down to ninety. That makes sense.”
Noah laughed and punched my arm. “Maybe I like the heat and humidity.”
“Uh-huh.” I shook my head and we walked along the path to where it opened on a large patch of grass. “Are those crepe myrtles?”
“They’re trees.”
“Do you know anything about plants?” I looked at the row of trees—I was almost positive they were crepe myrtles—that lined the edge of the brick path along the back of the house.
“I can learn, same as you. There’s the Internet now, had you heard?” Noah squinted at the trees. “Maybe Megan has a book about this place in her local Virginia history section.”
I doubted it. This wasn’t a tourist attraction. Didn’t look like it ever had been. I’d read the historic marker out front while I was waiting and, since it was going on about some famous poet and playwright living here in the middle of the twentieth century, it just didn’t seem like the kind of place people had been flocking to visit. Plus it was a private home now for sale so it could continue being just that. “You can ask her.”
